“Positive.”
“Because if you need me to stay—”
“I don’t need you to stay. I need you to live your life and stop treating me like I’m going to fall apart without you.” I softenmy tone. “I love that you want to protect me. But I’ve got this. I promise.”
Jake nods slowly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
He pushes off the doorframe. “I’ll call them tomorrow and accept. The position starts in two months, so we’ve got time to figure out logistics.”
“Two months is plenty of time.”
He heads upstairs, and I’m alone in the kitchen again with my boiling pasta and my tangled thoughts.
Two months until Jake leaves.
Two months to figure out what I’m doing with Cole and Theo.
Two months to get my life together enough that my brother can leave without worrying I’ll implode.
I finish making dinner on autopilot. Set the table. Call Tommy to wash his hands. Serve spaghetti like this on a normal evening, and I didn’t just sleep with two different men in the span of forty-eight hours.
Tommy chatters through dinner about dinosaurs, ice cream, and his friend Marcus’s new hamster. Jake talks about the Alaskaresearch, his excitement breaking through despite his attempts to stay measured.
And I sit there, eating spaghetti, wondering if I’m the kind of person who can love two people at once.
Or if I’m just broken in ways I haven’t fully figured out yet.
Later, after Tommy’s in bed and Jake’s locked himself in his office to work on his Alaska acceptance email, I stand in my bedroom doorway and look at the shelf Theo fixed.
It’s solid now. Secure. The books and picture frames were arranged exactly how I had them before.
I think about Cole on the rooftop, his arms around me, while I cried about feeling like a failure.
I think about Theo in this room, his hands gentle and sure, his voice soft when he told me I make him believe in fresh starts.
Two different men. Two different kinds of comfort. Two different ways of making me feel like I matter.
Maybe I am broken.
Or maybe I’m just capable of loving more deeply than one person at a time.
I don’t know which one scares me more.
Chapter eleven
Chapter 11
Marco
The evidence isn’t talking.
I’ve been staring at these photos for three hours, and they’re still not telling me anything I don’t already know. Someone poured accelerant in the café storage room. Someone lit it. Someone walked away while Rachel Morgan and her kid were upstairs.
That’s where the story ends.
No witnesses. No security footage. No suspects beyond the usual insurance fraud angles, which were already ruled out when we confirmed the owners would lose money on the payout.
