Page 72 of Breaking His Exile

“No, I’m not. I left.”

“But you came back.” Boone met his eyes. “Always figured you would. Welcome home.”

Evander had nothing to say to that.

Luckily, Boone didn’t expect him to say anything and just went back to stand sentinel by the door.

He reached for the clothes, but getting dressed with two cracked ribs and a concussion took longer than it should have and cost him a cold sweat and all of his dignity.

By the time Jonah arrived with breakfast, he was upright in the chair by the window with his boots on, flat-out exhausted.

Jonah set a tray laden with coffee, eggs, toast, and a bowl of fruit on the wooden chair beside Evander without asking whether Evander wanted it, then settled himself against the wall with his own cup and the comfortable air of a man with nowhere else to be.

“Bear says you should eat before you do anything fuck-wit stupid,” Jonah said and held up a hand. “His words. I’m just the delivery system.”

Evander looked at the mug. The coffee was black and hot and smelled better than anything he brewed up on the mountain. It tasted as if it had been made by someone who understood that coffee was not a beverage but a necessity. He drank half of it before he set the cup down.

“Careful. Nessie’s coffee is addictive.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” River chimed in. “Why didn’t you bring enough to share with the class? I haven’t had my caffeine fix yet today.”

Jonah ignored him. “Your old room’s free,” he said off-handedly. “Well. Technically it’s full of engine parts, because River turned it into a junk room.”

“It’s not junk,” River protested. “Lots of good parts in there.”

“He’ll clear them out today,” Boone decided.

Evander looked between the three of them. “Don’t bother. I’m not staying.”

“Sure,” Jonah said.

“River will still clear out the room,” Boone said. “It’s overdue.”

He wasn’t going to convince them, so he turned his attention to his plate. He ate the eggs because his body was running on empty and refusing calories at this point was stupid rather than principled, and the difference mattered to him. Or had once.

The door opened, and a pretty blond woman he didn’t recognize came in with a mug in hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I was looking for⁠—”

River turned toward her the way a compass needle turned north. “Right here.”

She crossed to him and handed him the mug.

“Oh, bless you, you gorgeous woman.” His arm went around her waist as he took a deep drink. “Evander, Gemma. Gem, Evander.”

“Knew you’d be needing that.” She turned, and her smile brightened. “So you’re the mythical Evander.”

He nearly choked on his own coffee. “Mythical?”

“They talk about you around here like you’re a legend or a ghost story.”

He narrowed his eyes on the men. Jonah looked sheepish. River, of course, was unrepentant. And Boone, as usual, remained stone-faced. “They all talk too fucking much.”

The room was getting too crowded and his patience for it had reached its limit, but it was another fifteen minutes before everyone finally cleared out.

The door closed.

He sat with the silence, letting it settle over him. His ribs ached. His temple throbbed with a low, steady beat that had been there since he woke and showed no interest in leaving. The concussion made the light from the window slightly too bright, so he shifted the chair until his back was to it.