16. Ava

I'm justabout dying of boredom and hunger when my stomach decides it's had enough of my moping around. It rallies the rest of me to shuffle from my bedroom down to the kitchen without tripping over my own feet. Not going to lie, I slide down the steps on my butt.

I catch Tyler in full gaming mode downstairs with his headphones on, lost to the everything except for his virtual battlefield. He's yelling at some poor soul on the other end, while anarchy unfolds on-screen. Honestly, I'm kind of glad I'm spared the audio experience, though part of me is curious about the creative expletives he's tossing around.

Spotting a basket of rolls on the breakfast table, I dive in. Holy heaven, this roll is a cloud of sweet perfection. I demolish it so fast, I end up with hiccups. Great. Just what I needed. Seriously, what's the evolutionary advantage of hiccups? They serve absolutely no purpose other than to annoy me to the brink of insanity.

My hiccup induced spectacle finally tears Tyler away from his digital conquest. He whirls around, nearly entangled in a mess of cords, and removes his headphones with a haste that borders on comedic. "Ava!" he exclaims with a mix of reverence and desperation—a tone that sends a thrill through me. It's intoxicating, and something inside of me demands to hear him say my name again.

Trying to shake off the flurry of thoughts, I manage a casual, "Morning, Tyler."

"Ah, you're up!" His excitement is contagious, and his grin is so big, it's a wonder his face can hold it. "Found the rolls, huh?"

Cue my perfectly timed hiccup.

"Don't worry, I've got just the thing," he declares with a wag of his finger, striding over in those baggy sweatpants that do nothing for his figure but somehow add to his charm. He grabs a sugar pourer from the counter. "Open up."

"I feel like there's a that's what she said joke dying to be made here," I grumble but play along, sticking out my tongue as he chuckles.

"My mom swears by sugar for hiccups," he shares. "Hit or miss, but hey, worth a shot."

"And when it was a miss?" I ask, sugar dissolving awkwardly in my mouth.

"Ethan had a knack for scaring them out of me," he says, that smile of his never faltering.

As I try not to choke on sugar and suppressed hiccups, I wonder aloud, "Where's everyone?"

"Ethan was summoned by the alpha, and Brody's pulling a twenty-four-hour shift," he explains nonchalantly.

"That's insane," I blurt out, feeling a mix of admiration and concern for Brody.

"It's the doctor life." Tyler shrugs, giving me a look that says I'm partly to blame for Brody's absence today.

Ouch. That hits harder than I expected. I'm the one who put distance between us, after all. I'm the architect of this awkward situation, and now I'm living in the mess I made.

"Sorry," I mutter, fiddling with another roll, the guilt gnawing at me. There it is, that pesky conscience of mine, making me feel all the feels I usually dodge.

"So, what game had you so hooked?" I shift the topic, genuinely trying to see Tyler in a new light. Maybe I'll give this whole situation a chance, like Eloise suggested.

"Ah, you into games?" His face lights up, those dimples of his doing funny things to my heart.

"Not really my scene," I admit. "I'm not the shoot 'em up type."

He hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully, then his face lights up with a grin that should be illegal. "I bet you're all about Zelda or Animal Crossing. Let's get you set up."

Before I know it, he's scooping me up, careful of my broken ankle, and planting me in the corner seat like I'm made of glass. He fusses with a pillow for my leg, his forehead creased with concern, and for a moment, I really see him. He's not just adorable, he's also kind, considerate, and utterly devastating. His attentiveness draws me in like a moth to a flame, and I want him to burn me.

I bite my cheek to keep from grinning too widely at his adorableness. I'm momentarily distracted by a twinge in my ribs—a stark reminder of my physical limits, despite their best efforts to make me forget.

"Okay. So the plan…" His excitement is absolutely contagious. "I'm going to go get snacks. What are your favorites?"

I feel like I just jumped into a tornado. "I like fruit snacks," I offer, "and orange juice. I crave orange juice."

"Probably your blood disorder," he says, using his serious paramedic voice. "I have both." He holds both hands palms up and waves at me. "Give me more. All the snacks."

"How long do you plan on playing video games?" I ask.

"I'm off today," he says as though I'm the weirdo.

"It's eleven in the morning." I say slowly.

"Yeah," he replies, aghast. "And you are slacking. Give me snack ideas."

Laughing, I begin to rattle off all my favorites. "Almonds, chocolates, popcorn, oh, and little pizzas. I am not huge on soda, but sometimes I crave it. Nutella bread." I moan at the last one.

"Done." He jumps over the back of the couch, making me bark out a laugh at his excitement.

Wanting to get a better look at him, I twist around in my seat, but my ribs remind me they are still on the mend. How these guys always make me forget I'm actually hurt is beyond me. Magic, maybe?

"Is lounging around and gaming all you do on your days off?" I holler, lacing my question with curiosity and mock dismay.

"Sometimes I run, or I manage to drag Brody into my world of gaming," he shouts back, his voice bouncing off the kitchen walls, making it sound like he's both everywhere and nowhere.

Sinking deeper into the couch, I let its well-worn leather pull me in. "Brody's like the mediator between you and Ethan, huh?" I throw the thought out there, pondering the dynamics of their brotherhood.

"He is." Tyler pops back into view, his arms laden with snacks. "He's the brother we never really had."

"Wait, you and Ethan are brothers?" That one throws me for a loop.

"Yep, can't you tell?" he teases, though I'm pretty sure if they stood side by side, I couldn't pick out one feature they share.

"Different dads," he explains, heading back to the kitchen. "Brody just kind of happened one day after he showed up. Growing up, it just made sense that we'd all stick together."

"What's that like?" I ask, a hint of vulnerability sneaking into my tone. "Being part of a tight-knit community like that?"

"It's a mixed bag," he says, and I can almost hear him fiddling with the microwave. "Clan life is close. We've always been tight, especially before the big reveal to the world. It's like having your whole extended family living down the block."

That makes me think of my mama's stories. "Reminds me of reservation life," I murmur, and memories of her tales about spending summers in Oklahoma on the reservation with her second cousin come flooding back. Although Mama didn't live there or share their culture, she was family, even if distantly, and they accepted her as such. "I never lived on a reservation, but my mama spent summers there. She said it was just like home but quieter. She had a whole tribe of adopted siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles."

"That's a spot-on analogy," Tyler replies, just as the microwave dings its agreement. "But yeah, it's not all roses. Everyone is in your business, and the dating pool? Let's just say it's more of a puddle."

That steers my thoughts down a path I hadn't planned on exploring today. "I never did ask if you were seeing anyone."

"Butterfly…" He walks over to me and leans in close, his breath tickling my face. A lock of hair falls forward in a way that's entirely too charming. "Are you asking me if I have a girlfriend?"

"No," I snap out, then immediately backtrack with a groan. "Okay, yes."

His grin spreads, filled with a mischief that sends a rush of butterflies through me. "Look at you, wanting to know if I'm on the market."

I can't help but roll my eyes, though my heart's not really in it and it's beating a mile a minute, waiting for his answer.

"Don't stress, butterfly. I only have eyes for you," he teases, but his evasion feels like a dance around my actual question. He bounces back to the kitchen to prep us more snacks.

"That's hardly an answer," I grumble, wondering why I'm even pushing this. Since when do I care so much?

"No, Ava Martinez, I don't have a girlfriend, nor a boyfriend," he clarifies, stepping back with that infuriatingly attractive smirk. "As for the others…"

"What?" I blurt out, my voice pitching higher than I intended.

Tyler chuckles at my reaction. "Brody's been known to play doctor with the staff now and then."

"Wow, how very soap opera of him," I quip, though there's a bite to my words from a twinge of…what? Jealousy? Annoyance?

"And Ethan? He has a thing for feisty women." Tyler chuckles. "He thinks a good challenge is the same as foreplay."

I mutter under my breath, "Still didn't answer my question."

"I suppose I didn't," he admits but leaves it hanging, which totally irks me. Why can't he just spill it?

Then it hits me… Last night, Ethan and I were at each other's throats. Does Tyler know about that? Catching his reflection, I see that smirk.

Oh, he totally knows.

My mind races back to what he said about Brody sampling the staff. Really? A twinge of jealousy sneaks up on me. I mean, I get it. My not choosing the fling life myself doesn't mean they had to live like monks. I didn't even know they existed up until a few days ago.

"So what about you?" Tyler snaps me back to reality as he parades in with a tray full of snacks, looking like a picnic made just for me. He sets the tray down on a part of the couch that magically transforms into a table, then he takes a seat opposite me, looking thoughtful. "Ava?"

"No boyfriend," I confess, feeling my cheeks heat up. What's even more annoying is realizing that until meeting them, guys rarely gave me a second glance. "Do I radiate some sort of keep away signal?"

I snag an almond off the board and toss it into my mouth while surveying the snack bounty.

Tyler cocks his head, his eyes drilling into me. "What's racing through that mind of yours?"

I shrug. "Guys don't ask me out," I blurt out, not sure why I'm dumping this on him.

With Tyler, it's like there's this vibe of safety. His whole being just shouts that he's a vault for my secrets and insecurities. He won't flinch or judge, just listen.

This is so not me. My dad's voice echoes in my head, all his talks about trusting no one. He's adamant that secrets should be shattered into pieces and scattered so no one ever gets the full picture. Letting someone in is a gamble he's convinced could cost me, yet here I am, contemplating throwing caution to the wind because of Tyler's damn infectious openness.

"Is that such a bad thing?" he asks, bringing the conversation around.

I reach for a packet of fruit snacks, pondering his question. "Not sure. I didn't really date in high school. Dad was against it."

"One of those dads?" Tyler scoots closer, making the space between us disappear as he lies back, his gaze fixed on me. I find myself mimicking his pose.

A wave of warmth and intimacy washes over me, and I decide to just go with it, spilling bits of my life story against all my dad's warnings.

"My dad isn't a bad guy, really," I start, a gummy bear poised at my lips as I gather my thoughts. Tyler waits, a model of patience, ready for me to dive into the depths of my childhood memories. "I remember this one time in fourth grade when he was called because I punched a boy."

"What did the boy do?" Tyler's curiosity is piqued, his earlier jest replaced with genuine interest.

"How do you know he did anything?" I tease, a small smile breaking through.

"Ava, you don't seem like the type to throw punches without a good reason," he says, looking away, his cheeks tinted with a blush. "You strike me as someone who, if pushed, pushes back."

He has me all figured out, and honestly, it's a bit unnerving. "There was this boy in my class, Dom. I kind of thought he was my friend," I start, letting the memories wrap around me. "Friends weren't exactly lining up at my door."

Tyler catches on. "Friends?"

"Yeah." I push past the lump in my throat. "Dom was my buddy, right up until he decided ‘no' was just a suggestion, so I had to set the record straight with my fist."

"He had it coming," Tyler says, his anger on my behalf sending a little thrill through me. It's kind of nice knowing he has my back.

"Then the school called my dad," I continue, the image of that day crystal clear in my mind. "I was there in the office, with Dom trying to ice his ego more than his eye and his parents losing it."

"Good for you," Tyler comments, casually snagging popcorn and landing it in his mouth with a practiced flick.

"Dad just strolled in, all cool and mafia boss-like. I mean, if our town had a don, it would have been him," I say, the mafia term feeling both accurate and slightly ridiculous.

Tyler's eyebrows do this funny dance of concern. "Sounds kind of dangerous."

"Maybe, but let's shelf that for another day," I suggest, not quite ready to dive into the Dad might be a mobster pool just yet.

Or worse. Something much worse.

As he nods, turning back to the snack layout, I start mixing popcorn with chocolate candies—a combo that should be weird but just works.

"Dad faced down Dom's furious folks like he was deflecting bullets, not just words. It made me think of him as some kind of superhero, sans cape," I recall, admiration threading through my voice. "Later, I realized he was playing them like a chess master."

Tyler's back to his popcorn acrobatics, but I can tell he's listening and absorbing every word.

I grab my own popcorn bowl, adding chocolate sprinkles while trying to find comfort in the sweet and salty. "And then Dad, cool as ever, turned the tables, asking Dom straight up what he did to me. Dom cracked faster than an egg in a frying pan."

"By the fates," Tyler murmurs, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yep." I pop some chocolate-coated popcorn into my mouth. "Long story short, Dad had Dom transferred for harassment. We were ten."

"And how do you feel about that now?" he probes, genuinely curious.

I'm torn. "Part of me thinks if you don't stop that behavior early on, those kids grow up into monsters."

Tyler finishes my thought when I hesitate. "But was it too much? Nope," he says quickly. "Kids mirror their folks. You don't know what kind of environment they are coming from."

"True," I concede. "Anyway, that was Dad for you—always on guard, keeping boyfriends, and pretty much everyone else, at bay."

"That sounds incredibly lonely," Tyler remarks, his voice dripping with empathy, making me wonder about his own stories of solitude.

"It was," I admit, then, noticing a shared understanding in his eyes, I add, "You seem to get it though. What's your story?"

Tyler shares a bit about growing up in the clan, never truly alone yet feeling isolated in a crowd. "It's a weird kind of lonely—being surrounded but not really connected."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," I whisper, memories of my first college day bubbling up.

"Let's hit pause on the heavy stuff," Tyler suggests, grabbing a game controller—a clear sign he's looking for a lighter direction. "Ready for Zelda? Trust me, you're going to love it."

His excitement is infectious, pulling me out of the heavy dive into our pasts and into the prospect of adventure. I can't help but be charmed, ready to go wherever this game—and Tyler's company—takes me.