Chapter
Twenty-One
OREN
The first text comes mid-morning.
Unknown number: Miss me, Ore-O? Bet you do.
My stomach drops. No name. No picture. But I know that cadence, that smug curl of words. Vince. And, of course, no one else turns my name into my least favorite cookie.
I shove my phone face-down on the desk and try to keep working, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. Every sentence I type reads wrong. By the time the second text comes?—
Unknown number: Can’t hide forever.
—my throat’s so tight I can barely swallow.
I shut the laptop, needing to get away from my desk. Check-in time with Keane comes and goes without a word. I silence the group chat blowing up with a recap of last night. No coffee—what’s the point, when my nerves are already sparking like live wires? Instead, I drag my weighted blanket from the bed, cocoon myself on the couch, and flick on cartoons. The bright voices andgoofy sound effects blur into background noise, a flimsy shield against the way Vince’s words echo in my head.
The phone buzzes again but I don’t look. Afternoon slants into evening. My limbs feel heavy, my chest a mess of static. Still I stay buried, blanket tight, hoping if I don’t move, maybe I’ll disappear. Or the world outside will.
Until a knock echoes from my door.
I freeze under the blanket, heart pounding loud enough that whoever is on my doorstep can likely hear it.
“Oren?” Keane’s deep voice laced with concern. “It’s me.”
My heart lurches. For the first time all day, I take a breath that actually feels like air.
Another knock, softer this time.
“Sweetheart? I just wanted to check in. You missed our call.”
His voice isn’t sharp. Not worried in the way that makes me feel like a problem. Just… careful. As though he’s handling glass.
I tug the blanket tighter, staring at the flickering cartoon characters.
He waits. Long enough that I almost think he’s gone. Then, gently: “I’m not leaving unless you tell me to. But I’d rather stay. Even if we just sit on the couch and don’t talk.”
My throat burns but I don’t answer.
“Not gonna push.” His voice is soft, a hand smoothing down ruffled feathers. “I just… I need to know you’re okay. Knock on the door if you want me to stay outside. Or open it if you want me closer.”
The silence stretches. The only sound is the cartoon theme song. My hand shakes as I finally toss the blanket off, feet cold on the hardwood. I shuffle to the door. My fingers hesitate on the lock.
With one last deep breath, I twist it open just enough to see his face.
Keane stands there with a paper bag in his hand. His expression softens the second he sees me. Not with pity, but relief, warmth. Like I’m exactly who he came for.
I’m afraid to let him in. Afraid to drag him into my mess, my past, into the shadow Vince still casts. Afraid Keane will take one look at the baggage I carry and decide I’m not worth the trouble. Too complicated. Too broken.
But now that he’s here, standing in my doorway with his patient eyes and constant presence, all that fear softens into something else. A pull. A want.
I just want to melt into his strong arms and let him make it all better.
Isn’t that what Daddies do?
All at once, I can’t hold back anymore.
