Anna leans against Bell, soft as a marshmallow. “Un J!” She waves a toy in one hand, beaming at James with the kind of adoration reserved for someone who hung the stars.
“Bell makes a good pillow, huh?” he says with a deep chuckle that fills the room.
Without meaning to, I smile. Anna speaks ten words, and today she added his name. The bond between them, so easy and natural, tugs hard at the truth I’ve been fighting for too long. I want more of these days. More laughter around a table we call our own. The fears I’ve clung to—of what this might mean for me and Anna—are beginning to quiet. Telling me it’s not leaving that should worry me. It’s staying.
A firm grip tightens on my thigh. Mason’s fingers dig into my skin. A warning I should probably heed. My head pounds. I’m so fucking tired of this show. I push his hand off and keep my breath even.
“James, you up for Fortnite later?” Beck asks.
“Yeah. Once I’m back from my run, I’ll find you guys.”
He plays video games with them? It hits harder than it should. There’s no ego. No hesitation. It’s not a performance or something he’s doing to impress me. It’s just him. Warm, caring, involved.
And somehow, that feels more intimate than anything else that’s happened today.
“Jules, that book series you ordered for me arrived. I read the first few pages. It might be best left for reading after dark.” Ivy smirks, leaning into James to whisper something only he can hear. His eyes dart to mine, and his cheeks flush. I choke back the bile rising in my throat.
“Honestly, it's a great story. About way more than just the...sex.” Leo and Beck snicker and Jules waves a hand to hush them. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, and says, “A large part of it is about people notcommunicating with each other and opening up about what they truly want. Who wants who. Who loves who.”
Her eyes sweep across the table. Challenge on full display.
“Anna, time for bed. Say goodnight,” I say, needing out now. From this table. From them all.
“I’ll come with you,” Mason says, collecting Anna into his arms.
Oh, hell.
He never does bedtime. If he shows up at all, it’s a quick kiss on her forehead before disappearing into his home office. And I have no idea what to make that tonight of all nights, he shows up.
My eyes meet James as I leave the table. If he senses my apprehension, he doesn’t show it, but I feel his gaze tracking me up the stairs. I keep my hands steady and focus on the routine. Anna and I have mastered it: bath, milk, diaper, PJs.
Mason strokes Anna’s back, his voice soft as he sings her a lullaby. He tickles her tummy, pulling a delighted giggle that echoes. It’s a scene of domestic bliss that doesn’t match our reality. A year ago, I would’ve given anything for this—for his presence, his effort. But now, clumsy and calculated, I want no part of it.
“Sweet dreams, Bug.” I kiss her forehead before slipping into the shower.
The glass door hisses open, cold air rushing in.
Mason steps in as if it’s normal. Maybe once it wouldn’t have turned my stomach, but now I turn my face into the stream, letting it hide the stiff set of my shoulders and the dread tightening in my chest.
“How was your day today?” he asks, tone hard to read.
“Good. Like I said. I took Anna to the bookstore.”
He leans closer, mouth brushing my ear. “Did James go with you?”
“Yeah. But you already know that.” I turn to face him. If he wants this fight, let’s have it. “Don’t pretend you care, Mason. You’ve made it clear Anna and I are not your priorities.”
“You don’t think I care. Oh, I care.” His hands tighten around my hips, pulling me flush against his body. “Do you think I don’t see it? The way he looks at you.”
Pushing out of his grip, I leave the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I see no trace of desire in his eyes. All I see is pride, a wounded ego. The jealous rage of a man who feels his claim is threatened. He isn’t looking at me as a lover—he’s looking at me as a possession.
“If you don’t like what’s happening, look in the mirror. I’ve tried for years to make this work, and all you’ve given me are snide remarks and groping hands. Sex won’t fix this.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I dress quickly, heart hammering, and slip downstairs, needing air. Space. Anything.
Fuzzy boots. Blanket. Back deck.
It’s quiet, a kind of eerie stillness where sounds carry. I see movement through the windows. He’s following me. Mason doesn’t chase; he avoids. Fear grips my insides. I hold my breath. The door swings open. I stumble back a few steps, my lower back hitting the railing.
