Jaden woke to gray morning light and the hollow space beside him still warm where Stacy had been. He heard her voice downstairs, light and laughing at something, and the deeper rumble of Grant's reply. The clock on the nightstand read 7:13. He'd maybe slept an hour.

He showered fast, letting the hot water beat against his shoulders until his skin turned pink. The mirror was fogged when he stepped out, and he wiped a streak through it, staring at his own face—dark eyes, wet hair, the same jaw he'd woken up with yesterday. But it didn't feel like the same face. It felt like someone else's reflection that he'd borrowed.

He dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt, the last one he'd packed, and followed the smell of coffee downstairs.

Stacy was at the stove, scrambling eggs in a pan, her ponytail swinging as she hummed something he didn't recognize. Grant sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper and a mug, and he looked up when Jaden entered—a slow, deliberate glance that said nothing and everything. Jaden felt that look settle in his chest like a second heartbeat.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Stacy said, not turning. "There's coffee. Tommy's here."

Jaden stopped. Tommy sat at the far end of the table, angled away from the window, a plate of toast untouched in front of him. He was wearing a gray henley with the sleeves pushed up, the same blue eyes fixed on Jaden with a patience that felt practiced. He didn't smile.

"Hey," Jaden said. His voice came out rough.

"Hey." Tommy's gaze didn't drop. "Get some sleep?"

The question landed wrong. It wasn't casual—it was a test, and Jaden heard the weight under it. "Some." He moved to the coffee maker, filling a mug just to have his hands busy. "You?"

"Enough." Tommy picked up his toast, bit into it, chewed slowly. His eyes stayed on Jaden the whole time.

Stacy slid eggs onto a plate and set it on the table. "Jaden, sit. You look like you need to eat."

He sat across from Tommy, not by choice but because that was the only open seat. Grant turned a page of his newspaper, the rustle loud in the silence. Stacy joined them with her own plate, chattering about what they should do today—maybe the lake, maybe that new place in town for lunch—and her voice filled the space like she was trying to keep the room from collapsing inward.

Tommy set down his toast. "How are you liking the house?"

The question was for Jaden. Direct. Unblinking.

"It's nice," Jaden said. "Bigger than I expected."

"Mm." Tommy nodded, slow. "Stacy says you're from the city. Must be quiet out here for you."

"It's... different."

"Different good? Or different 'I'm counting the hours until I leave'?"

Stacy laughed, nudging Jaden's arm. "He loves it. Don't you, babe?"

"Yeah," Jaden said. The word tasted thin. "It's good."

Tommy's mouth bent—not quite a smile. "Glad to hear it. My parents seem to like you a lot." He let that land, then added, "I mean, a lot. Stacy's brought boyfriends home before, but none of them impressed the Holloways quite like you have."

The air in the kitchen changed. Grant didn't turn a page. Stacy's fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"Tommy," she said, her tone caught somewhere between amused and warning.

"What? I'm being nice." Tommy spread his hands, the picture of innocence. "I'm saying he made a good impression. That's a compliment."

Jaden's jaw tightened. He picked up his coffee, took a sip that burned his tongue, and said nothing.

The back door opened, and Diana stepped in, a gardening trowel in one hand, dirt smudged on her bare knee. She wore cutoffs and a loose linen shirt, her hair tied back with a scarf, and she looked like she'd stepped out of a catalog for weekend mornings. Her eyes found Jaden first—a flicker, a private acknowledgment—before she smiled at the room.

"Morning, everyone. Smells good, Stace." She rinsed her hands at the sink, dried them on a towel, and poured herself coffee. "Tommy, I need you to run to the store. We're out of stuff for dinner."

"Send a list."

"I will." Diana leaned against the counter, cradling her mug. She looked at Jaden, then at Tommy, and her smile turned something—knowing, deliberate. "Take Jaden with you. Brother-boyfriend bonding."

The word landed like a stone dropped in still water. Jaden felt his face heat. Stacy laughed, oblivious. Grant turned a page.

"Mom," Stacy said, shaking her head. "That's so weird."

"What? He's practically family." Diana's eyes met Jaden's over the rim of her mug. "Aren't you?"

Jaden didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat had closed.

Tommy pushed back from the table. "Sure. I'll take him. Let's go."

It wasn't a question. Tommy was already grabbing his keys from the hook by the door, and Jaden found himself standing, following, because not following would mean explaining why he hadn't.

Stacy kissed his cheek as he passed. "Have fun. Don't let him bore you."

Tommy's car was a dark sedan, clean inside, the smell of pine air freshener mixing with something older—leather, maybe, or the ghost of cigarettes. Jaden got in the passenger side and buckled his seatbelt as Tommy pulled out of the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires.

Neither of them spoke. The radio was off. The road unspooled in long, flat stretches, fields on either side, the sky a pale blue that seemed to go on forever. Jaden watched the telephone poles tick past and counted them to have something to do.

Fifteen minutes. Tommy didn't look at him. Didn't speak. The silence was a living thing, dense and humming, and Jaden felt it pressing against his ribs.

Then Tommy said, "Stacy talks about you all the time."

Jaden blinked. "What?"

"She says you're the one. She's never said that about anyone before." Tommy's voice was flat, conversational, like he was discussing the weather. "She talks about you like you're already part of this family."

The words sat in the air between them. Jaden didn't know what to do with them.

"That's..." He trailed off.

"She's serious about you." Tommy finally glanced at him, quick and sharp. "She thinks you're serious about her."

Jaden's stomach turned. "I am."

"Are you?"

The question was simple. The weight behind it was not.

Jaden didn't answer. He couldn't find the words that wouldn't be a lie.

Tommy drove another mile in silence. Then he said, "My parents like you. A lot. I told you that already."

"You did."

"And you know what I mean when I say it."

Jaden's hands were cold. He pressed them between his knees. "I don't—"

"You do." Tommy's voice was quiet, certain. "You know exactly what I mean."

The car slowed. Tommy pulled onto the shoulder, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was enormous. No radio. No road noise. Just their breathing, the tick of cooling metal, and the sound of Jaden's heart beating too fast in his ears.

Tommy turned in his seat, his full body facing Jaden now. His blue eyes were the same shade as Grant's, same as Diana's, same as Stacy's—but where Stacy's were warm and Grant's were appraising, Tommy's were flat and certain. He looked at Jaden like he was looking through him.

"I know," Tommy said. "About you and my parents."

The words hit like a physical blow. Jaden's breath stopped. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I'm not going to tell Stacy." Tommy said it like it was obvious, like the thought had never crossed his mind. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"I don't—" Jaden's voice cracked. He tried again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Tommy's gaze didn't waver. "You and Diana. You and Grant. You and both of them. I know."

The world tilted. Jaden gripped the edge of his seat. "How—"

"I watched you at dinner. I watched you at breakfast. I watched the way you look at my father and the way my mother looks at you." Tommy's voice was calm, unhurried, like he was explaining something simple. "I've known my parents my whole life. I know what it looks like when they're hunting."

The word—hunting—lodged in Jaden's chest. He couldn't breathe around it.

Tommy watched him for a long moment. Then he said, "But… there's one last thing you need to do."

Jaden's pulse jumped. "What?"

Tommy didn't answer. He just looked at Jaden—a long, level stare that made Jaden's skin prickle and his mouth go dry. The silence stretched, thin and bright, until Jaden thought he might shatter from the pressure of it.

And then Tommy leaned forward and kissed him.

Jaden's brain short-circuited. Tommy's mouth was warm and certain, his hand coming up to cup the back of Jaden's neck, fingers pressing into the nape. It was a kiss that expected to be received, not asked for. A kiss that knew what it wanted.

Jaden pulled back, gasping. "What the—Tommy—"

Tommy's jaw tightened. His pupils were dark, the blue nearly swallowed. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Jaden's voice was too high. His heart was hammering, his hands shaking. "You just—"

Tommy kissed him again. Harder. His hand tightened on Jaden's neck, holding him in place, and this time Jaden didn't pull away. He couldn't. His body had stopped listening to him. His mouth opened under Tommy's, and a sound came out of him—a broken, desperate noise that he didn't recognize.

Tommy pulled back just far enough to speak, his lips brushing Jaden's. "Get in the backseat."

The words landed like a command. Jaden's blood went hot and cold at once.

"What?"

"Get in the backseat, Jaden." Tommy's voice was low, steady, the kind of voice that expected to be obeyed. "Now."

Jaden's body moved before his brain caught up. He fumbled with the door handle, climbed out, and slid into the backseat. The vinyl was warm from the sun. The interior smelled like Tommy—cologne and something else, something clean and sharp.

Tommy got out, opened the back door, and climbed in after him. The door clicked shut, and the world shrank to the space between them.

Tommy kissed him again, one hand in Jaden's hair, the other sliding down his chest to the button of his jeans. Jaden moaned into his mouth, his hips bucking up into Tommy's touch, and he was already hard—had been hard since Tommy's mouth first touched his, maybe since the moment they'd gotten in the car.

Tommy's fingers undid Jaden's jeans with practiced ease, and before Jaden could process what was happening, Tommy's mouth was on him, hot and wet, and Jaden's head hit the window as he arched into the sensation.

It was unlike anything he'd felt all weekend. Tommy's mouth was relentless, his tongue working in ways that made Jaden's vision blur. He took Jaden deep, deeper than anyone had before, and Jaden heard himself making sounds he'd never made—gasping, pleading, his hands finding Tommy's hair and gripping it like a lifeline.

"Oh, fuck," Jaden breathed. His hips moved without permission. "Fuck, Tommy—"

Tommy didn't stop. Didn't slow. He sucked Jaden like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered, and Jaden felt himself climbing toward the edge faster than he wanted to, faster than he could control.

"I'm gonna—" he started, but Tommy pulled off, kissing his way up Jaden's body, and Jaden was left gasping, trembling, on the verge of something he hadn't reached.

"Not yet," Tommy said, his mouth against Jaden's throat. "We're not done."

Jaden didn't have time to ask what that meant. Tommy flipped him onto his stomach, pressing his face into the seat, and Jaden felt Tommy's weight settle behind him, felt hands yanking his jeans down his thighs, felt the cool air on his skin.

And then he felt Tommy's hand on his ass, a firm squeeze, and Tommy's voice in his ear, low and rough: "You're going to take it. All of it. And you're going to love it."

Jaden's response was a moan that turned into a cry as Tommy pushed inside him—slow at first, then all at once, filling him completely. The stretch was burning, impossible, perfect, and Jaden's hands fisted in the seat fabric as Tommy began to move.

The rhythm was brutal. Hard. Each thrust drove the air from Jaden's lungs, pushed him flatter against the seat, and he took it—took every inch, every stroke, every sound Tommy made above him. The car shook with the force of it, windows fogging, the suspension creaking.

"You belong to us now," Tommy said, his voice strained, his hips slapping against Jaden's. "All of us. Say it."

"I—" Jaden's voice broke. "I belong to—"

"Say it." A harder thrust. A hand in his hair, pulling his head back.

"I belong to you," Jaden gasped. "To all of you."

Tommy's grip tightened. His pace quickened, and Jaden felt the pressure building again, coiling in his gut, his own cock aching and untouched beneath him. He was going to come—he was going to come right now, just from Tommy's cock inside him—

"Not yet," Tommy said, and he pulled out.

Jaden sobbed. Actually sobbed, a raw sound that surprised him. "Please—"

Tommy flipped him onto his back, spread his legs, and pushed back inside. This time Jaden saw his face—saw the concentration, the hunger, the same blue eyes that had watched him through the kitchen window last night. Tommy looked at him like he was something precious and something to be devoured.

He fucked Jaden like that, face to face, and Jaden wrapped his legs around Tommy's waist and held on. He was crying, he realized. Not from pain. From the sheer overwhelming force of being wanted this much.

"Come for me," Tommy said. "Now."

Jaden's body obeyed before his mind caught up. He came in violent, shuddering waves, his climax ripped out of him by Tommy's command, his come streaking across his own stomach. Above him, Tommy followed, his hips stuttering, a low groan escaping his throat as he emptied himself into Jaden.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. The fogged windows. The smell of sex and sweat. Tommy's weight pressing him into the seat, still inside him, their foreheads touching.

Then Tommy pulled out, slow and careful, and sat back. He found a cloth somewhere—a napkin from the glove compartment—and handed it to Jaden without a word.

Jaden cleaned himself up with shaking hands, his body singing with aftershocks. The silence was different now. Fuller. Stranger.

Tommy got dressed first. He pulled on his jeans, zipped them, and climbed into the driver's seat without looking back. The engine turned over, and the radio came on—low, something country. He pulled back onto the road.

The grocery store was five minutes away. They drove there in silence, the air thick with everything that had happened, everything that had changed.

Tommy parked. He turned off the engine. And then, before he got out, he said: "We should get dinner stuff."

Jaden nodded, his throat too tight for words.

Tommy opened his door, then paused. "And Jaden?"

Jaden looked at him.

Tommy's blue eyes were unreadable. "Welcome to the family."

The grocery store was bright and fluorescent, the kind of light that made everything look slightly clinical. Jaden followed Tommy through the automatic doors, his legs still unsteady, the ghost of Tommy's hands still imprinted on his skin. He kept his eyes on the tiles, on the shopping cart Tommy grabbed, on anything that wasn't Tommy's face.

Tommy moved through the aisles with purpose—produce first, bag of onions, a head of lettuce, tomatoes in a mesh bag. He checked his phone once, twice, his thumb scrolling with the casual efficiency of someone who did this every day. Jaden walked beside him, hands in his pockets, watching the fluorescent lights reflect off the polished floor.

"You're quiet," Tommy said, not looking up from the cilantro he was examining.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Nothing." Tommy dropped the cilantro into the cart. "That's the point."

They turned down the next aisle—canned goods, sauces, pasta. Jaden's phone was silent in his pocket. A woman with a toddler passed them, the child gripping a box of crackers like a prize. Jaden watched them go, and for a second he felt like he was watching his own life from a great distance, a version of himself that had never met the Holloways, that was just some college kid on a weekend trip with his girlfriend.

Tommy's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his thumb hovered over the display. Jaden saw the message before Tommy angled the phone away—a preview on the lock screen, the name at the top unmistakable.

Stacy.

And the text: Did you do it?

The world tilted. Jaden's feet stopped moving without his permission. A question that meant something, and he didn't know what, and that was the worst part.

Tommy's thumb moved—a tap, a response—and then he locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He grabbed a jar of marinara sauce off the shelf, examined the label, and placed it in the cart. His face told nothing.

"Tommy." Jaden's voice came out thin.

"What?"

"Stacy just texted you."

Tommy turned, slow, one eyebrow raised. "So?"

"She said—" Jaden stopped. He didn't know how to finish the sentence. She said 'Did you do it?' and I don't know what that means and I'm terrified that I might.

Tommy watched him, his blue eyes steady and unreadable. Then he said, "She asked if we got everything on the list."

It was a lie. Jaden knew it was a lie. The preview had been three words, no more, and "did you do it" was not a question about groceries. But Tommy was already moving down the aisle, his back to Jaden, and there was nothing to do but follow.

The rest of the shopping passed in a blur. Jaden grabbed items without looking at them—a box of pasta, a can of crushed tomatoes, a bag of frozen peas—and dropped them into the cart. Tommy added things Jaden didn't register. At the checkout, Tommy paid with a card. The cashier smiled at them both, and Jaden smiled back, and the smile felt like a mask that was one breath away from cracking.

The drive back was quiet again, but different. The silence before had been the silence of a secret shared. This silence was the silence of a question unanswered.

Jaden stared out the window at the fields scrolling past, and his mind kept snagging on the same four words: Did you do it?

Did you do what? Kiss him? Fuck him? Claim him for the family? Make him ours?

The possibilities multiplied, each one worse than the last.

Tommy pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The house sat quiet and golden in the afternoon light, the porch swing swaying slightly in a breeze Jaden couldn't feel. Diana's gardening gloves were draped over the railing. A glass of lemonade sat on the step, half-empty, ice melted into watery translucence.

Tommy grabbed the bags from the trunk. Jaden took one without being asked, because standing still felt worse than moving. They walked through the front door together, and the kitchen was warm and smelled like oregano and something baking.

Stacy was at the counter, kneading dough, flour dusted up to her elbows. She looked up when they walked in, and her smile was bright and familiar and hit Jaden like a physical force.

"You're back!" She wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Jaden's waist and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Her lips were soft, tasting of salt and something sweet, and Jaden kissed her back because not kissing her would have been a confession. "Did you get everything?"

"Yeah," Tommy said, setting the bags on the counter. "We're good."

"Great. Mom's in the backyard, Dad's in the workshop. I'm making bread for dinner." Stacy pulled back from Jaden, her hands still resting on his hips. "You okay? You look tired."

"Fine," Jaden said. His voice came out steady, which surprised him. "Just didn't sleep great."

Stacy's brow furrowed, a flicker of concern. "You should take a nap. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

"Maybe." He touched her arm, a gesture that used to be natural and now felt rehearsed. "I'll help unpack first."

Tommy was already putting things away—canned tomatoes in the pantry, onions in the basket, lettuce in the fridge. He moved around the kitchen like he owned it, which he did, in a way. This was his house. His family. His territory. And Jaden was standing in the middle of it, covered in the ghost of Tommy's touch, trying to remember how to be a normal boyfriend.

Stacy hummed as she went back to her dough, punching it down with practiced rhythm. Jaden unpacked the rest of the bags in silence, his hands moving automatically, his mind spinning.

He watched Stacy from the corner of his eye. She was humming a song he didn't recognize, her ponytail swaying, flour on her cheek. She looked exactly like the girl he'd met at a campus party three months ago—the one who'd laughed at his jokes, who'd held his hand on the walk back to her dorm, who'd kissed him goodnight with a sweetness that had felt like a promise.

But now he saw her differently. He saw the arched doorway where Diana had stood in silk, the kitchen table where Grant's hand had lingered on his shoulder, the window where Tommy had watched him from the dark. He saw the way Stacy had laughed off her parents' flirting, the way she'd called it "their sense of humor," the way she'd never seemed to notice how their eyes tracked Jaden across a room.

She talks about you like you're already part of this family.

Tommy's voice echoed in his head. No boyfriend has impressed the Holloways quite like you have.

A cold thread wound through Jaden's chest, thin and sharp. He thought about the first night—Diana's bare foot against his leg under the table, Grant telling him the door was open. He thought about how Stacy had been right there, laughing, brushing it off, refilling their wine glasses. He thought about the way she'd kissed him goodnight in the hallway, not five feet from where her mother had stood in the doorway moments later.

Had she known? Had she always known?

"Hey." Stacy's voice pulled him back. She was looking at him, her head tilted, her blue eyes—the same blue as her father's, her mother's, her brother's—warm and curious. "You sure you're okay? You look kind of pale."

Jaden forced a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"About what?"

He could have said anything. He could have told her the truth, watched her face crack open, watched the easy trust shatter into something he couldn't fix. But he didn't. He said, "Just the weekend. It's been a lot."

Stacy's expression softened. She crossed to him again, floury hands held out to the sides, and pressed a kiss to his cheek instead of his mouth. "It's good having you here. My family can be a lot, but they mean well."

They mean well.

Jaden nodded. His throat was tight. "I know."

Tommy had finished putting the groceries away. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink. When he lowered the bottle, his eyes met Jaden's—brief, neutral, a stranger's glance. Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps receding down the hallway.

Stacy went back to her dough. Jaden stood at the counter, watching the flour drift through the air, and he thought about the text. Did you do it?

Four words. No context. But the more he ran them through his head, the more they seemed to fit a shape he didn't want to name. Stacy had asked her brother to test him. To claim him. To welcome him into the family in the only way the Holloways knew how.

Or maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe the text was about something else entirely—the menu for dinner, the kind of wine to buy, a favor she'd asked him to do before they left. Maybe the guilt was making him see patterns where there were none.

But the text hadn't been about the shopping list. He knew that the way he knew his own heartbeat. The text had been about him. About what Tommy had done in the car. About what the Holloways had been building toward all weekend.

Jaden pressed his palms flat against the counter and stared at the flour-dusted surface until his vision blurred. He thought about the girl who had kissed him goodnight after the party, the one who had told him her parents would love him. He thought about how eager she'd been to bring him here, how she'd brushed off every awkward moment, every charged glance, every touch that lasted a beat too long.

He thought about Grant's hand on his neck in the workshop. Diana's mouth on his ear in the guest room. Tommy's claim in the backseat of the sedan. And Stacy, humming in the kitchen, making bread for dinner, her blue eyes full of a trust he might have never deserved.

Jaden closed his eyes. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. Stacy's voice came from somewhere beside him, light and casual: "Tommy likes you."

His eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Tommy. He likes you." She didn't look up from her dough. "I can tell. He's not easy to impress."

"Yeah," Jaden said. His voice sounded distant to his own ears. "I got that."

Stacy laughed, the same easy laugh that had drawn him to her in the first place. "I told you. My parents, my brother—they're a lot. But they're good. They know what they want." She paused, her hands stilling. "And they want you here."

The words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning Jaden was no longer sure she didn't intend. He stared at the back of her head, at the honey-blonde hair escaping her ponytail, at the curve of her neck that he'd kissed a hundred times.

And for the first time all weekend, he felt something that might have been fear.

There was a dark sedan in the driveway. A pair of blue eyes in the rearview mirror. A text message he wasn't meant to see. And a girl who smiled at him like she had nothing to hide, while her whole family closed around him like a trap he'd walked into with his eyes wide open.

Stacy's hands worked the dough, folding and pressing, her movements sure and unhurried. Jaden watched her fingers—the same hands that had held his at that campus party, that had traced patterns on his chest in the dark of her dorm room. He'd thought he knew those hands. He'd thought he knew her.

"Stacy." His voice came out rougher than he intended. She looked up, flour on her cheek, her blue eyes guileless. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." She wiped a strand of hair from her face with the back of her wrist, leaving a white streak across her temple. "You look so serious all of a sudden."

Jaden's mouth opened. Closed. The question sat on his tongue like a stone— Did you send Tommy to test me? Did you know what your parents were doing? Did you plan any of this? —but the words wouldn't come. Because if he asked, and she said yes, then everything he thought he knew about the past three months would collapse. And if he asked, and she said no, then he'd just handed her the weapon to destroy him.

"Nothing," he said. "Just—thanks for having me. This weekend."

Stacy's smile softened. She crossed to him, floury hands held out, and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "I'm glad you came. I was nervous, you know. Bringing you here. Meeting my family."

"You were?"

"Terrified." She laughed, a puff of air against his shirt. "But you handled it. You always do."

He lifted a hand to touch her hair, then stopped. His fingers were clean. Hers were covered in flour. Everything about this moment felt like it belonged to a different story, one where he was just a boyfriend visiting his girlfriend's parents, where the worst thing he had to worry about was making a good impression.

Through the kitchen window, he saw movement in the backyard. Diana was kneeling by a flower bed, her hair loose, her cutoffs riding up as she reached for something. She looked up, as if she'd sensed him watching, and their eyes met through the glass. She smiled—slow, private, a smile that said I know where you've been —and then she went back to her gardening.

Jaden's stomach turned.

"I'm going to go lie down," he said. "For a bit."

Stacy pulled back, nodding. "Okay. I'll wake you when dinner's almost ready." She kissed his cheek, leaving a faint smear of flour, and turned back to her dough.

Jaden walked down the hallway toward the guest room. The house was quiet—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant clatter of Stacy in the kitchen, the creak of floorboards somewhere above him. He passed the closed door of Tommy's room, then Grant and Diana's, and he felt each threshold like a pressure against his skin.

The guest room was exactly as he'd left it. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled where he'd slept beside Stacy. His duffel bag sat open in the corner, a t-shirt spilling out. The window faced the backyard, and through it he could see Diana still working in the garden, her movements deliberate, her body a silhouette against the afternoon light.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out his phone. No new messages. The screen showed the time—3:47 PM—and the wallpaper, a photo of him and Stacy at a football game, her arm around his waist, his face caught mid-laugh. He stared at the photo for a long moment, trying to find the boy in it. That boy had been nervous about meeting parents. That boy had been excited, hopeful, a little bit in love.

That boy was a stranger now.

He set the phone face-down on the nightstand and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The plaster had a hairline crack running from the light fixture to the corner, and he followed it with his eyes, tracing the same path over and over until his vision blurred.

Footsteps in the hallway. Light, unhurried. They stopped outside his door.

A pause. Then a soft knock.

Jaden didn't answer. He didn't move. The door handle turned, and the door swung open, and Diana stood in the frame, still in her cutoffs and linen shirt, her gardening gloves tucked into her back pocket. She had a smudge of dirt on her collarbone, and her hair was escaping its scarf in loose waves.

"Stacy said you were resting." Her voice was low, pitched for the space between them. "I didn't want to disturb you."

She stepped inside anyway. Closed the door behind her.

Jaden sat up, his heart already racing. "Diana—"

"I know Tommy took you out." She crossed to the bed, sat on the edge of it, close enough that her knee brushed his thigh. "I know what happened. He told me."

The air left the room. Jaden stared at her, his mouth dry. "He told you?"

"He tells me everything." Diana's hand found his, her fingers threading through his. "That's how this family works. We don't keep secrets from each other." She squeezed, a small, firm pressure. "And neither do you anymore."

Jaden's throat worked. "The text. From Stacy. She asked him if he 'did it.'"

Diana's smile flickered—a crack in the mask, there and gone. "Did she?"

"You didn't know."

"I didn't say that." Her thumb traced a circle on the back of his hand. "But I'm curious. Did you see his reply?"

Jaden shook his head.

"Pity." Diana's voice was soft, almost amused. "I'd have liked to know what he said."

She stood, still holding his hand, and pulled him gently to his feet. Her body was close, the smell of soil and sweat and something floral rising from her skin. She looked up at him—those hazel eyes, the same gold flecks he'd watched in the dark of this room—and she said, "You're part of this now, Jaden. All of it. The good, the bad, the complicated. Are you ready for that?"

Jaden looked at the closed door. At the window. At the crack in the ceiling that led nowhere. He thought about Stacy in the kitchen, her floury hands and her trusting smile. He thought about Tommy's mouth on his, Grant's hands on his hips, Diana's voice in his ear. He thought about the text message and the three words that had unraveled everything he thought he knew.

He wasn't ready. He had never been ready. But he was already in too deep to climb out.

"I don't know what 'ready' means anymore," he said.

Diana's smile widened, slow and knowing. "That's the right answer."

She kissed him—soft, brief, a promise or a warning—and then she let go of his hand and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle, looking back over her shoulder.

"Dinner's at six. Try to rest."

The door clicked shut behind her. Jaden stood alone in the middle of the guest room, the ghost of her kiss still on his lips, the weight of her words settling into his bones.

He was part of this now. All of it.

And somewhere in the kitchen, Stacy was humming, making bread for dinner, while her family closed around him like a net he'd stepped into of his own accord.