His eyes don’t leave mine. “Maybe I brood because you notice too much.”
Kate laughs, completely mishearing the warning buried in the words. “Oh please, you love when I notice things. Admit it.”
Dean admits nothing. Not to her. Not to me. But his stare is a confession all on its own, heavy and unrelenting, making my chest tighten until I can barely breathe.
Kate suddenly claps her hands together, nearly knocking over her juice. “Oh! I almost forgot—I need to check if my flight’s on time. Where did I put my phone?”
She’s up from the table in an instant, her chair scraping across the tile as she disappears into the living room.
The silence she leaves behind is suffocating.
Dean leans back in his chair, slow, deliberately, his hand curling around his coffee cup as if he could crush it with the smallest flex. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Brooklyn.”
My pulse spikes. I swallow hard, my nails digging into my thighs under the table. “You started it.”
The low sound in his chest could almost be a laugh. Almost.
Kate’s voice calls from the other room: “Found it!”
I flinch, my throat tightening, because when she comes back, we’ll have to pretend again. Pretend as if nothing happened last night. Pretend this morning isn’t one long unravelling.
Dean doesn’t move. He just watches me. Watches me break beneath the weight of everything unsaid.
Kate breezes back in, phone in hand, oblivious to the storm clawing through the room. “Okay, the flight’s on time. I guess this is it.”
She’s smiling, but I can’t. Not with his stare burning into me, not with the silence screaming louder than her words.
Kate piles toast onto her plate like she’s stocking up for a week, humming some pop song under her breath, her bracelets clinking when she gestures.
“You’re both staring at me like I’m never coming back,” she teases, ripping her toast in half. “It’s three weeks, not three years. Chill.”
Dean’s jaw ticks. He sets his mug down a little too hard, coffee rippling to the rim. “Three weeks is plenty of time for things to change.”
Kate frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said, his voice clipped and final. He picks up his fork, but he doesn’t eat.
I grip my glass too tightly, condensation slick on my palm. The words hang between them like smoke, bitter and dangerous, and I don’t know which of us he’s warning.
Kate shakes it off, too used to his moods. “Well, don’t go rearranging my room or anything. I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
Her phone buzzes. She checks the screen, then pushes back her chair. “Car’s here.”
Just like that, the moment slams into me. Too fast, too soon.
Dean rises, every movement controlled. He towers when he steps around the table, sliding Kate’s bag off the counter like it weighs nothing. “I’ll walk you out.”
I trail after them, my chest aching with words I can’t say. The front door yawns open, sunlight spilling in too bright for how heavy everything feels.
Kate throws her arms around me first. “Don’t let him work you to death, okay?” she whispers into my ear, warm and oblivious. “And don’t let him get too grumpy without me.”
I force a smile, hugging her back. “I’ll try.”
She pulls away, eyes sparkling. “Promise me you’ll text. Daily updates.”
“I promise.” My throat burns.
She turns to Dean last, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Bye, Daddy. Try not to scare Brooklyn too much.”
