“Yes, please,” I say, too brightly. So that’s what I do: sit down, drink coffee, and play normal while I figure out whether my boyfriend is married to a monster.
Chapter 24
CRAIG
Craig stares at his phone. He doesn’t go home after the call from Tom.
He tells himself he should, that he’s done enough for one night, but he stays right where he is.
The call plays back in his mind: Tom whispering like a fugitive, the fear in his voice, the mention of Chris Christianson. The name means nothing to Craig, but the way Tom said it—the weight behind it—sets his teeth on edge.
He played it down on the phone. He had to.
But this situation is bad. Too many unknowns. Too many moving parts. And Tom, as always, is running headfirst into trouble with his heart leading the way.
Yes, a bad situation, a messy one.
Messy for Tom.
And for Craig.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He explains it away that it’s the detective in him, so impulsively doing his job.
But this isn’t the same.
He’s back here. Again.
In the garden, tucked behind a bush.
Looking through the window
From here, he has a clear view into the kitchen. Pete is at the counter with his hands wrapped around a mug. James is packing something into his bag. Even from this distance, Craig can see it — the way Pete stiffens, how he lowers his head slightly, voice too quiet to catch.
Craig stays watching longer than he means to, breath misting faintly in front of him. His pulse slows into a strange, heavy rhythm.
Who are you?
Craig needs to know.
He pulls back as Tom enters the kitchen. There are some shared glances, before James turns and leaves the house.
It’s only then the room softens. Pete offers Tom a cup of coffee. There’re smiles, a hug, a gentle kiss. They look… domestic. Comfortable. Like they belong together.
Craig leans closer.
He tells himself it’s for Tom’s safety, that he’s gathering intel for himself, that this is all completely acceptable.
But the truth prickles under his skin.
What he’s really investigating for.
His phone buzzes once in his pocket. He doesn’t answer.
Minutes stretch. He doesn’t leave when Tom does. Doesn’t leave when the lights in the kitchen go out. He circles the house slowly instead, checking each window, each room he can glimpse into.
Finally, when the house is empty and silent, Craig backs away, heart hammering.
It should feel wrong.
