The intimacy of it—the possessiveness—makes my chest tight.
“Ryan lied,” she says again, looking between the three of us. “To Charles, to Aria, probably to anyone who would listen. We didn’t have history. He wasn’t helping me in California. He’s not the father of my children. And if you’d just asked me instead of spiraling, I would have told you that.”
“You’re right,” I say, getting to my feet. Every muscle aches, and I know I’m going to have bruises tomorrow. “You’re absolutely right.”
“I’m still going to the gala with Ryan,” she continues, “because I already agreed, and because backing out now would cause more problems than it solves. But you need to understand—there’s nothing between us. There never was. And if you can’t trust me on that, then we have bigger problems than Ryan Matthews’s lies.”
Before any of us can respond, the gym door opens again.
“Alright boys, let’s see what you’ve got!” Charles’s voice booms through the space, cheerful and energetic.
And then I hear them—the thunder of small feet, the excited chatter of children.
“Uncle Silas! Uncle Silas, we’re here!” Jimmy’s voice.
“Mom! Charles said we could train with him and Uncle Silas!” Noah, breathless with excitement.
“Can we hit the bag? Please please please?” Liam, his voice identical to his brother’s.
Parker’s entire demeanor shifts—the warrior vanishing, the mother appearing in her place. Her shoulders soften, her expression opens, and when the boys come running into the gym she’s already moving to meet them.
Charles follows behind with Jimmy, taking in the scene with sharp eyes—me and Cal on the mat, sweating and breathing hard, Silas standing nearby, Parker in workout gear looking like she just went several rounds.
His eyebrows rise. Then he starts to slow clap, a grin spreading across his face.
“Well, well. Looks like my sister’s still got it.”
The boys are cheering, jumping up and down. “Did you beat them, Mom? Did you win?”
Parker drops to her knees, pulling Noah and Liam into her arms.
“What did I tell you about fighting?” she asks, pressing kisses to both their heads.
“It’s only okay if someone’s being mean or if you’re protecting someone,” Liam recites dutifully.
“And you gotta use your words first,” Noah adds.
“That’s right.” Parker hugs them tighter, and over their heads I can see the deliberate contrast she’s making. These are her boys. Her priority. Her reason for everything.
And we almost fucked it up by not trusting her.
“Were Uncle Cal and Uncle Jace being mean?” Jimmy asks, looking between us with the kind of gleeful suspicion only children can manage.
“We were just sparring,” Parker says smoothly, releasing the boys and standing. “Practicing. Like you’re about to do with Uncle Charles and Uncle Silas.”
“Can we hit Uncle Silas?” Liam asks hopefully.
Silas snorts. “You can try, little man.”
Charles is still watching us with that knowing grin, clearly enjoying whatever dynamic he’s walked into even if he doesn’t understand it. “Come on, boys. Let’s get you warmed up while these three recover from whatever beating Parker just gave them.”
Parker helps the boys with their hand wraps—a practiced motion that speaks to how many times she’s done this. When they’re ready and running toward Silas with Jimmy, she straightens.
And looks over her shoulder at us.
The message in her eyes is clear:We’re not done. This conversation isn’t over. You have a lot to prove.
Then she walks out of the gym, her bare feet silent on the floor, her ponytail swaying with each step. Three sample tubes tucked against her heart.
