The neighbor who always asked about his job.
Someone’s cousin he vaguely remembered from high school.
But the room kept pulling his attention toward the dining table.
Chase stood there like he belonged in the center of the house.
Because he always did.
Button-down shirt.
Sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms.
Watch catching the warm light.
Hair pushed back like he’d run a hand through it without thinking.
He laughed at something someone said.
Pleasant.
Measured.
Practiced.
The golden boy.
The phrase slid into Tommy’s mind automatically.
He’d spent years convincing himself he didn’t care.
He cared.
He just hated that he did.
Growing up, Chase had always seemed effortless.
Now Tommy could see the seams.
The tightness in his jaw when he wasn’t smiling.
The way his shoulders never fully dropped.
The half-beat pause before he reacted , like he was selecting the correct version of himself.
Tommy’s stomach twisted.
Because if Chase was performing…
Then something else was underneath.
Tommy didn’t know what to do with that.
He felt the moment before Chase even looked up.
The shift.
Like the air itself had tension stored inside it.
