He didn't mean to leave the kitchen so quickly. One moment he was standing beside Stacy at the sink, her warmth pressed against his arm, the taste of Tommy still coating his tongue like a secret he hadn't finished swallowing. The next, he was excusing himself—a murmured long day, gonna head up—and Stacy had smiled at him, that same trusting sunlit smile, and said I'll be up in a minute, babe.

Now he was climbing the stairs, one hand on the rail, the house settling into its nighttime quiet around him. The stairs creaked under his weight—third step from the top, he'd noticed it yesterday, the way the wood gave a little groan when you hit it just right—and he filed that away, the way he'd been filing everything away all weekend. The way Diana's eyes tracked him across a room. The way Grant's voice dropped half an octave when he said Jaden's name. The way Tommy's hands had felt on his hips, guiding him down to his knees.

The guest room door was closed. He stopped in front of it, his hand hovering over the knob, and he realized he was holding his breath.

He let it out. Slow. Deliberate.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Stacy was sitting on the edge of the bed.

The lamp on the nightstand was on—the one with the pale yellow shade that made the room feel warm, like honey spilled across the walls. She'd changed out of her sundress and into one of her T-shirts, the faded one from a college softball tournament, and her legs were bare, crossed at the ankle. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in dirty-blonde waves, and she had her hands folded in her lap, the way a person folds their hands when they're trying very hard to look calm.

Her eyes tracked him the moment he stepped inside.

Jaden closed the door behind him. The latch clicked into place, soft and final, and the sound of it seemed to fill the room, louder than it should have been. He stood there with his hand still on the knob, the wood cool under his palm, and he watched her watching him.

She didn't look angry. That was the first thing he noticed. She didn't look hurt, or suspicious, or any of the things he'd braced himself for. She looked… patient. Like she'd been waiting for this moment, expecting it, and now that it was here, she had all the time in the world.

"Jaden." Her voice was soft, lower than usual, stripped of the bubbly energy that filled every room she walked into. "Come here."

She patted the mattress beside her.

His feet carried him across the room before his brain caught up. The floorboards were old, worn smooth by years of footsteps, and he felt every inch of the distance between the door and the bed like a countdown. Three steps. Four. The lamp cast his shadow across the wall, long and crooked, and then he was standing in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume—something floral, light, the same scent that had clung to his sheets after she'd slept in his bed.

He sat. The mattress dipped under his weight, tilting them both toward the center, and he let himself settle, his hands resting on his thighs, his shoulders loose, his breathing measured. He didn't know what game they were playing yet. But he knew enough to wait for her move.

Stacy reached out and touched his jaw.

Her fingers were warm, her touch gentle, the way she'd touched him a thousand times before—cupping his face when she kissed him, brushing the hair from his eyes, tracing the line of his collarbone when they lay tangled together in the dark. But this was different. This was deliberate. Her thumb found his chin and tilted his face toward the light, turning him like she was examining something precious, something she wanted to see clearly.

His breath caught in his throat. He didn't let it show.

Her thumb moved to his bottom lip. Pressed lightly. Traced the swollen line where Tommy's teeth had caught him, where the pressure of Tommy's mouth had left its mark. She was so gentle about it, so careful, that it took him a moment to understand what she was doing.

Then she spoke.

"You taste like my brother."

The words hung in the air between them, soft and unhurried, the way a stone drops into still water. No accusation. No surprise. Just a fact, stated in the same tone she might have used to say the sun is setting or dinner's almost ready.

Jaden's mind went very quiet.

He had known this moment was coming. He had known, in the abstract way that a person knows a storm is coming when they see the clouds building on the horizon. But knowing and living were two different things, and living was the taste of Tommy still on his tongue, and the warmth of Stacy's thumb on his lip, and the silence that stretched between them like a held breath.

He didn't pull away. He didn't speak. He held her gaze, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones, and he waited.

Stacy's thumb traced his lip one more time, slow and almost reverent, before she let her hand drop to her lap. She didn't look away from him. Her eyes were steady, clear, the same blue as her father's and her brother's, and for a moment, just a moment, he saw something flicker in them. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something rawer, something hungrier.

Pride.

"I knew," she said, her voice still soft, still low, "before I brought you here. I knew you were different."

Jaden's throat was dry. He swallowed, and the sound of it was loud in the quiet room. "Stacy—"

"Let me finish." She held up a hand, and he stopped, his mouth still open, the words dying on his tongue. She gave him a small smile, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes but wasn't meant to. "I've been watching you all weekend, Jaden. Watching the way you look at my mom. The way you look at my dad. The way you look at Tommy." She paused, her smile widening just a fraction. "The way you look at me."

He felt the heat rise to his neck. That traitorous flush, the one that had been giving him away all weekend, spreading across his skin like a confession he couldn't take back. He didn't look away. He held her gaze, his jaw tight, his hands still on his thighs, and he let her see him.

"I wasn't sure at first," Stacy continued, her fingers reaching out to brush his knee, light and casual. "When I met you at that party freshman year, I thought you were sweet. Quiet. The kind of guy who'd hold your hand and open doors and never look at another girl." She laughed, a soft breath of sound. "And you are. You're all those things. But you're also—" She stopped, her hand stilling on his knee. "You're also the kind of guy who looks at my father like he's something you want to understand. The kind of guy who kisses my mother back."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He felt them land, one by one, in his chest, his stomach, the base of his throat. She knew. She had known. Not just about Tommy—about all of it. About Diana. About Grant. About the workshop and the bed and every single thing he'd done in this house.

"How long?" His voice came out rough, scraped raw. "How long have you known?"

Stacy tilted her head, her hair falling over her shoulder, and she looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "I didn't know, exactly. Not at first. But I saw the way my mom watched you at dinner. The way she touched your arm, lingered a second too long. And I saw the way you watched her back." She shrugged, a small, graceful movement. "And then Tommy texted me. After the car ride. And I knew."

Jaden's stomach dropped. "He texted you?"

"He called, actually." She smiled, and there was something fond in it, something almost tender. "Said you were trouble. Said he'd never met anyone like you." She reached out again, this time brushing her fingers through his hair, pushing the dark strands back from his forehead. "And I told him I knew. That I'd picked you for a reason."

The room felt too small. The walls were pressing in, the lamp casting shadows that seemed to breathe, and Jaden sat there with Stacy's fingers in his hair, her touch gentle, her voice soft, and he felt the ground shift beneath him.

"You picked me," he repeated. "For this."

"For all of it." Her hand slid down to his cheek, her palm warm against his skin. "I picked you because I knew you could handle it. Because I saw something in you, Jaden. Something hungry. Something that wanted to be seen."

He closed his eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the weight of her words settling into his bones.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes still closed. "Why would you—"

"Because I love my family." Her voice was simple, matter-of-fact, like she was explaining something obvious. "And I love you. And I wanted you to be part of it. All of it." She paused, and he felt her thumb trace his cheekbone, soft and slow. "I knew what I was doing when I brought you here. I knew what would happen. And I wanted it."

He opened his eyes. She was looking at him with that steady blue gaze, her face soft, her smile gentle, and he realized, with a certainty that settled deep in his chest, that he wasn't going to leave. That he had never been going to leave. That he had walked into this house three days ago and walked into something that had been waiting for him long before he arrived.

"You're not mad," he said. It wasn't a question.

"No." She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm on his lips. "I'm not mad, Jaden. I'm proud."

Her mouth found his.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, like she was testing him. Her lips brushed against his, light and questioning, and he felt the taste of her—the faint sweetness of the bread she'd baked, the warmth of her skin, the subtle salt of tears he couldn't see. She kissed him like she was memorizing him, like she was trying to taste every secret he'd been carrying, and he let her, his hands coming up to rest on her hips, his fingers curling into the fabric of her T-shirt.

She pulled back, just barely, her lips still brushing his. "I asked Tommy to do it," she whispered. "I told him to take you out back. I knew what he'd do."

Jaden's breath caught. "You—"

"I wanted you to know what it felt like," she said, her voice low, her eyes holding his. "To be wanted by all of us. To be part of us." She kissed him again, harder this time, her hand sliding to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. "And I wanted you to choose it."

He kissed her back. He couldn't help it. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer, and he felt her breath hitch against his mouth, felt her body press into his, warm and willing and knowing.

"I chose it," he said, the words muffled against her lips. "I chose all of it."

She pulled back, just far enough to look at him, her eyes bright, her smile wide. "I know." She touched his face, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "That's why I love you, Jaden."

The words hit him somewhere deep, somewhere he hadn't expected to feel them. He had been wanted all weekend—by Diana, by Grant, by Tommy—but Stacy's love was different. It was the thing that had started this. The thing that had opened the door and invited him in.

And he realized, with a clarity that cut through everything else, that he loved her too. Not in the way he had before, not with the simple affection of a college sophomore who'd found a pretty girl to hold. But in a deeper way, a stranger way, a way that included her family and their hands and their mouths and their hunger.

He loved her because she had seen him. The real him. The hungry, waiting part that had been buried under years of quiet compliance and easy smiles. And she had given him something to be hungry for.

"This isn't over," he said, his voice rough. "The weekend. What you started. It's not over."

Stacy's smile softened. "No," she agreed. "It's not." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Tommy wants to see you again. Tonight. He told me."

Jaden's heart stuttered.

"He said you'd done something to him," Stacy continued, her voice warm and amused. "Something he couldn't stop thinking about." She pulled back, her eyes meeting his, and there was a heat in them he hadn't seen before. "I told him I'd send you to the tree line. Midnight."

Jaden stared at her. "You're sending me to your brother."

"I'm sharing you," she corrected, her thumb brushing his lip again, gentle and possessive. "Because you're mine, Jaden. But you're also theirs. And I want you to have all of it."

He didn't know what to say. He sat there, his hands on her hips, her warmth pressed against him, and he felt the shape of his life shifting, rearranging itself around this family and their hunger and their love.

"Stacy," he started, but she pressed her finger to his lips.

"Don't," she said softly. "Don't say anything. Just be ready."

She kissed him one more time, slow and deep, and then she stood up, pulling him with her, leading him toward the door. "Go downstairs. Get some water. Let them see you." She smiled, that same sunlit smile, the one that had drawn him in from the very beginning. "I'll be down in a minute."

He nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

She opened the door, and the hallway light spilled in, yellow and warm, and she squeezed his hand once before letting go.

Jaden stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind him.

He stood there for a long moment, his hand on the wall, his breathing slow and measured, and he felt the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on him. Stacy knew. She had always known. And she had chosen him anyway—not despite it, but because of it.

He walked down the stairs, his footsteps steady, his heart a steady drum in his chest. The kitchen light was still on. He could hear the soft murmur of voices—Grant and Diana, talking low and easy, the sound of a marriage that had weathered decades and only grown stranger, richer, more dangerous.

He pushed open the kitchen door.

Grant looked up from the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his blue eyes tracking Jaden with that familiar, appraising weight. Diana stood at the counter, a dish towel over her shoulder, her hair catching the light.

Jaden walked to the sink, reached for a glass, and filled it with water. He could feel them watching him, their attention a physical weight on his back, and he didn't flinch.

He took a long drink, the water cold and clean, washing away the last traces of Tommy's taste. Then he set the glass down, turned, and met their eyes.

"Stacy said I should get some water," he said. His voice was steady. "She'll be down in a minute."

Grant raised his glass, a slow, deliberate movement, and the corner of his mouth curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Good," he said. "Sit down, Jaden. We've got time."

Jaden pulled out a chair and sat, the wood cool beneath him, the kitchen warm and familiar, and he felt the family close around him like a net he had chosen to be caught in.

The night was far from over.