Because she chose us too.
And that's enough.
28
JESSICA
The doorbell rings at seven on a Friday, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I'm curled up on the Negrorio couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells like cedar and sage, watching the fire crackle in the stone hearth. The living room is warm and golden, lit by table lamps with amber shades that cast everything in soft shadows. Bookshelves line the walls, stuffed with paperbacks and photo albums and the kind of accumulated clutter that comes from a family living in the same house for generations.
My arm still aches where Callum grabbed me three days ago. The bruise has faded from purple to yellow-green, an ugly splotch that Pedro checks twice daily and Carlos glares at like he can heal it through sheer force of rage.
The confrontation at the grocery store feels like a fever dream. Did I really knee my ex-fiancé in the balls? Did I really tell him exactly what kind of manipulative asshole he is? Did the Negrorio brothers really choose me over years of friendship?
Yes. To all of it.
And I'm still trying to figure out how to feel about that.
The doorbell rings again, followed by aggressive knocking.
"I'll get it." Nacho unfolds himself from the armchair by the window, where he's been pretending to read a case file while watching me for the past hour. He's still in his uniform from work, dark fabric stretched across shoulders that could block out the sun. His boots thud against the hardwood as he crosses to the front door.
I hear the lock click. The door creak open.
Then a shriek that could shatter glass.
"Jessica!"
I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved.
Stacey bursts through the front door like a glitter bomb in human form. She's wearing a hot pink tracksuit, gold hoop earrings the size of my fist, and platform sneakers that add four inches to her already considerable height. Her braids are piled on top of her head in a gravity-defying bun, and her nails are painted electric blue with tiny rhinestones.
She spots me across the living room and charges.
"You absolute disaster of a human being." Stacey crashes into me with the force of a small hurricane, wrapping me in arms that smell like coconut oil and expensive perfume. "I had to hear from Melissa that you're shacking up with four alphas in the middle of nowhere and I am personally offended."
"Of course Melissa." I pull back slightly, something bitter twisting in my chest. "She was sleeping with Callum."
"She still is." Stacey's expression hardens. "I have never liked Melissa."
"I texted you."
"A text is not a phone call, Jessica." She pulls back to grip my shoulders, dark eyes scanning my face like she's cataloging every change. "Let me look at you. Are you okay? Are you eating? Why do you smell like a pine forest had a baby with a bakery?"
"That's a lot of questions."
"I have more." Her gaze drops to my arm, to the fading bruise peeking out from under my sleeve. "What the hell is that?"
"Long story."
"I have time." Her voice goes sharp. "I have all the time in the world. Who touched you? Give me a name. I will end them."
"Already handled." Nacho closes the front door and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest. "The situation has been dealt with."
I watch Stacey’s eyes travel from his boots to his badge to his face, and her eyebrows climb toward her hairline.
"Sheriff Hottie. I'm assuming you're one of the four."
