Survivor (First to Fight #2)(33)

“Hey,” Sofie says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We helped. Made sure she didn’t burn anything,” Donnie offers.

I glance at Sofie. She catches my eye, but only for a second. She’s pale beneath the color of her olive skin, and she must have wiped away all of her makeup because I can see dark circles beneath her eyes. Concern wars with the lingering anger and ten years of loving her wins out. Looking down at Donnie, I ruffle his hair. “Sure, kid. Let’s go make the table.”

Sofie stops me with a hand on my arm. “Jack—”

“Don’t,” I say sharply. “Dinner and then I’ll be gone.”

Her fingers fall limply to her side. “Fine,” she says, but the words lack her usual fight.

My eyes follow her as she brushes past, a furrow wedging between my brows. What the hell?

I finish tossing the rest of the old boards onto a pile and load them in the back of my truck. After I store my tools in the toolbox, I tug on a relatively clean shirt from the backseat and head inside.

The scent of garlic and tomato sauce on the air isn’t tinged with anything charred, so that’s a good sign. I follow the wriggly puppy down the hall and into the kitchen. The boys are setting the table and Sofie is stirring a steaming pot on the stove. I stop in the doorway, clutching the frame as my dreams of our future and this picture-perfect present collide.

“Can I have some more dressing for my salad?” One of the kids asks. I’m too busy staring at Sofie’s ass as she bends to take out the garlic bread to notice which or what she says in response.

Staying is a bad idea. I start to offer an excuse, but Rafe shouts, “Jack, come sit by me!” and I find myself serving up pasta to both boys and filling my own plate with salad and spaghetti with Sofie right in front of me.

The rest of dinner passes in a flurry of conversation where Sofie scolds the boys for feeding the dog from the table, they rattle on about their day at school, and Sofie tells them about her new job at work. I try to join in when they ask me questions, but for the most part I just sit back and watch them.

Soon dinner is over and the boys clean the table then race off to fight over the T.V., leaving Sofie and I alone in the kitchen with tension as thick as the history between us.

She gets to her feet with a stack of dishes in her hands, the silverware rattles as her fingers tremble. I get to my feet and take the plates from her, noting her sharp inhalation when I move closer.

In spite of the mistakes she’d made ten years ago, she’d still been my best friend. Placing the plates in the sink full of soapy water, I turn to find her leaning against the kitchen table, her fingers gripping the edge. “What’s going on with you?”

She wraps her arms around her waist. “Nothing. Just wondering why you’re here is all.”

“Yeah, so am I.” After all this time. What the hell am I still doing here?

“I don’t think you should come back,” she says.

“And why’s that?”

“I just don’t think it’s good for the boys.” She tries to meet my eyes, but she can’t, her gaze darting up and over my shoulder and then back down to the floor.

I scoff. “How would you know what’s good for the boys?”

“It’s my job now to know those things, Jack.” She gulps down a breath. “I’m the one with custody. You aren’t their father. This pretend family thing isn’t good for them. It gives them the wrong idea.”

“You mean it gives me the wrong idea,” I correct.

She pushes off from the table. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course it’s what you meant. It’s what you said.”

Pressing a hand against her forehead she says, “Jack, you’re twisting this around.”

“No,” I reply. “No, I don’t think I am. If anything, I’m finally seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You slept with one of my friends, Sofie.” She flinches, her face flashing white, but I brush that to the side. “I was gonna marry you. Give you everything. I can’t even—f*ck, I can’t even wrap my mind around it. So yeah, dinner was a mistake.” I toss the dishrag onto the counter with a wet plop and stride to the hall. With one last glance back, I say, “This was a mistake.”

She sucks in a deep breath, but over that, over the sound of our past crumbling, I hear a gasp from the hallway and my heart sinks. I turn and find Donnie standing there, his arms full of a squirming Rosie. His mouth is gaping open, his lips trembling. He squeezes the dog closer to his chest and breathes heavily.

Rafe comes up behind him, his brows furrowed just like his sister’s. “What’s the deal, dude? I thought we were gonna race.”

Donnie spins and shoves past his brother, dumping the puppy on the floor. His footsteps thunder up the stairs, punctuated by the slamming of his bedroom door.

I start to go after him, but Sofie rushes by and grabs me by the arm. “Don’t,” she says. She moves around me to stand by Rafe, who looks up at me with a frown. “I’ll handle it.”

I don’t give myself the luxury of second guessing my decision, I just walk out the door.

And it’s both the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done.