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But Daphne defied her pleas. She taught me to fight, to shoot, to use a blade. She trained me hard through my childhood until it was time to hand me over to the base where the organization minted its soldiers.
And the rest was history.
They were both getting older and the sight gave me pause as I pulled into the drive. Daphne was graying, but she was still lean and well muscled and brimming with energy. Ophelia dyed her hair red, piling it up on her head, her brightly colored earrings dangling to her shoulders. They stood on the porch, arm in arm—a domestic oasis in the chaos of my life.
Sometimes I wondered if they’d wanted children of their own. Perhaps my sudden presence had crushed their future plans, leaving them with a little boy they’d never planned for or desired.
I’d never asked because I knew what they would say.
“Hush,” Daphne would exclaim, slapping me gently on the back of the head. “You’re our boy, we’ve always wanted you.”
I got out of the Audi and climbed onto the porch, taking off my sunglasses so I could kiss them both on the cheek. Daphne leaned around me, squinting at my car. Disappointment passed over her face.
“Is Clara not with you?” she asked. “I thought she was back from school.”
“She is,” I said, following them into the house. “She’s just not with me today. I had business on the east side.”
“So what’s she up to?” Ophelia asked, busying herself at the stove.
I took a seat at the kitchen table in the same chair I’d been sitting in for three decades. Worn, but clean and sturdy. Handmade with love by Daphne.
“Well, she’s getting engaged next summer,” I said. “So long as everything goes as planned.”
They both pivoted, glancing at each other. I hated that look, the look that said they’d had a private conversation about this topic at one point.
“That’s good, dear,” said Ophelia, brows creased. “Who did you pick for her?”
“Osian Cardiff.”
“Rhys Cardiff’s son?” Daphne asked. “He’s a bit…fast.”
I nodded, spreading my knees and leaning back in the chair. The kitchen smelled good, like the fresh bread Ophelia was just now taking from the oven. She cut a piece and slathered it, still steaming, with butter and jam and put it before me.
I balked, instinctively glancing at Daphne. Old habits died hard.
“Honey, you know Merrick doesn’t eat bread,” Daphne said gently. “Can I get you some coffee instead?”
Ophelia looked so disappointed as she took the plate up that I grabbed her wrist and accepted it.
“For you, I’d eat anything,” I said, patting her back.
She bent and her lips brushed the top of my head. I felt her still, holding me for a beat longer than usual. Her fingers skimmed down my side and around to my upper spine.
“Are you checking to make sure I’m not losing weight?” I asked.
She pulled back, arranging her apron. “What? Absolutely not.”
“Ophelia,” I said. “You’re not fooling anyone. I’m a very healthy weight for my height and body type. I just had my physical the other month.”
“Fine. You’re just looking so lean, Merrick, and I don’t like it. You can put on a little weight, it’s alright.”
Daphne put a stained, diner mug down in front of me, brimming with black coffee.
“You know it’s not about that,” she said, brushing Ophelia’s arm.
“It’s fine,” Ophelia said, still wringing her hands. She kissed me again and went back to the sink. “You know I just worry about you all the time, Merrick, I’m not trying to get on your case.”
“I know, darling,” I said. “I wish I could be less worrisome.”
