Page 83 of Verdict

He just wanted to fuck. I was sure of it.

I spun around and pushed past him to put some glasses away in the cabinet. "Thanks," I replied tightly.

He followed me across the kitchen. "You've been quiet tonight. I feel like I haven't really gotten to talk to you," he pressed.

Eyes focused on the dishes in front of me, I pressed my lips together and nodded as I continued to clean up the kitchen, desperate to keep myself busy so he couldn't see the hurt that still lingered behind my eyes.

Did he hit his head? Had he forgotten everything that had transpired between us over the last few months?

"Just tired." I grabbed a dish towel and began wiping down the counter. Tonight was not the night to hash everything out. "Why don't you go enjoy yourself, check on Ellie? I'll be in there in a minute."

Something shifted in his expression—disappointment, maybe? Or hurt. I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t let myself look long enough to find out. He lingered a moment. The silence was thick with something I couldn't name.

With a tight nod, he turned and headed out of the kitchen.

I sank back against the counter, pressing my palms into the cool granite.

I could finally breathe. Distance was safer. If he wasn’t here for me, I couldn’t let myself pretend he was.

Ellie was exhausted and a bit overstimulated from the day, and to be frank, so was I.

I stood up with Ellie settled against my chest. I glanced over at Cohen, who was already looking at me. "I'm going to put her down for the night."

"I'll help." He stood up immediately and followed me out of the room.

We moved effortlessly through her nighttime routine together. No words spoken, each move anticipated, memorized. The familiarity both comforting and devastating at the same time. After dropping a kiss to her forehead, we slipped out of the room quietly.

Walker was waiting at the base of the stairs. "Hey Coh, you can crash at my place tonight." He threw a thumb over his shoulder. "Dean's parents are staying here tonight so my parents can show them around the vineyard tomorrow."

Cohen's eyes flicked to mine. There was a question there.

An opening? An invitation? Or maybe I imagined it.

"You boys have fun," I rushed out, breaking the silence. I looked up the stairs. "I'm going to call it an early night, I've got a headache coming on," I lied.

His brows pulled together. The concern, instinctive and immediate.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I think it’s just my allergies.”

Walker clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready?”

Cohen hesitated, and for half a second, I thought he might say something.

Instead, he nodded at Walker. "Yeah."

The air between us felt heavy, suffocating. I needed to escape. I turned before I could change my mind. Before I asked him to stay. "Goodnight y'all." When I made it to the top of the stairs, I couldn't help but sneak a peek back down. I told myself not to, but I did it anyway.

Was I hoping he was still standing there?

Yes.

Was he?

No.

It was early December, and the city of Austin was draped in twinkling lights, lush garland, and oversized red bows. Christmas music spilled out of storefronts. The air felt crisp in that rare Texas way—cool enough to justify a sweater, but not cold enough to be miserable.