Unbroken by Maisey Yates

bite and found it did help to make her throat feel less tight.
    â€œWell,” she said, talking around her bite, “obviously he has some issues with those memories.”
    â€œAnd now he’ll hopefully remember to keep his mouth shut,” Cade said, lifting his fist and drawing his fingers over his knuckles.
    â€œSee?” she asked, this little show making her feel decidedly less warm. “Superman stance. Cade Mitchell to the rescue.”
    â€œIt’s better than just ignoring your plight.”
    â€œFair point,” she said, raising her fork and waving it in his direction. “But you don’t need to fix everything in my life.”
    He grabbed her fork and tugged it out of her hand, his smile positively naughty now. “Okay.”
    â€œYou have my fork.”
    â€œNot my problem. I don’t have to fix it.”
    â€œI’ll get another one out of the drawer. Because I am my own savior, asshole.”
    â€œGo on, save yourself.”
    She stuck her tongue out at him and went and retrieved another fork from the silverware drawer. “See? I have saved myself from abject fork poverty.”
    â€œInspiring. When they make the Lifetime movie I hope it stars someone good.”
    â€œ
A Paucity of Forks: The Amber Jameson Story
.”
    â€œYou’re so brave.”
    â€œI am,” she said, sitting back down across from him and letting the silence settle between them.
    She couldn’t let go of this. Not ever. This house. This life. This friend.
    She’d lost her grandmother already, one of the cornerstones of her existence. And she knew she didn’t have that many years left with her grandpa.
    When they were gone, this house and Cade would be all that was left. And she would do everything in her power to make sure she kept both of them.
    *   *   *
    Cade whistled as he walked up to Amber’s front door, her keys in hand. He’d popped into the diner for lunch again, just to make sure that Davis wasn’t back skulking around, and she’d sent him on a mission to bring her grandpa some pulled pork and slaw.
    He knocked twice and then unlocked the door, pushing it open and heading inside. “Ray?” he called.
    â€œIs that the Mitchell boy?” Cade heard Ray’s voice coming from the direction of the living room. Cade would always be the Mitchell boy to Ray. He’d been around since he was sixteen, and at first Ray and Ava had been understandably wary of the young guy sticking so close to their granddaughter. But at some point, they both accepted the extremely platonic and protective nature of his relationship with Amber.
    â€œYep,” he said. “It’s the Mitchell boy, and I brought food from Amber.”
    He heard the sound of Ray’s recliner as the old man put the footrest down.
    â€œNo need to get up, Ray,” Cade said. “I’m a full-service deliveryman. It’s coming up. Along with a beer, if you’re interested.”
    â€œAbso-damn-lutely” was the reply.
    â€œHang tight.” Cade went into the kitchen that was nearly as familiar as his own and got a plate and a bottle of beer. Then he popped the beer top on the counter and headed to the living room.
    Ray had the TV on mute, and he was settled in the orange recliner he spent a good portion of every day in. He’d owned that thing since Cade and Amber were in high school. Cade imagined that, like most of the things in this house, Ray didn’t see the use in parting with it unless it was completely nonfunctional.
    If it was still repairable, either with tools or duct tape, it didn’t leave the house.
    There was a knock on the front door, and Cade set the food and drink on the table beside the chair. “I’ll get that,” he said.
    He turned, walked to the entryway and jerked the door open, freezing when he saw Jim Davis standing there on the step.
    Davis frowned. “What are you doing