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“What if it isn’t enough?”

His face shuttered, but the hurt that flickered there undid me. Because we both knew I wasn’t talking about my family anymore. I was talking about us. For a long moment he simply sat there as I watched a myriad of emotions cross his features.

Slowly, he looked down at the prescription bottle in his hand. His shoulders folded inward. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost gentle.

“I know.”

The words stole the air from my lungs. No argument. No persuasion. No promises. Just quiet acknowledgment. And somehow that hurt more than if he’d fought me. Because for once since he’d shown up with that stupid duffel bag, Lane stopped trying to convince me.

He sat there, turning the prescription bottle over in his hands. Neither of us knew what to do with the vulnerability we’d shared. But he never picked up his duffel. Later, long after Grandpa had fallen asleep, the couch creaked beneath Lane’s weight as he made himself comfortable for the night anyway. He stayed. And for the first time, the certainty I’d clung to for fifteen years no longer felt quite so certain.

Forty-One

Cali

The next morning, a manila envelope sat on the kitchen counter beside the coffee pot. Plain, no return address, simply my name written across the front in Lane’s careful block letters.

For a second, I didn’t touch it. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and Grandpa shuffling around as he played with his toy tractors outside. Jace had already left for school, and I wasn’t scheduled to work today. Lane had already been up for hours. I could tell from the faint sounds of tools outside and the occasional creak of the porch boards beneath his weight.

My phone vibrated on the counter. I glanced at it automatically, expecting Jace or a reminder notification, but the preview on the screen made my stomach drop.

Unknown Number: You think you can just ignore me? You still owe me.

Cold crawled through my fingers. Brett had found another way to reach me.

“Don’t open the envelope yet.” Lane’s voice came from behind me.

I turned. He stood in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, baseball cap flipped around backward. His eyes were already on my phone. Not my face. My phone.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

I hesitated for half a second too long.

His gaze sharpened immediately. “Who is that?”

“It’s nothing.” I picked it up without thinking. The phone vibrated again in my hand like it had a pulse.

Unknown Number: Answer me. We need to talk. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.

Lane saw the screen light up. His jaw flexed once.

“That’s not ‘nothing,’ Cali. Your face is pale.”

I set the mug down harder than I meant to.

“It’s handled.”

His eyes lifted to mine. “Is it?” He stepped forward, only inches away. His gaze dropped to the screen, and whatever softness had been there vanished.

“Why is someone threatening you?” His voice dropped lower.

I swallowed. The envelope might as well have vanished. My fingers tightened around my phone.

“He’s . . . someone I used to know.”

Lane’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did.

Recognition without answers. That was worse. The phone vibrated again. I turned it face down too fast. Too late. Lane had already seen enough. A beat passed. He exhaled slowly through his nose.