Page 145 of Only Be Mine

I nodded anyway, because I didn’t know how to do anything else.

On the way out, I paused at the counter where my phone lay.

For a split second, I considered picking it up and calling Seth anyway. Letting his voice break through Trevor’s calm.

Trevor’s hand settled at the small of my back, like a reminder.

I took my phone, because I needed it now, and followed him out.

The front door locked behind us with that same definitive click.

Chapter 53

Cate

Present

The house felt different when we got back.

Not wrong. Just… curated.

The lights were on even though it was still daylight, the blinds half-drawn the way Trevor preferred. The air smelled like coffee and furniture polish, familiar and grounding in a way that made my chest loosen despite itself.

Trevor set his keys down and immediately slipped into motion, moving through the space like it was already aligned to him.

“Shoes off,” he said gently, noticing the way I lingered by the door. “You look like you might tip over.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

He smiled like he didn’t need to argue. “I know.”

He took my purse and set it on the counter, then guided me toward the couch with a hand at my elbow. Not pulling. Just steering.

I sat.

The quiet settled in around us. Not the thick, oppressive silence of the townhouse, but something softer. Contained.

“I ordered lunch,” he said. “It should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t realized I was hungry. Or that I’d stopped paying attention to time altogether.

“You didn’t eat much yesterday,” he added. “Or this morning.”

I tried to remember if that was true. It probably was.

He sat across from me, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, studying me the way someone studies weather patterns - alert for shifts, prepared for storms.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

I searched for the answer that felt the safest. “Tired.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “Anyone would be.”

He didn’t ask about John. He didn’t bring up the detective. He didn’t mention Seth.

I curled my fingers into the fabric of my shirt, grounding myself. “Two o’clock feels… soon.”

“It is soon,” he agreed easily. “But it’s also contained. Finite. We go in, answer what needs answering, and then it’s done.”