up at him with my heart in tatters. I realised I needed this too, I needed Saint to take over and tell me what to do right now because I had no idea how to put one foot in front of the other knowing my dad was no longer in the world. I didn't know who I was without him. I didn't know what the future looked like anymore or where I belonged. I felt trapped in an endless shadow that stretched out forever before me. And I couldn’t escape it.
"Let's just focus on right now," I compromised, fisting my hands in the sheets as I tried not to let my thoughts slip too far into despair again, back to the moment Mortez had shot Dad, how he'd fallen beneath me and I'd seen so much nothing in his eyes. No amount of time would ever be enough to erase that image from my mind. "Tell me what to do. Please," my voice cracked and I dipped my head, lost. I was so lost. I was going to split apart into pieces if I didn't just do something. Anything.
"Tatum...what’s going on?" he asked, his tone soft and thick with concern. It didn't sound much like Saint at all.
"My dad," I forced out, trying to say it with detachment but I couldn't manage it. "Mortez shot him. He's...he's dead." Saying it aloud was far worse than repeating it in my head a thousand times. It was suddenly so suffocatingly real that I wished I could take the words back, force them down my throat and never utter them again. A couple of thick tears rolled down my cheeks and I wiped them hurriedly away.
Saint was silent for the longest time. "I can't...imagine how you feel right now," he said in a measured voice like he really meant those words. "But if you need me to take control-"
"I do," I said fiercely, looking up at him. This language was one we both understood, one we both got something out of. It centred us. Our lack of control in our current situations was debilitating and this answer was a gift to each of us.
He nodded firmly, a flare of fire in his eyes. "Fetch breakfast for everyone. I'll have mine on a lap tray here and you will eat yours here too. Oatmeal with raisins and warm milk. A sprinkle of sugar too."
Sugar? He never gave me sugar. But the instructions were clear and I grasped onto them, rising from the bed and padding downstairs, glad to have something to focus on other than what had transpired at the cabin. Kyan was asleep on the couch and Monroe was dozing in a chair with a strained crease between his eyes.
I made everyone's usual food and decided on toast and eggs for Monroe as I’d seen him eat that a few times at his place. When I was laying out all the food on the table, about to take mine and Saint's upstairs, Monroe stirred from the armchair and stood up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked me, an urgent worry to his tone.
"Saint’s awake. I made breakfast," I said with a small shrug and his eyes turned to darkest pitch.
"Saint!" he boomed, looking to the balcony. "She's been through too much, you are not ordering her around!"
"It's okay,” I said firmly before Saint could answer. "I want to. I need to."
Monroe's brow pinched and he moved toward me, shaking his head. "Let me help," he said in a voice just for me. "Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you." The sincerity in his eyes was touching and I gave him a grateful smile.
"I need to keep busy. But you can wake Kyan and fetch Blake so they can eat some food?" I suggested and his jaw pulsed a couple of times before he nodded, giving in.
I headed upstairs as he walked over to Kyan, prodding him in the side.
"I wouldn't do it for all the camels in the world," Kyan murmured as he swatted at the place Monroe had prodded him like a fly had landed there. Monroe jabbed him again and Kyan jerked awake, lunging at Monroe with a vicious upper cut that Monroe deflected at the last second.
"Calm down, Rambo," Monroe muttered. "Breakfast is ready."
Kyan got up, his eyes finding me as I slipped away up onto the balcony and a longing filled his gaze that made my skin tingle. The kiss