A grin spreads across my lips before I sip my coffee. I peer at her over the rim of the cup. When I’ve swallowed, I say, “Worst-case scenario?”
Layne puts the box in Rebel’s backpack and shrugs. “Everyone knows Pax hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say, getting up from my chair. Facing her, I encircle her waist and pull her into my embrace. “He’s being protective over me. That’s different.”
“Ew, no kissing! I cannot handle that,” Rebel calls out from the living room, her voice full of dramatic disgust. She strolls in with her long braid slung over one shoulder and sticks her tongue out at me like a kid catching her parents making out.
Norah giggles from the table, and I can’t help but join her before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Layne’s lips.
“EWWWWW,” the little monster exclaims. “You guys are so gross.”
“I’ll remind you when you’re sixteen,” I mutter, then turn my attention back to Layne. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask Colt to go with you. And if he can’t, Pax will be my last resort.” I wink and grab my phone from the kitchen island.
A reply comes quickly.
Colt: Cool. Be right there.
“Colt’s coming,” I tell Layne. ”He’s on his way.”
Rebel puts her bowl on the counter. “Are we leaving?” she asks as she puts on her shoes.
By the time the three of us come downstairs, Colt’s already waiting. Beside him, Brooks’s hopping on the balls of his feet, cigarette dangling from his lips. I kiss Layne on the forehead and nod to Colt, then turn my attention to the kid next to him.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, crouching down so I’m eye level with Brandon. “Be careful at school today, okay? And if anything—anything—feels off, you call us. Right away.”
He barely blinks. “Norah already told me that,” he replies flatly, stepping back like he’s pulling away from more than just my words.
“We mean it.” I rub a hand over my beard, frowning. “This is serious.”
He rolls his eyes like it’s all one big overreaction. “I know,” he mutters, already turning away from me. Before I can say anything else, he moves straight to Rebel and slips his hand into hers. “Come on. Let’s go,” he says, his voice quieter now, but more certain.
I catch the way Rebel squeezes his hand gently, grounding him. And I’m relieved they’ve formed this bond—really—but there’s a weight to it too. A kind of intensity I can’t ignore, not at their age. I sigh, the heaviness of it all pressing into my chest, and shift my gaze to Brooks.
“Hey, man. You good?” I walk over and stop beside him, glancing at the gate. The driver’s due in thirty minutes, give or take, but Brooks looks like he’s been standing here for hours—tense, bracing.
“Fine,” he grits out without looking at me, jaw tight.
Everyone else has drifted off, leaving just the two of us. The silence between us is thick, familiar.
“Remember that night she walked up to us in that shitty bar?” I ask, a slow grin tugging at my lips.
His eyes flick to mine, uncertain but drawn in. “Jen?” he says. “You mean the night you were a total Debbie Downer?”
I scoff and shove his face with the heel of my hand. “Debbie Downer my ass. If I hadn’t been in that godawful mood, we wouldn’t have gone to that club, and you never would’ve met her.”
He laughs, the sound strained but real, and gives me a shove back. “So what, now you’re claiming you orchestrated our love story?”
I shrug and lift my chin. “Damn right, I did.”
Brooks shakes his head, a real smile tugging at his mouth now. “Man, with the way you were sulking that night, it’s a miracle she came near us. Good thingIwas charming enough to balance you out.”
His gaze drifts, soft and faraway. “The dress she was wearing that night…” He groans, biting his knuckles like the memory still burns. “Those legs… fuck.”
Then something shifts. Just like that, the light in his face dies. The laughter fades, swallowed by something darker. Grief. Regret.
“It would’ve been better if she’d stayed away,” he says quietly, like he’s confessing something he hates himself for even thinking.
“No.” I shake my head, hard, voice low but firm. “That’s not true, Brooks. Don’t do that.”
