“Texted?” She glares at me.
I nod.
She sighs. “Sloane …”
“I know, okay? I know I’m being a coward. But I just ... I need a minute. That Thanksgiving disaster really fucked me up.”
“I know it did.” She sits beside me, stealing a handful of my cereal. “But hiding from everyone isn’t the answer.”
“I’m not hiding from everyone. I’m hiding from my parents. There’s a difference.”
“And Jax?”
“I’m not hiding from Jax. I’m just keeping things light until I figure my shit out.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Terribly.” I shove more cereal in my mouth. “He keeps sending me chicken updates and being perfect, and I keep responding with emojis like an emotionally stunted teenager.”
My phone buzzes. Not Mom this time.
JAX: Crisis. The rooster has been dethroned. There’s been a coup.
Despite everything, I smile.
SLOANE: Democracy in action.
JAX: More like anarchy. The chickens have elected a new leader. She’s power-hungry and ruthless.
SLOANE: Sounds like she’ll do great things.
JAX: She’s already implementing new policies. Longer mealtimes. Mandatory naps. No early wake-up calls.
SLOANE: I like her already.
JAX: How are you doing? Really?
There it is. The question I keep dodging.
SLOANE: I’m okay. Still processing Thanksgiving.
JAX: That’s understandable. Take all the time you need. But Sloane?
SLOANE: Yeah?
JAX: I’m here. No pressure. Just here.
My chest aches, he’s so fricken perfect.
SLOANE: Thank you.
I set my phone down, and Riley is watching me with that look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just watching you fall more in love with him every time you text.”
“I’m not …”
