Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

The quieter my fathers are,

the more trouble I’m in.

~ Chloé

CHLOÉ STARED AT the revolving door of JULIEN the next afternoon and wondered how long she could stand there before someone came out to ask her what the hell she was doing. But she needed a minute before she stepped inside, a second to brace herself for what she was about to face.

For a little while there, Ethan and Zayne had managed to distract her enough that she’d been able to push aside what she had to do today. But as she looked at the gold script on the window of the restaurant, she knew there was no escaping it now.

Reality had come calling, and it was time to go in and face the music.

She took a deep breath and pushed through the door, not at all sure what she expected—but the silence that greeted her was not it.

Okay, so there was no clap of thunder or flash of lightning striking her down for her white lies. But as she made her way past the hostess stand and in through the main dining room, she could’ve sworn she heard the rumble of ominous storm clouds in the form of her fathers’ silent disapproval.

Where was everyone? There was no laughing, no greeting, just dead silence. That didn’t bode well for her.

She hurried past the bar and noticed that Justin was nowhere to be seen—he’d probably decided it was safer to stay away, and really, she couldn’t blame him. Last night had been contentious to say the least, but she was feeling much more levelheaded today. Some time apart had been exactly what she needed to calm down. It’d given her a moment to reflect and try to understand where her fathers were coming from.

She was their daughter, so of course they were going to be upset that she was dating not one but two older men. But hopefully they’d had a chance to calm down too, and her dad and her père could have her back when they went to talk to her papa later tonight.

Chloé made her way through to the kitchens out the back, and just as she was about to push through the doors, she heard her name.

She turned to see her dad standing in the open door of his office. His arms were crossed, his lips pulled tight, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him look less than put together, but it definitely appeared as though he’d had a long night—and not in a good way.

“Hi.” She wasn’t sure why, but her stomach felt jittery. She made her way over, and he moved aside to let her into his office.

“Hello. I wasn’t sure whether we would see you today or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you see me? I’m on shift, and I’d never miss that without calling.”

“After last night?” Dad turned his back on her and made his way around his desk. “I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”

Chloé swallowed and began to fiddle with the strap of her handbag. “I know you were upset—”

“Upset? Upset is putting it mildly. Try flabbergasted. Try furious. Try anything else that is beyond upset, because that is what I felt last night.”

Chloé lowered her eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry you had to find out that way—”

“Are you?”

“Of course.”

Dad let out a sigh and shook his head. “We’re not doing this here. We’ll discuss it later. For now, I want you to go and get changed and get ready for shift. We have a full house tonight.”

“Is Papounet back there?”

“He is, and if I were you, I would stay out of his way. Our staff doesn’t need to know what’s going on, and I will not have you causing a scene.”

Chloé opened her mouth to say something, but when her dad looked to the computer in front of him, she decided it might be best to just zip her lips and keep quiet. She turned and all but ran for the door, quickly shutting it behind her.

So much for things calming down. If anything, her dad seemed tenser. But then again, he’d had to tell her papa about what had happened, and she couldn’t imagine that was an easy task—hence why she’d been avoiding it.

She looked at the stainless-steel doors and wondered what she would find when she walked through them. She couldn’t remember a time where her and her père had been anything other than the best of friends. She loved coming to the restaurant, loved watching him cook, and now here she was, scared to walk into his kitchen.

Chloé blew out a breath and pushed through the double doors. When she stepped inside, the delicious aromas of French cuisine hit her nose. Several staff members were bustling around getting ready for the afternoon/evening crowd, and they smiled and waved when they spotted her.

Chloé returned the gesture, for the first time since yesterday feeling a sense of normalcy, but that quickly ended when the pantry door opened and her père walked out.

Dressed in his chef whites with an apron wrapped around his hips, hewas the very epitome of chef. He held a bundle of vegetables in his arms, and when he spotted her, his feet came to a stop.

“Bonjour papounet.”

“Bonjour.”

That was it. That was all he said. There was no bright smile, no hug, just one word before he stepped around her and walked over to the prep station.

Chloé cursed under her breath and walked into the locker room, where she stashed her bag and reached for her uniform. She had a spare that she left there for occasions such as these. It wasn’t like she’d been about to go home last night and get the one she’d ironed the day before.

It was going to be a looong night. She could feel it, and whenever there was tension in the kitchen, the rest of the staff could tell.

That was nothing new, though—chefs were known to be crazy, some hot-tempered, and every now and then the stress of a food critic or unhappy customer would cause a distinct shift in the air, and the entire staff knew it was time to keep quiet or risk getting their head bitten off. The thing that was new, however, was the fact that she was the reason for today’s tension.

Chloé tied her apron and then headed out into the kitchen, where she found her père chopping vegetables as though he wished it was someone’s head—probably hers, if she had to guess.

Just go over and talk to him. It’s that easy, really.

She took a breath and made her way over to him. If she’d expected him to look her way, she would’ve been in for a disappointment. But lucky for her, she’d set her expectations low.

“So, uh, what’s the special today?”

“The same thing as yesterday.”

He scraped the onions and carrots aside and then started in on the next batch.

“Oh, I thought there might be a Sunday special.”

“Has there ever been a Sunday special?”

Okay, he had a point, but there was a first time for everything, and honestly, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Mon Dieu, this was awkward. It was obvious he was still upset with her, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to say to make things better.

“Would you like me to take over what you’re doing?”

“Non, I’ve got dinner tonight. If you would take care of dessert, I think that would be best.”

Chloé’s brain immediately flashed back to last night and butter pecan ice cream—but, realizing how inappropriate that was, she quickly shoved the thought aside. Her père was making his wishes very clear: you stay out of my space and I’ll stay out of yours.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening, but they were all busy at their stations, and why wouldn’t they be? They didn’t know that her life had gone to hell in a handbasket last night. They didn’t know that the fathers who usually adored her couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her right now.

So, the best thing she could do was follow her dad’s advice: put her head down and do the work. Get through service without making a scene, and they could all talk about this afterward.

Until then, she’d just have to pop a couple antacids to help the churning in her stomach, and hope she could make it until closing time.

* * *

ZAYNE STRETCHED OUT on one of the loungers on their rooftop and stared up at the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, warm, with only a few clouds overhead, and as he watched each of them take shape, he couldn’t stop thinking about how nervous Chloé had seemed when she left for the restaurant.

They’d done their best last night to lighten the mood and distract her a little, but as soon as morning rolled around, it was apparent the nerves had kicked back in. She’d looked as though she was heading toward the gallows with how quiet and reflective she seemed, and he couldn’t help but feel for her. He wasn’t sure how this would all end up, whether or not she would even remain theirs after everything played out. But he understood what she was going through right now, had been there himself too many times to count. That walk of shame, heading in to face the people you had somehow disappointed.

Yeah, he had firsthand experience with that. He’d been disappointing his family for as long as he could remember. The major difference was that Chloé gave a shit what her fathers thought of her—whereas he’d stopped caring years ago.

“You’re very quiet over there.”

He looked over to where Ethan sat with his sunglasses on and a book in his lap. Sundays were always Zayne’s favorite because it was the one day Ethan gave himself off, and selfishly, Zayne enjoyed his man’s attention focused on him.

“Wasn’t meaning to be. I was just thinking about how nervous Red seemed before she left.”

Ethan shut his book and slid it onto the table in front of him. “You’re worried about her.”

“No, I mean, not really.” Zayne chuckled. “If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Red. I just know how I used to feel whenever I was being summoned for committing a cardinal sin.”

“And how was that?”

“Scared, proud, rebellious.”

“You? Rebellious? Never.”

Zayne grinned. “I see that in her. I just hope it turns out better for her than it did me.”

Ethan walked over and sat down on the lounger beside him. “I have nothing to compare it to, but I have to believe her fathers will be more understanding than the senator.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Zayne sat up and reached for Ethan’s hand, cradling it between his own. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Really? I’m sitting here complaining about my parents when yours—”

“Zayne, it’s okay. You know I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is that, I lost them before my teenage years, so I can’t really compare notes.”

“But we can.” Zayne gave a half-smile. “You were pretty rebellious when we met.”

“Not to anyone I actually cared about. Principal Morton doesn’t count, and your father sure as hell doesn’t. So, I’d call that more self-sustaining than rebellious. I had to be to survive.”

Zayne lowered his head and kissed their joined hands. “I really am sorry for what I said.”

“Stop it.” Ethan ran a hand over the back of his hair, and Zayne thought the moment so telling as to what kind of man he was—that even now, when he had brought up the painful memory of Ethan’s past, Ethan was the one comforting him.

It had always been that way, though. A natural-born caretaker, Ethan was the kind of person who craved someone to love, someone to share himself with and care for. But for a long time after the loss of his parents, he’d disappeared into himself. He’d built walls, avoided any kind of relationship, kept tight control over what little he could in his life—until Zayne had barged into it.

“What’s that smile about?”

“Am I smiling?” Zayne asked.

Ethan brushed his thumb over the corner of his lips. “You are.”

“Maybe I’m just thinking about your rebellious teenage years.”

“Funny, I don’t think they started until you showed up.”

Zayne let out a bark of laughter. “That’s probably true. What can I say, I’m a good influence.”

“You definitely had some kind of influence on me. Not sure I’d call it good, but it was exactly what I needed.”

Zayne leaned back on the lounger. “You were exactly what I needed, too. Straightened my ass out.”

Ethan arched a brow, making Zayne grin.

“Okay, maybe straightened isn’t the right word.”

“You think?”

“You know what I mean. If it wasn’t for you, God knows where I would’ve ended up.”

“Right here.” Ethan leaned over and placed a hand on either side of Zayne’s head. “This is where you belong, so no matter how or when it happened, you always would’ve ended up here.”

The sincerity in Ethan’s eyes made Zayne’s breath catch, as it always did. From the moment their connection had formed, it had been like that, and to this day, it never ceased to amaze him.

“You really believe that stuff, don’t you? That things happen for a reason?”

“I have to,” Ethan said, his lips tightening. “It’s the only way it all makes sense. Now, I’m going to go make dinner. Do you want a drink or anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay, I’ll call you down when it’s ready.”

As Ethan got to his feet, he tried to school his features, but he wasn’t quite quick enough, and Zayne caught a glimpse of the boy he used to know.

It was subtle but it was there, the sadness in his eyes. It took everything Zayne had not to run in after him. But if there was one thing he knew about Ethan, it was to give him space when he needed it.

After all, he always found his way back to where he belonged—and that was with Zayne.

* * *

ETHAN STEPPED INSIDE, and as the door shut behind him, he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck. It wasn’t often that the past crept up on him, but when it did, it could level him faster than a one-two punch. He stood there for a second and took in several deep breaths, trying to squash the barrage of memories that had just flooded in.

Jesus, where the hell had that come from? Usually he had better control of himself, but as he’d sat there looking into the face of the one person who knew every crack in his polished façade, he knew he needed to get away.

It was either that or fall the fuck apart.

He let out a breath and, once he had himself somewhat in check, started down the stairs. But instead of heading to the kitchen, he made a detour to the bedroom and into their en suite, where he turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face. He stood there for a second before toweling himself dry, and studied the man in the mirror. The ghost he lived with.

All this talk of parents, fathers—good or otherwise—had stirred up memories he usually kept locked away. That part of his past was a place he’d rather not revisit. But it was difficult to leave it there when the face staring back at him belonged to someone he only now remembered through photographs.

He closed his eyes and tried to shove aside the feelings threatening to incapacitate him, annoyed by his inability to banish them completely. For the longest time he’d struggled to forget, struggled to survive the carnage that had ripped away his childhood—but somehow, he’d managed.

His mind and body had understood that in order to navigate the destruction left behind, it needed to protect itself, needed to withdraw. It needed to be in control of the situation, even when he hadn’t known exactly what that situation was…

“So sad what happened…”

“Tragic.”

“How old is the boy?”

“Eight, poor thing.”

Soft voices filtered through the black void of Ethan’s subconscious as he stirred in the hard bed he lay on. He was cold, the sheets draped over him paper thin, and the pillow under his head was flat as a board. There was a weird smell in the air—like bleach and lemons—and as he tried to open his eyes, a bright light flickered off in the distance.

“Come on, Ethan.” The voice was much closer now, right by his ear. “It’s time to wake up.”

Wake up? He wasn’t asleep. He could hear everything she was saying, but when he went to tell her that, nothing came out.

“Little lamb is probably hiding in there. Can’t say I blame him. There’s not much to look forward to out here.”

A shiver skated up his spine as that light in the distance started to flicker. What was she talking about? What did they mean, “out here”? Where were his mom and dad?

He didn’t understand what was going on, and it was starting to scare him.

“Hard to believe it’s been a week now and no one’s come for him.”

“I know. It’s just heartbreaking. The doctors said the only thing wrong with him is the broken arm—other than that, he’s physically fine.”

“Except he won’t wake up.”

“Except that.”

Doctors? Why would he need a doctor?

He wanted to see his mom and dad. Where were they? Why wouldn’t these ladies go and get them?

But before he could try to ask, the voices faded until they disappeared completely, and that sliver of light that had been his one shining spot of hope vanished—and he was once again swallowed by the black void…

Ethan blinked and refocused on his surroundings—the sink, the tap, the towel in his hand. When he finally looked back at his reflection, he blew out a breath and squared his shoulders.

He’d come a long way from that scared little boy in the hospital bed, but he was still in there. He’d always be in there, wondering what his parents would think of him now.

Would they be proud? Would they be pleased with how his life had turned out?

He’d thought about that too many times to count. Introducing them to Zayne. Showing them that he’d somehow managed to survive the impossible and come out the other side of it to find happiness.

Now, here he was again, thinking of them, wishing they could meet this young woman who was as intriguing as she was beautiful and had him and Zayne tripping over their damn selves.

But these were conversations that would never happen.

Questions that would never be asked.

But what he wouldn’t give for one more conversation…