The sitting room felt warmer than the rest of the house, softer somehow. Muted light filtered in through tall windows, catching on polished wood and the curve of a couch I’d sat on a dozen times before. Familiar. Safe. Almost.
Jake crossed the room first and set my backpack down carefully by the couch, like it was fragile. LikeIwas.
I turned to thank him, already bracing myself to sit, when he spoke.
“Hey—Frankie?” His voice was rougher than it had been in the car. Not angry. Not sharp. Just… stripped down. “Can I—” He stopped, exhaled, then tried again. “Can I give you a hug?”
I froze.
Not because I didn’t want one. That was the problem. I was suddenly aware of everything—of Archie just behind me, of Jake standing in front of me, of how thin my emotional skin felt. Awareness buzzed under my skin like live wire, growing louder by the second.
Jake saw the hesitation flicker across my face.
“You look like you need one,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, softer still, “Jeremy’s right. And… I need to give you one.”
That did it.
I swallowed, nodded once. “Okay.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Jake stepped into my space and wrapped me up in a hug so big and complete it stole my breath. His arms went around me, solid and warm, lifting me just enough that my feet barely brushed the rug. I made a small sound of surprise before instinct kicked in and I grabbed onto him, my face pressed into his shoulder.
He smelled familiar. Like soap and outside air and something that was justJake.
He didn’t rush it.
He just held me.
For a long moment, I let myself be held—let the shaking in my chest settle, let the pressure ease, let myself exist without bracing for the next hit. Eventually, my arms tightened around him in return, fingers curling into the back of his shirt.
When he finally set me down, carefully, reluctantly, I hadn’t quite found my balance yet.
Archie was already there.
He looped an arm around my waist from behind and pulled me back against him, his front to my back, solid and grounding. His chin dipped near my temple, his presence a quiet wall at my spine.
“Okay,” he said calmly, that same soothing voice smoothing over all the jagged edges inside me. “Let’s sit.”
I let myself lean back into him for half a second longer before he guided me forward to the couch, his hand never leaving my waist until I was settled.
I’d barely registered the shift when Jeremy reappeared.
He moved with quiet efficiency, setting a tray down on the low table in front of us. My brain was still catching up when he reached for the teapot.
He poured a cup.
Then another.
Then—another.
I stared.
Jeremy handed the first cup to me, pressing it into my hands like it was an anchor. “Careful, Miss Frankie. It’s hot. Sugar and milk, as you like it.”
I blinked up at him. “Thank you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the look Archie and Jake shared.
