Page 93 of The Pact
I’m thinking about how everything will change if I say yes, but it could break if I say no.
I exhale slowly and roll to my side again, watching Rhyan sleep.
“Don’t spiral,” I whisper to myself.
A little too late.
I quietly slip out of bed and pull on a sweatshirt over the T-shirt I’m wearing and grab some sweatpants from the closet.
Just as I walk out of the room, I hear the front door open.
“Pres!” My sister’s voice carries through the house like she owns the place. Which, honestly, she’s here almost every day, so she might as well.
“It’s breakfast time!” she adds. “Wake up!”
I look over the railing and see a small blur of energy burst through the door.
“SERA IS HERE!”
Seraphina. My niece.
Only three years old and already louder than some adults.
Rhyan comes flying out of the room, hair sticking up all over the place, and zips down the stairs like she’s been summoned by chaos.
“Battle friend!”
“Battle friend!” Sera echoes.
And just like that, the house explodes into noise. But it’s really nice to hear after all the silence since Savannah’s and Chris’s deaths. Sure, we have pockets of good days too, more and more, but their loss is still very much present.
I walk down the stairs and follow Alie into the kitchen. She’s holding two oversize bags, and she looks over her shoulder at me with an arched brow.
“You look like you didn’t get any sleep,” she says.
“Eh, a little,” I reply.
She gives me a look, like only a pesty little sister can. “Why just a little?”
I nod toward the girls, who are now arguing over whose dragon was stronger.
“Should we intervene?”
Alie claps her hands once. “We must break our fast, warrior queens. Then you may destroy each other in battle.”
They immediately redirect.
Food always won.
Alie gets some plates out, again like she owns the place, and puts a muffin and some fruit on a plate for Sera and one for Rhyan.
She walks into the family room and sets both plates on the coffee table.
“Eat up so we can go watch Remy’s hockey game,” she tells the girls.
When she walks back in, I’m pouring a cup of coffee that Saint must have made before he left.
Bless him.
