Chapter 30 The Found Family
the found family [trope]
the ultimate potluck of personalities, where everyone’s got their own baggage, but they somehow make it work; at its core, this trope proves that sometimes the family you choose is even more important than the one you’re born into
I push open the glass door to Booked It, the heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood floor as I step inside.
The familiar scent of coffee and printer ink greets me, but today it feels different.
My stomach churns with nerves, the kind that make you wish you could turn around and call in sick.
It’s Tuesday. Another episode of Murders & Manuscripts will be ready to air on Thursday, and this time, the only victim will be fictional. Right? So why can’t I shake this ominous feeling?
Before I can even scan the room properly, there’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Heads turn. Chairs squeak. And then… applause.
Loud, enthusiastic clapping fills the air, startling me so much I almost trip over my own feet.
Everyone is looking at me, their faces lit up with joy.
My pulse quickens. What the hell is going on?
“Scarlett, you absolute badass!” Sarah calls out, clapping so hard I fear she might injure herself.
“You’re a legend, Scarlett,” Damien chimes in. “Willowbrook owes you everything!”
I blink, heat creeping up my neck.
“Uh, thanks.” I give an awkward wave, my cheeks burning, and I’m fairly certain my face matches the shade of the office’s fire extinguisher. “What, um… what are you talking about?”
“You caught the Lit Killer. That’s what we’re talking about.”
“What—who—”
She holds out a copy of the Whistle, and once I grab it, I see my picture plastered on the front page.
Son of a bitch.
The headline reads, “Local Hero Scarlett Moore Brings Justice to Willowbrook.” Beneath it, there’s a picture of me, and the article goes on to detail how I “single-handedly” uncovered Vanessa’s web of lies and deceit, connecting her to the string of murders that had haunted the town for weeks.
Son of a bitch!
“What about Rafael?” I ask, looking up at Sarah as if she had any part in this. “Why don’t they mention him?”
“Uhhh…”
“He—he did much more than me. He saved Vanessa. He figured out she was the killer, and—” I stop, realizing I’m causing a scene. Did the police not mention him at all?
He’s the hero, and once again, he gets none of the credit?
This is bullshit.
“Sorry, I should…” I shuffle farther into the room, then knock on Celeste’s door, and she invites me in.
She’s beaming from behind her desk. Her black bob is razor-sharp, not a strand out of place, and her small glasses sit perfectly on her nose, accentuated by a bold swipe of red lipstick.
The moment she sees me, she jumps up, arms wide like she’s about to hand me an Oscar.
“Scarlett!” she shouts, her voice so full of cheer it nearly bounces off the walls. “The woman of the hour! You’re amazing. Incredible. The podcaster-slash-detective who solved not one, not two, not three, but four murders? Who does that?”
“Well, it was technically only one killer,” I say as she wraps me in a hug. It’s one of those overly enthusiastic, bone-jarring hugs, and I let my arms dangle awkwardly at my sides, like they’re confused about how to participate.
When she finally lets go, I straighten my shirt. “And besides, it wasn’t me. It was Rafael. I mean, solving mysteries is literally his job.”
Celeste waves her hand, brushing off my words like they’re a stray piece of lint.
“Please. Rafael didn’t turn this podcast into a sensation.
You did! If you think our numbers were impressive last week, you’ll be pleasantly surprised today.
We’re everywhere—headlines, social media, the freaking news.
I even got an email from some guy wanting to turn your story into a movie. Can you believe that?”
I laugh weakly, more out of politeness than anything. “A movie. Wow, that’s… something.” I wonder if Rafael’s character would make it past casting. “But, uh, speaking of the podcast… Theo sent me a text about the next episode of Passion & Pages being pulled? Was there an issue with the script?”
“The script was flawless, like everything else you do. But…” She waves her manicured hand. “I have some monumental news.”
More monumental than a potential movie deal?
“We’ve attracted some serious attention,” she announces, leaning forward with her hands on her desk. “Big names. Investors, sponsors, people with actual money. This is our moment, Scarlett, and I’ve decided to capitalize on it.”
I blink, waiting for her to elaborate.
“I’m hiring someone for the romance podcast!” she says, as though she’s handing me a golden ticket, sitting back down and lightly spinning in her chair.
“Oh.” The word comes out flat. “Does… does that mean I’m back to part-time?”
Celeste laughs, loud and bright, like I’ve just told the funniest joke.
“Oh, Scarlett, no. Absolutely not. You’re the face of Murders & Manuscripts.
Or, well, the voice. The podcaster who solved the murders—people can’t get enough of you.
Which is why I want to double the weekly episodes.
Twice the content, twice the buzz. Full-time. All murder, all the time.”
She leans back in her chair, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “This is everything you’ve wanted, right? No more romance scripts, just crime fic. Isn’t it amazing?”
I open my mouth to agree, but nothing comes out. She’s right. This is everything I’ve wanted. Or… it was, wasn’t it?
I think back to the romance books I used to dread, the over-the-top love stories that made me roll my eyes so hard they practically got stuck.
Somewhere along the way, though, they stopped being a chore.
I started looking forward to them, to reading the banter, the confessions, the ridiculously grand gestures.
I started to… like them.
And now? I’m supposed to be thrilled about this new chapter.
I should be thrilled. But I’ve only gotten a taste of love, only read a handful of romance books, and I want more.
I want the comfort of a predictable ending, the joy and ache of the slow burn, the way two people can hate each other on one page and fall apart in each other’s arms on the next.
I want the longing looks across crowded rooms. The hand brushing another just to feel it.
The “I hate you” that really means “I’m terrified of how much I want you.
” The second chances and the big speeches in the rain.
Romance books showed me that no one is too damaged to be loved, no meet-cute too ridiculous to spark something real. They made me believe that the right person won’t fix you, but they’ll sit with you while you heal.
And because of them, love’s a story I want to keep reading even if I know how it ends.
“Wow,” I manage, shoving the thought away. “That’s incredible news, Celeste. Really.”
“Of course it is,” she says, oblivious to the way my voice wavers. “This is just the beginning, Scarlett. We’re going to take this podcast to heights you can’t even imagine. You and me—we’re unstoppable.”
I try to match her energy, but it feels like I’m dragging my body through wet cement.
By the time I leave her office, the buzz of her excitement is a distant echo. The hallway feels cold and too quiet, but my thoughts are loud enough to make up for it.
Unstoppable, she said.
So why do I feel like I’m spinning in circles?
“What did the lawyer say?” Ethan asks as he fiddles with the edge of his sleeve. His dark blond hair flops over one eye, and there’s a bruise still fading on his cheekbone.
I set the phone down on the counter and grab a stack of plates from the cabinet. My heart has been hammering throughout the call with Steve for the last forty minutes. “The judge set up an emergency hearing for Friday.”
“Friday? I guess that’s what they mean by emergency, huh?”
I can tell he’s trying to be funny, but he’s too tense for it. “It’ll be fine, Ethan,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. Truthfully, he’s not nearly as terrified as I am, but one of us needs to play the part of the steady rock, right? And I’m the adult here.
He leans against the counter. The scab near his eyebrow is almost gone, but he keeps touching it like it still itches. “You really think so?”
“Steve will prep us. He’s already gathering evidence, getting people to write character statements, all the things we need. Everything will be okay.”
“And if it’s not?” He avoids my gaze. “What happens if we lose?”
I swallow hard, trying to push past the lump in my throat. I can’t let him see how scared I am. Not now.
“Uh…” I start, my voice faltering for just a second. “Then we try again. We appeal. We don’t give up.”
His eyes search mine. “So you won’t let them take me to Virginia?”
“Never,” I say firmly, stepping closer to him. “Not to Virginia, not anywhere you don’t want to go to.”
“Okay,” he says, and the single word carries a weight that nearly breaks my heart. “I just hate that it has to be this way.”
I place a hand on his arm. “I know,” I say, squeezing gently. “But you don’t have to handle it alone. I’m here, okay?”
He rubs at the edge of his jaw like it aches, then shrugs. “Okay,” he says, a hint of relief in his voice. “Is Rafael coming over for dinner?”
“I hope so, because he’s providing the food,” I say, reaching for the napkins.
“Awesome.” Ethan drops into a chair and pulls his phone from his pocket, and on cue, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” I say, my heart skipping just a little as I head to the door.
Rafael stands there, a crooked smile on his face and a bag of food in his hand. Before I can say anything, he leans in and kisses me, sending a pleasant hum through my body. “Freckles.”
“Gray.” I step aside. “Come on in.”
He kisses me again, and this time, his tongue intrudes into my mouth and meshes with mine.
Ethan clears his throat exaggeratedly. “I can hear you,” he calls out.
Rafael chuckles under his breath, his arm brushing mine as we separate, but his hand lingers on my lower back for just a moment before he moves ahead.
Every time he’s around, I feel safe, comfortable, and, at the same time, weak in the knees.
I enter the kitchen, where the table is half set and Rafael and Ethan have fallen into an easy rhythm, unpacking the containers of food as they chat. Sherlock, probably attracted by the smell of pasta sauce, saunters into the room and starts rubbing against Ethan’s legs, purring loudly.
I can’t help the warm swell in my chest. This little routine—this strange, mismatched family we’re building—fills a space I hadn’t realized had been so painfully empty. Since my parents died, I’ve been so focused on survival that I forgot what it felt like to simply exist in moments like this.
We settle down to eat, and, taking advantage of a pause in the conversation, Ethan says, “So… I wanted to talk about something.”
Holy shit, is he about to come out?
I glance at Rafael, who meets my eyes with a knowing smile.
“Jace’s parents are going to the beach tomorrow. In Blue Haven. And they invited me.”
Oh. Jace. His still-secret boyfriend, unfortunately.
“We’d leave right after school and come back at night,” Ethan continues, speaking quicker, “and Jace’s mom invited me to spend the night tonight.” He finally looks up, his expression sheepish. “Think I can go?”
Is he asking me? Right—I make these decisions now.
“Will Jace’s parents be there?” I ask as I spear a piece of chicken with my fork.
“Yup.”
I chew thoughtfully before speaking again. I’m not sure what the policy is about secret boyfriends and sleepovers. Do Jace’s parents know they’re dating? And how can I ask any of this while respecting my brother’s privacy? “Can I have Jace’s number?”
My brother tilts his head, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
“And his parents’ numbers?”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Are you going to call them?”
“Why? Are you hiding something?”
“No,” he says pointedly. “I’m just afraid you’ll embarrass me.”
Rafael snorts into his drink, and when I glare at him, he looks away, shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” I say dryly, before softening my tone. “Look, I’ll just introduce myself and thank her for inviting you. After that, I promise I won’t call unless I have a reason to believe you’re stuck in a ditch or…” I pause dramatically. “Or you’ve been eaten by a shark.”
“Deal.”
I feel the knot of worry in my chest loosen slightly. It’s a win-win, isn’t it? Ethan gets to spend time with his boyfriend, and I get to spend an entire night and day with my… Rafael.
“I’ll get ready to leave after dinner,” my brother continues, his mood lightening as he eats with more enthusiasm.
“Sounds good,” I reply, leaning back in my chair and catching Rafael’s gaze. He gives me a small wink, and I know no matter what bad decisions Ethan might make tonight, I’ll be the one making the most dangerous ones.