"This is calm," I said, trying not to watch the flex of his forearms as he steadied her. "Last time Pickle brought his entire true-crime podcast club."
"How many people?"
"Twelve. They spent four hours debating whether the Zodiac Killer could've been two different people. Evan threatened to murder all of them, which was ironic given the context."
Rhett laughed, and Mika bounced on his shoulders hard enough to make him grab the railing. The movement pulled his shirt tight across his back, and I forced myself to look away.
We reached the third floor, where Jake had propped the door open with a hockey stick. Music was already blasting from inside. Through the doorway, I saw Evan in the kitchen, surrounded by approximately fourteen grocery bags.
The apartment sported mismatched furniture, sports memorabilia covering every wall, and a kitchen table that seatedfour but currently had ten kids trying to claim spots. Rhett set Mika down, and she immediately joined the swarm. He stood in the doorway for a second, taking it in.
"Second thoughts?" I asked quietly.
"Nope." He pulled off his boots, lining them up neatly next to the mound of winter gear.
Pickle crashed through the door behind us with more grocery bags. Dinner was chaos.
Evan had made enough food to feed a small army—two casseroles, cookies, and what looked like an entire bakery's worth of garlic bread. The aroma of garlic, cheese, and tomato sauce filled the air. The kids descended on the food like locusts.
I ended up on the couch with a plate balanced on my knees, watching Rhett move around the apartment. He helped Mika cut her garlic bread, handed out paper towels when a kid spilled juice, and explained hockey strategy to Tyler using a napkin and a borrowed pen.
He was everywhere.
Jake dropped onto the couch beside me. "Your boy's fitting in pretty well."
"He's not my—" I stopped. "Okay. Maybe he is."
"Absolutely." Jake took a massive bite of casserole. "He's good. Handles the noise and handles the kids. That's rare."
"He fits," I said quietly.
"Yeah, he does." Jake bumped my shoulder. "Both sides. How's that feel?"
Both terrifying and hopeful. But also—wrong. Somehow wrong.
He fit too well. He handled the enforcer side and the gentle side without breaking a sweat, without asking me to explain or justify or choose. That meant when he figured out it was too much work, too complicated, and too exhausting to navigate, he'd leave.
Rhett's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned slightly, then pocketed it without responding. My stomach dropped. Maybe he had somewhere better to be. Perhaps this was all just—
"Hog?" Jake's voice pulled me back. "You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you spiral." He stole garlic bread from my plate. "What's the story?"
"No story."
"Bullshit."
I looked at Rhett again. He was laughing at something Tyler said, completely relaxed.
"He's a contractor," I said finally. "Deals with difficult clients all the time. Knows how to smile and make it work. Doesn't mean he wants to keep doing it."
Jake stared at me. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
"What?"
"The guy brought eight kids to watch you bleed, then followed you here for dinner. Stop inventing problems."
