Evangeline
I heat up some milk in the kitchen downstairs and swirl in a spoonful of honey, which I know Lucas likes. Asher and I pad silently across the dark hall to Lucas's room. I focus on breathing to calm my racing heart as I rest my knuckles against his door, poised to knock, sharp and swift, like how I hope this matter will be settled. Asher slips a hand to the small of my back, my pillar of support.
I crack it open and peep round Lucas's door to see if he's busy, seeing him hunched over at his desk. He's texting someone, and murmurs softly for us to wait.
Wait.
The memory of me telling him to wait for me still makes me cringe every time I think about it, which is quite often. Trouble is brewing again, so many things are on my mind. Mariam, Max, Asher, school... I literally haven't seen Max for two days, and I miss him. I want to see my stepbrother. At the same time, I can't get rid of the nagging gut feeling that something's wrong. I'm worried about my stepmom, and she hasn't replied to my texts. In fact, throughout the past two days, I've constantly gotten lost in my own head and given violent knee-jerk reactions in the middle of whatever activity I was in, startling those around me.
Okay. Let's do this.
Lazily, he spins around, leaning back in his chair and stretches out a leg to nudge open the door. His smile dims slightly at the sigh of both of us.
"Hey, you two. Up so late?"
I nod, sliding over the glass of milk to him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
He accepts it and grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Lucas's gaze lingers too long on Asher and I. "What can I say? I have to work hard this year so I can get into a good college next year. Plus, national service awaits."
He scrubs a hand over his face, looking at me through slitted eyes. He hasn't shaved in awhile. I can see the five o'clock shadow ghosting his jawline. Would Luke look hot with a beard? Absolutely. I can see how tired he is, and on any other day I wouldn't have pushed it, or disturbed him at all, but this matter is urgent.
"Do you need help with anything?" He stacks away some papers on the table and slides them into a folder, facing us. He knows we're here to stay when we make ourselves comfortable on his bed. I steal one of his pillows and hug it to my chest, as if to quell the anxiety within. His eyes follow the movement closely.
I swing my legs against the side of his bed, fidgety under his gaze with Asher's warmth at my side. The words stick in my throat as my heart beats faster.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He snatches my feet, to which Asher's eyes narrow—we may be together, but that doesn't stop his brothers from showing their affection—clad in another pair of woolly socks onto his knees and holds my ankles together with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, tutting. "Spit it out, Princess. I'll listen, whatever it is."
"What's wrong with Max?" Asher asks the question straightforwardly, tone sharp as his gaze never wavers from my feet in his brother's lap. I should be pulling away, maintaining distance, but I can't seem to bring myself to. Besides, I have a feeling Lucas might very well hold onto them and make everything more awkward. We're here for answers; and it's answers we'll get.
Lucas cocks his head like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. Unfortunately for him, expert of a liar as he may be, Max's unusual behaviour is too obvious not to warrant an explanation. And besides, I can tell when Lucas is lying, especially to me. Lucas open his mouth, but I lean forward and stare at him intently. He averts his eyes, nod I realise I'd inadvertently given him a look down my shirt. I dont feel the burn of embarrassment at all, intent on extracting nothing but the truth from his lips.
"Tell the truth, Lucas. Only the truth." I whisper.
His glassy bottle green eyes, the ones I've spent hours getting lost in, shift. His lips part, and suddenly it's like it's just the two of us in the room. I'm jerked from my trance as Asher, becoming uncharacteristically jealous in the presence of his brother breaks his calm facade, grabbing my shoulders protectively, lips curled. "Dude, back off—" Just then, Chris enters the room with Max's looming shadow behind him. He kicks the door shut and leans against the doorframe, arms folded. His angelic face is an emotionless porcelain mask, those blue eyes frosty, shadowed my hard brows and lips thinned at the corners. Max's slouched postures gives me a view of only his matted, raven hair. When he raises his head, I feel pain as sharp as a dagger stab my chest at the anguish in his eyes. Max looks as if he hasn't slept in weeks, with circles under his eyes and the most defeated expression on his face, a more melancholic, heavy contrast to the silent anger on his twin's.
Shit.
A chill runs down my spine, making my pulse spike, the possibility foreshadowing what's to come. I look at all their faces.
Lucas's silent endurance.
The rage wafting off of Chris, barely contained.
Max's heartache, displayed on his features.
Asher's impatient ignorance.
"You were saying...?" Asher starts aggressively, still unaware, but Chris cuts him off with a bark, lip curling.
"When were you going to say something?"
