62

Kane is by the stove, cooking something that smells divine. Preston sits on the kitchen stool opposite him as Jude stands beside him and holds an ice pack to his cheek. “This gentle?” Jude asks as he presses harder. “Ow, give it to me. I’ll do it myself.” Preston snatches the ice pack. Jude rummages through Kane’s cabinets as if he’s in his own place, produces a few pills, and then throws them at Preston’s head. “Take those.” Preston groans. “You’re using this to fucking torture me.” Jude lifts a shoulder. “Shouldn’t have gotten into a fight when I wasn’t there.” “Fuck off. I can handle my fights.” “Since when do you even fight?” Kane glances at him sideways. “Since someone needed to be put in their fucking place.” Preston grins in that manic way. “Sure it wasn’t the other way around?” “You should see his face.” Preston laughs. “I turned it into an impressionist art painting.” “I don’t know about that.” Jude hits him on the back of his head. “Fucking bitch!” Preston kicks him, but Jude