Page 95 of Override

"Okay."

I glance over. She smiles. Not offended. Not surprised. Just Rachel. The kind of woman who somehow became the center point of this entire family without ever asking for it.

"You know," she says after a moment, "you're terrible at this."

"At what?"

"Feelings."

I groan. "Please don't."

She laughs softly. "I'm serious."

"That makes it worse."

"It should." The fire cracks loudly between us. Rachel studies the flames for a second before speaking again. "Something's different."

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't have one. How exactly am I supposed to explain something I don't understand myself? I don't know what this thing is. I don't know why it feels different. I just know I haven't felt right since I met a woman through a security camera.

Which sounds insane. Because it is insane.

Rachel seems to read half of that from my silence alone. "I don't need details." The words pull my attention toward her. She shrugs. "I don't." Then she smiles slightly. "But I know you."

The statement lands harder than it should. Because she does. They all do. Every single one of them somehow looked past all the weird shit and decided to keep me anyway.

Rachel leans back in her chair. "You've spent years taking care of everybody else."

I laugh. "No I haven't."

She gives me a look. One that clearly says she isn't interested in my nonsense tonight.

"You've spent years making everybody else's lives easier. You solve problems. You protect people. You fix things before they even know they're broken. But nobody ever taught you what to do when it's your turn."

I roll my eyes at her and look towards the fire.

"Keaton." The use of my real name makes me immediately suspicious. Rachel only does that when she's about to say something important. "You deserve to be happy too."

The words hit me so unexpectedly that I actually laugh. Not because they're funny. Because they're absurd.

Rachel's expression softens. And that only makes it worse. "You do."

"Based on what?"

"Based on the fact that you're one of the best people I know."

I shake my head. "No."

"Yes."

"Rachel."

She points a finger at me. "Nope. You don't get to argue with me. I married Matt. I've spent years winning arguments professionally."

A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth.

Rachel sees it. "There he is."

I roll my eyes. But the warmth in my chest feels uncomfortable. Because nobody should look at me the way these people do. Like I'm worth something. Like I'm important. Like I'm theirs.