Chapter 11
McKenna
The smell of bacon and coffee fills Reece's tiny kitchen, mixing with the sharp scent of winter air sneaking through the cracked window above the sink.
I'm wearing his soft green flannel because my sweatshirt is somewhere in a pile near his bed. Our bed. God, when did I start thinking of it as our bed?
Two weeks. That's how long we've been doing this—this thing that doesn't have a name but feels like everything I've been afraid to want.
Two weeks of coffee made exactly how I like it, of stolen kisses under that ridiculous hallway mistletoe, of falling asleep tangled up in each other and waking up like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Two weeks of not telling Jett. My stomach twists as I flip the bacon, watching the grease pop and sizzle. I've picked up my phone a dozen times to call her, typed out messages I never sent, rehearsed conversations in my head that always end with me chickening out.
"You're doing that thing again," Reece says, his voice still rough with sleep as he slides up behind me, one hand settling on my hip like it belongs there. The other reaches around to steal a piece of bacon straight from the pan.
"What thing?" I ask, even though I know exactly what thing.
"The overthinking thing. I can practically hear the gears grinding." He presses a kiss to the spot just below my ear, and I have to remind myself not to lean into it, not to forget why I'm stressed in the first place.
"I'm not overthinking."
"Blue, you've flipped that same piece of bacon four times. It's basically jerky at this point."
I look down at the offending bacon, burnt to a crisp, and sigh. "Fine. I'm overthinking."
"About Jett?"
"When am I not thinking about Jett?" I abandon the bacon, turning in his arms so I can see his face. Morning light catches in his dark hair, still messy from sleep, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through it. "I need to tell her. We need to tell her."
"I know." His thumb traces small circles against my hip, a habit he's developed over the past two weeks that simultaneously soothes and distracts me. "We will. Just—"
"Just what? Just wait until she figures it out on her own? Until someone else tells her?" My voice pitches higher than I intend, anxiety clawing its way up my throat. "Reece, she's going to be hurt. Not that we're together, but that we kept it from her."
"She'll understand—"
"Will she?" I pull back slightly, needing space to think. "Your sister is one of the most forgiving people I know, but she's also been lied to by every important person in her life. Joey, your mom, even your dad to some extent. And now we're adding ourselves to that list."
Reece's jaw tightens, the muscle there jumping the way it does when he's trying not to say something he'll regret. "We're not lying. We're just—"
"Omitting? Hiding? Pick your euphemism; it still feels like betrayal." I run a hand through my hair, forgetting it's still in yesterday's messy bun until I hit a tangle. "I was going to call her yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. But every time I pick up the phone, I freeze."
"Then we'll tell her together." He says it like it's simple, like Jett won't spiral into rapid-fire questions and hurt feelings masked by humor. "Today, if you want. I'll call her right now—"
The sound of a car door slamming cuts him off.
We both freeze.
"Are you expecting someone?" I ask, even though I already know the answer from the way his face has gone pale.
"No."
Another car door. Footsteps on the porch. And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, a voice that makes my blood run cold.
"Reece! I know you're home. Your truck is here, and I can smell bacon from the driveway!"
Jett.
"Holy shit," I whisper, looking down at myself—his flannel, my bare legs, my hair that screams I just rolled out of your brother's bed. "Holy shit, Reece, she can't—we're not—I'm not ready."
"Breathe," he says, his hands coming up to frame my face. "It's going to be fine."
"Fine? Fine? I look like I spent the night here!"
"You did spend the night here."
"That's not the point—"
The front door swings open—because of course Jett has a key, of course she'd just walk right in—and suddenly there's no more time to panic.
"Why is the door unlocked? Reece, we've talked about this. Small town doesn't mean—" Jett rounds the corner into the kitchen, words dying mid-sentence as she takes in the scene. Me. In Reece's flannel. His hand still on my hip.
The coffee maker gurgling behind us, two mugs already set out on the counter. The bacon I've burned to a crisp. The hallway mistletoe visible just over Jett's shoulder, still hanging there in mid-January like a neon sign pointing to our secret.
Jett's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Holy fireballs," she finally breathes out.
"Jett—" I start, but she holds up a hand, her eyes darting between us like she's trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
"Wait. Wait." She takes a step back, then forward, then back again. Her hands are already moving to tangle in her dark hair—a classic Jett anxiety tell. "Is this—are you two—oh my gosh! You're together, together."
"We can explain—" Reece begins, but Jett is already spiraling.
"Together as in together, not just the weird flirty-fighty thing you've been doing since college.
Actual together. Like she's wearing your shirt and you made her coffee the way she likes it—extra shot, oat milk, that fancy vanilla syrup—and there's only two mugs, which means you knew she'd be here and—"
She whirls on me. "How long? No wait, don't tell me. Actually yes, tell me. Wait, no—how did this even—when did you—" She stops abruptly, eyes widening. "The storage closet incident."
Reece and I exchange a glance.
"That wasn't just a one-time thing, was it?" Jett's voice has gone quiet, which is somehow worse than the rapid-fire questions. "You two have been...what? Hooking up? Dating? Having some kind of secret relationship while I've been completely oblivious?"
"Jett, please, just sit down and let us—"
"How long?" She looks at me now, and the hurt in her amber eyes makes my chest ache. "How long have you been lying to me, McKenna?"
"We weren't lying—"
"Omitting, then. Hiding. Pick your euphemism." She throws my own words back at me, because of course she does. Jett might be chaotic, but she's never not paying attention. "How. Long."
I glance at Reece, looking for backup, but he just nods. Taking a breath, I force myself to meet Jett's eyes.
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
"College," I admit quietly. "It started in college. Sort of. We'd hook up sometimes, when we were both single, and it was just...physical. No strings. And then it stopped, and then it started again, and—"
"And the storage closet?" Her voice is eerily calm now.
Reece steps forward. "Last year. You and Noah had just started dating, and McKenna was in town for your birthday. We ran into each other at Riley's, things got...heated, and Jace walked in on us making out in his storage closet."
"Jace knew?" Jett's voice cracks on the last word. "Jace knew and didn't tell me?"
"We asked him not to," I say quickly. "It wasn't his secret to tell."
"But it was yours to keep?" The tears are starting now, even though she's trying to blink them back. "From me? From your best friend?"
"We were going to tell you—"
"When? After you got married? After I figured it out myself?" She swipes at her eyes, frustrated. "Did you really think I couldn't handle it? I'm chaotic, not fragile. I've been through a hell of a lot worse than my brother and best friend falling for each other."
"That's not—we didn't think—"
"What did you think, then?" She looks between us, and I can see her trying to piece it together, trying to make sense of why we'd hide this. "That I'd be mad? Make it weird? Choose sides?"
"Yes," Reece says simply, and the honesty in his voice makes us both turn to look at him. "Yeah, Jett. That's exactly what we thought. Not because of anything you did, but because it's what we'd do. We'd make it weird, make it complicated, turn it into something that hurt all of us."
Jett stares at him for a long moment, then looks at me. "Do you love him?"
The question catches me off guard, even though it shouldn't. "I—"
"It's a yes or no question, McKenna."
I could lie. Deflect. Change the subject. But I'm so tired of hiding, of being scared, of not saying what I feel because I'm afraid of what happens next.
"Yes," I whisper. "I love him. I've loved him for a while now, I think. I was just too stubborn to admit it."
Jett's eyes shift to Reece. "And you?"
"Since college," he says without hesitation. "Maybe before. I've been half in love with her for years, Jett. I just didn't know how to tell either of you."
For a long moment, Jett just stands there, processing. Then, slowly, her lips curl into a smile. "You two are perfect for each other, you absolute idiots."
"What?" I blink at her, certain I've misheard.
"You're perfect. Both of you. Stubborn, emotionally constipated, allergic to honest communication—it's like you were made in the same dysfunctional factory.
" She's laughing now, even through the tears.
"I knew something was up with that storage closet thing.
Jace is terrible at keeping secrets. He kept smirking every time I mentioned you two. "
"So you're not...mad?" I venture carefully.
"Oh, I'm hurt," she says, wiping her eyes.
"I'm hurt you didn't trust me enough to tell me.
That you thought I'd make this about me instead of being happy for you.
" She looks at Reece. "I'm hurt that you've both been sneaking around like you're in some kind of illicit affair instead of just.. .being together."
"We're sorry," I say, and I mean it. "We should have told you. We should have trusted you."