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“He’s mad though,” Hart continues. “Might not be the best company.”

Mad? What’s happened between him leaving this morning and now for that to have happened?

I give Hart a long, searching look, and when that gets me nowhere, I turn on my heel and head for the only untouched house on the street. I know the brothers have been living out of this one while they work, but I’ve never been inside.

It’s unlocked, and I push into the old house, not sure what to expect. There isn’t much to look at. A lot of it is untouched and dusty, but here and there are signs of life.

Supplies clutter the kitchen counter, a sheet has been laid out over an old sofa, and dishes are sitting in the sink. I glance around at the cracks between old shiplap walls and the boarded-up windows. How the hell can Kennedy call my place creepy when he lives here? It feels like a casket.

It’s silent downstairs, and I’m not comfortable exploring on my own.

“Kenny?” I call, having to try twice so my voice is loud enough.

“Up here.” His voice comes from near the stairs.

I climb them, listening to the groans of the treads underfoot, and thankfully, when I reach the top, I catch a glimpse of him in the first bedroom.

He’s on a mattress on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling.

Alone.

I keep walking until I reach the doorway, then lean my shoulder into it.

“Ziggy?” His eyebrows reach his hairline, and then he pats the mattress beside him.

I take the spot by his hip and look down into his face.

“It’s been a morning,” he tells me.

I wait for him to be comfortable sharing. Considering this is Kennedy, it doesn’t take him long.

“I got into a fight with my brothers, then Caroline showed up.”

I try really hard to stay casual, but I mustn’t pull it off because he pinches my chin gently.

“I told her we’re dating.”

“You … what?”

“I hope that’s okay?”

It’s more than okay. I want everyone to know.

He chuckles. “I want everyone to know as well. I felt bad, but I’ve always been honest with her. I guess some people only hear what they want to hear—I have experience with that.”

“She’s gone for good?”

“Maybe. I’d like to be friends, but I know that’s asking a lot. Would that be okay with you?”

“Would there be flirting?” I hate how small I sound.

“No, never. If I saw someone flirting with you, it’d eat me up inside. I’m not about to make you feel like that.”

“I felt like that when I saw her here.”

“You did?”

I could easily lie and say it was nothing, but I don’t get to pick and choose honesty. “Yeah. And I left, thinking I was spiraling again.”