Tom
Tom hadto knock three times before Jake wrenched open his front door, rebuttoning his shirt.
Tom shifted the quilt in his arms, uncomfortable. “Sorry. Should’ve called.”
Mia appeared over Jake’s shoulder. Her face was flushed, her usually sleek hair mussed. “Hi,” she said. “Come in. Is Lauren?—?”
Tom could still feel Lauren’s hands shoving against his chest, hear the slam of the door echoing in his ears. He’d let her—what else was he supposed to do? Push back with his size? No. He’d stood on the porch for a long time, waiting for her to open the door again. To let him back in.
She hadn’t.
He’d stood out there long enough for the cold to seep through his coat. Long enough to realize she wasn’t bluffing.
He tightened his grip on the quilt. The thing felt awkward in his arms.
“Lauren’s kicked me out,” he said finally. He grimaced, trying for a wry smile. “Merry Christmas to me, huh? I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”
Jake and Mia exchanged a look, that silent couple-telepathy he still wasn’t used to seeing in his kid brother.
Tom looked away, down at the quilt. The stitching was uneven, amateurish.
It was just another craft project. Lauren made stuff all the time. She liked busywork. This was no different.
One of the squares caught his eye—two coffee cups with steam rising in careful embroidery. Their first date.
“Of course,” Jake said at last. “Couch is yours.”
Tom nodded, stepping inside. He felt his shoulders sag with exhaustion. Everything about the night—the slammed door, his wife in tears—felt like too much drama for something as small as a Christmas misunderstanding.
Her crying had made his skin prickle, a helpless, wrong kind of tension crawling through him.
Lauren’s scent clung to the fabric in his arms, and for a moment he wanted to bury his face in it.
Mia touched Jake’s arm. “You deal with him. I’ll get some sheets,” she said, disappearing down the hallway.
Jake watched her go for a long moment and then turned back to Tom. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Beer?”
Tom nodded, following his brother. He needed a drink. Maybe two.
He’d tried to be patient, to give her space to do her little projects, and this was what he got for it.
They’d beenfinebefore tonight. They’d be fine again tomorrow. Lauren just needed to calm down. She’d realize she’d overreacted and things would go back to normal.
He set the quilt down on the back of the couch as he passed. It looked out of place among his brother’s high-end furnishings. For a second, the sight of it made something twist in his chest—guilt, maybe, or just irritation.
He turned away before he could decide which.
Jake grabbedtwo beers from the fridge and slid one across the kitchen island to Tom. The bottle was cold against Tom’s palm. He took a long pull before Jake could start asking questions.
“So.” Jake leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “What happened?”
Tom set the bottle down harder than he meant to. “She went insane.”
Jake’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.
“Everything was fine—” Tom gestured with the beer, sloshing a bit. “And then suddenly she’s shouting and packing my stuff.”
Jake took a sip of beer and didn’t reply.
