Rachel’s expression softened instantly. “Okay. We can do that.”
Jake’s shoulders loosened a fraction like he’d been holding his breath.
Bubba nodded once, sharp, decisive. “Done.”
The door opened again. Archie stepped back in.
His eyes swept the room—took in Bubba, Rachel, me, the cats—and something in his face eased, like he’d been bracing for worse.
Then his gaze landed on me.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
I blinked at him. “Hey.”
He hesitated, then moved closer, stopping just short of the couch like he was giving me the choice to invite him in.
“You don’t have to see them tonight,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” I admitted.
His jaw tightened. “Good.”
Bubba’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t love Archie’s tone, but he didn’t interrupt.
Archie’s gaze stayed on me. “Jeremy’s keeping them out of my wing—our wing,” he continued. “They’re not coming up here. Not unless you say so.”
A knot in my chest loosened a little.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Can you eat? Even a few bites?” The softer coax in his voice asked me to try but he wouldn’t push. The last was so not Archie it told me more than anything else that he was worried.
“I can try,” I offered. In short order, everyone rearranged and Rachel settled hip to hip with me on the same coach cushion. The guys ate—there was something about the fact they tore through their food that helped to ease me—and I began to eat in small bites. Each one made my stomach growl.
Still, I wasn’t certain I could eat all of it, so I made Rachel share with me. Her nose wrinkled but when I said I wouldn’t eat if she wouldn’t, she’d just rolled her eyes and said she’d finish what I didn’t.
At about halfway through, my stomach protested another bite, so I nudged the plate to her and she finished it off. The guys had sat quietly, watching us or each other or the cats. It was the tensest, most relaxed we’d been since this whole thing began.
When Rachel finished, however, Archie rose like he’d just been waiting. Turning to me, Archie asked, “Do you want the butterfly room?”
The mention of it—of him remembering that detail—hit me again. Jeremy had chosen it for me, and I really did love the room. So, I nodded.
Rachel squeezed my hand. “I’ll go with you,” she said immediately.
Bubba straightened. “I’ll stay here,” he said, eyes cutting toward the door, like he was volunteering to be the bouncer.
Jake stood too. “Me too.”
Not arguing, Archie led the way to the door, and the cats—because they were apparently my emotional support entourage—followed like a tiny parade along with me and Rachel.
My phone buzzed again on the way down the hall. We passed Archie’s bedroom on the way to the butterfly room.
Somewhere behind me, Bubba’s low voice drifted out—controlled, dangerous—saying something I couldn’t make out.
Then Jake’s, sharp as broken glass.
At the door to the butterfly room, Archie opened it and the cats raced inside, like they were in a mad dash to claim their new space. A pair of lamps were on framing the queen-sized bed in the middle. There were a dozen items on the desk that belonged to me, including one of the framed photos I’d been missing.
