Page 25 of Heimlock

“Trinte, can you let me speak?”

I wave dismissively, looking away. “Fine.”

“You’ve never shared ‌what happened with Father.”

“There’s nothing to explain. It’s in the past and I don’t see the purpose.”

“Because you almost killed Orliana; that meant I would’ve had to kill you, Trinte.”

My molars grind. The reminder of that moment is already pissing me off. “But I didn’t. I stopped myself. Now I know he’s going to pop up places, I’m staying away from any possible options. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says flatly. “I think you’re going to seek out the revenge so rightfully deserved.”

“And if I do, which I’m not saying I will—” I level him with a glare. “—but if I do, Orliana won’t be nearby.”

“Can you swear it?”

“I swear it.” The last thing I want is for the one woman in existence who loves me to die. It’s happened enough. My heart can’t take much more.

This satisfies my brother, apparently. Slapping hands on his thighs, Fynn looks me over. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Lots of cardio.” At his raised eyebrow, I add, “Actual cardio.”

He chuckles. “Well, I came over for more than a welfare check.” Suddenly, my brother looks nervous. “I’m going to tell you something, and you can’t tell a soul.”

“Not a soul.”

“I’m going to propose to Orliana.”

My jaw drops, then shifts into the biggest smile of my life. We collide into a big hug, topped with mandatory masculinity-enhancing backslaps.

“That’s amazing, brother,” It feels like a million little fireflies glowing in my belly. “When?”

He pulls away, eyes glistening. “That is where I need some help. I want to make it a proposal and engagement session. Hire my old photographer, Luca.”

“Oh, I know Luca,” I grin. “We train together sometimes at the battle gym.” He was also at his and Rhuth’s wedding, but I’m not about to mention that right now. “How can I help?”

He pulls out his phone. “I’ve been talking with Kyrielle and we’re thinking—”

“Kyrielle?”

Fynn looks up from his phone, where a photo gallery’s pulled up. “Yeah. You met her at the club? Short, orange hair and fingertips?”

My palms grow clammy. “She’s helping organize things?”

“Of course — she’s Orliana’s best friend. It makes sense, right?”

At his worried look, I nod quickly. “It’s absolutely makes sense.”

Relief loosens his shoulders. “Great. Okay, so let me show you what we have planned so far.”

Fynn spends the next hour explaining his plan, but the whole time, I’m too distracted to listen. All I can think of is a furious creamsicle dream trying to burn me alive.

9

Age 19

Choosing between being homeless and living with my mother wasn’t a choice at all. That’s like asking someone if they want to choose breathing over suffocation; freedom over a prison.