He’s calling my bluff without saying it.
Getting up, I grab my ice pack out of the freezer, hobble back over to the couch, and set it over my knee like a teenager caught not doing his homework.
Pops looks satisfied.
Then he settles back in his chair and studies me with those steady eyes that have seen too much of my life—my wins, my injuries, my tantrums, the quiet stuff I never said out loud.
“You and Sloane fighting again?” he asks, casual on purpose.
My stomach drops.
I keep my face neutral. “We’re always fighting.”
Pops hums. “True.”
I shift my leg slightly, pain sparking. “She’s…on edge.”
Pops’s expression softens a fraction. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches.
Not awkward—Pops doesn’t do awkward. Just…heavy.
The house keeps humming around us, like it doesn’t know the rules have changed.
Pops clears his throat. “She spent some time with Jade and Blakely today.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Seemed like it helped.”
Pops nods slowly, then taps his fingers on the table once. “Good.”
Another pause.
Then, quietly, “She doesn’t like leaving me.”
I blink. “What?”
Pops’s mouth twitches, fond and tired. “She’ll do it because she’s stubborn, and she thinks she can outwork the universe. But she doesn’t like leaving me. Like if she steps out for one second, something bad will happen.”
My throat tightens.
“That’s…” I start, then stop, because sayinginsanefeels wrong when I get it. When I’ve been thinking the same thing every time Pops coughs.
I swallow. “She won’t let anyone help.”
Pops gives a quiet laugh. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m telling you, not her.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Pops?—”
He holds up a hand. “Not a lecture. Just…a request.”
I stare at the ice pack like it has answers.
The request isn’t new, but it seems impossible in a way it didn’t before.
Because helping Sloane means being close, and being close means the kiss, and the kiss means Cameron, and Cameron means losing my place in this family if I step wrong.
I force myself to breathe. “I’m here,” I say finally. “I’m not going anywhere.”
