Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 105

Sometimes I don't know how he ever poached a girl who can meet him head-on and cook. I used to think it wasn't fair.

Now, with Salem in the mix, I'm not begrudging my own luck. Archer leans over and flicks me between the eyes.

I swing at him and barely miss. "What the hell was that for?"

"Stop thinking about her. You get the wolfiest look on your face," Archer says, rolling his eyes. He's the only one of us left still fanatically single.

For the first time, Dexter doesn't join in beyond chortling.

Probably because he's also guilty of having stupid looks on his face whenever he thinks about Junie.

I take an angry bite of my cupcake—strawberry and chocolate today— grateful for the burst of flavor to drown out their bullshit.

It's almost obscenely sweet, and that's how I like it.

"I should check on Mom," I growl, taking Junie's exit as an escape opportunity.

My brothers shrug and go back to talking about new real estate prospects around town as I head inside.

All shit flinging aside, I think I got lucky.

When I showed up with Salem and Arlo in tow, Mom could've made this hard.

In fact, I expected her to say something—or at least have me introduce Salem as my girlfriend—but Mom just pulled her into a big, silent hug and that was that.

Maybe it was the dress.

It's nice enough for the occasion, but it still accents my woman so well I can't wait to rip it right off her. Especially after that ridiculous call with her so-called friend, but we were pressed for time and Arlo was already bouncing off the walls.

I hear voices and head through to the sunroom at the end of the house.

Outside, it's still so cool this place feels drafty, but Mom doesn't believe in practicality. She worships atmosphere.

For a second, I linger in the doorway, just watching them.

My family.

Even the thought makes my throat tighten.

There's little Arlo, playing with an old set of army men and military vehicles I used to own when I was a kid. He rams a plastic tank through a group of blue soldiers and dammit, I can't help but smile.

"I can't see them when they're back there! How're they gonna shoot bad guys?" he asks. Infallible logic.

"They'll attack when the enemy gets closer. Tanks need better range and a good line of sight to hurt the enemy. Trust me. Did you know I was named after a famous general?" I ask as Arlo makes explosion noises, standing over the blue soldiers lined up against us.

I think I lose a tank and fire back.

The boy knocks over a mess of soldiers, clapping his hands in delight.

"Have you learned about World War II yet, Arlo?" And what do I know about age-appropriate history?

"World War II? Yeah, the movies."

"You know how big it was and how many men fought, then," I tell him. I smile and crouch down next to him. "Lots of folks had relatives in the war. Even you—probably."

I add the last word as an afterthought, despite knowing he's too young to guess any hidden meanings.

Hell, it's right at the tip of my tongue, aching to tell him the truth about his family. About his father. About me.

But he purses his lips and stops making battle noises as he looks at me.