Page 78
A cramp twists low enough to make me pause mid-shift in my chair, breath catching briefly before it eases back again. I adjust without thinking, thighs pressing together instinctively before I reach for another sip of my Dr. Pepper, and immediately lose interest halfway there.
That feels wrong. I never lose interest in my Dr. Peps.
Outside, thunder rumbles loud enough to shake the windows faintly, and the smell of rain drifts through the cracked windows. The house smells warm despite it, familiar in a way I still haven’t fully gotten used to. Clint’s coffee and vanilla lingers while Tripp’s key lime pie scent settles brighter every time he walks past.
And Briggs—
Nope, not doing that.
Except, unfortunately, banana cream faintly drifts in the air when he moves closer to grab a drink, familiar enough now that something inside me notices before I can stop it.
Traitor.
His shoulder brushes mine lightly when he steps around me, and awareness slides across my skin hard enough that I have to actively ignore it.
“You alright?” he asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard because it’s awkward, almost like he’s trying to figure out how to stand near me without making things worse.
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
Lie… mostly.
The kitchen goes quieter for a second before my phone buzzes against the table.
I grab it quickly and check it.
A fucking Credit Karma email.
I toss my phone on the table and glare at it, as if I try hard enough it might explode.
Briggs straightens, and Tripp’s eyes jerk to him, then back to me.
“What?” I ask, stomach suddenly tight for an entirely different reason.
Clint looks toward Briggs first, then back at me. “Hunter texted.”
Everything inside me drops at once before relief crashes in so hard it almost hurts.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, already leaning forward. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay.”
I look down for a second before I embarrass myself by crying over basic communication.
Okay. He’s okay. Thank God.
Then confusion slips in fast enough to make my chest tighten again.
“Why didn’t he text me?”
Nobody answers immediately.
Which feels wrong.
