Charles looked the worse for wear. He was like a faded version of Sawyer. Instead of Sawyer’s thick, dark-brown hair, Charles’s was a lighter brown shot through with silver. Instead of deep lake blue, his eyes were milky baby blue. But it went beyond that. Eve had only ever witnessed one of his physical rages back in the day, but it had been enough to strike the fear of God into her. Now, though, Charles seemed diminished. Defanged. Almost…sad?

“I got Clara a birthday present,” he said.

Sawyer didn’t say anything. He just stood there, waves of unease radiating off him. Clara had said that she and Sawyer hadn’t lived with their father for almost ten years. It was abundantly clear, though, that Charles had not lost his power over his son.

“I was hoping to give it to her next month.” He took a step closer to them, and Sawyer tensed even more. It was like he was braced for battle but confused at the same time. She was seized with the desire to move in front of him, to protect him, but that was absurd. That would be ineffective—and there was the part where she was mad at him.

She looked at the older folks for a cue. Pearl was making small, jerky pointing motions at Karl, like she wanted him to do something, but Karl seemed as frozen as Sawyer.

Well, damn. She was mad at Sawyer, but she didn’t want him to suffer.

Well, she did kind of want him to suffer, but not like this.

So she took that step out from behind Sawyer—or tried to. He stuck out an arm to block her. She hooked her bags over his wrist. “Are you taking my stuff inside, or aren’t you?” He glanced at her, the spell broken. “I need help with Flounder, too.”

Sawyer set Evie’s plant on the floor of the kitchen and her groceries on a counter. He hated this feeling. It was like he was a teenager again, cowering before his father. Even more than that, he hated that she’d seen it.

But he wasn’t a teenager anymore. And one of the things that differentiated boys from men was that men took responsibility for things. Men had manners. So he turned and said, “Thank you.”

She looked up from unpacking her groceries. “For what?” Her eyes were the same explosion of color he remembered. He supposed they were technically hazel, but that didn’t seem like a strong enough word. They were made up of little shards of every color eyes could be.

But they were expressionless, which unsettled the hell out of him. He cleared his throat. “For rescuing me out there.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “It was too hot out there. Flounder needed to come inside.” She leaned over and fluffed the leaves of the potted tree.