The furrow deepened for a second, indignant, and then she laughed. A real one, surprised out of her.
"Did you just poke my face?"
"You looked too serious. Someone had to intervene."
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet you're smiling."
She was. Small and reluctant, but there. She shook her head, scooping Watson into her arms as she stood.
"I'm going to bed before you do anything else."
I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. "Anything else like what?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to find out." But she was still smiling as she said it, already heading toward her room. At the door, she paused. Glanced back. "Goodnight, Brian."
"Goodnight, Ava."
She disappeared into her room, Watson's yellow eyes peering at me over her shoulder until the door clicked shut.
Tomorrow would bring her father. And Sloane Harper. And whatever else the Langs decided to throw at us.
But tonight, she was smiling.
For now, that was enough.
CHAPTER 10
Ava
I couldn't stop thinkingabout the place where his finger had touched my forehead.
Lying in the dark, blankets pulled up to my chin, my thoughts kept drifting back to that moment in the kitchen. Brian's grin. The gentle poke to my furrowed brow.You looked too serious. Someone had to intervene.
And I'd laughed. Actually laughed, despite everything.
The ceiling offered nothing. Just shadows and the faint glow of streetlight through the blinds. Watson was a warm weight against my feet, already asleep, completely unbothered by the mess his human had become.
With Brian, things felt manageable. Not because he fixed them. He didn't swoop in with solutions or try to take over. It was subtler than that.
The ceiling offered nothing. Just shadows and the faint glow of streetlight through the blinds.
Maybe you should answer.Notyou need to call your father.NotI know what's best.
Just... an option. Offered gently. Taken or left.
I wasn't used to that. My father's help had always come wrapped in expectations, in obligations, in the unspoken understanding that accepting meant ceding control. Brian's help came with nothing attached. Just him, showing up, day after day, checking under my car, varying our routes, making sure I ate something that wasn't hospital vending machine garbage.
He'd said it like it was obvious:You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to let him back in. But if he can fight the Langs in court while Sloane works the press and we gather evidence—that's three fronts instead of one.
Three fronts instead of one. He thought in strategy. In tactics. In how to win, not how to control.
The tingles were still there, a faint warmth where his finger had touched my skin. I pressed my own fingers to the spot, feeling a little foolish. It had been nothing. A joke. A way to break the tension.
So why couldn't I stop thinking about it?
Watson shifted, rearranging himself more comfortably across my ankles. I closed my eyes and tried to will myself toward sleep.
