Chapter 2 Warren
TWO
Warren
She shivers, a slight tremor I almost don't catch in the firelight.
"Cold?" I ask, grateful for the easy escape from whatever just passed between us.
"A little." Janie tucks her hair behind her ear, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Let me grab you something." I push up from the chair, bones cracking. "Your mom still keeps that navy throw on the couch?"
"You know this house better than most of my relatives."
I do. I know which floorboards creak, which cabinet holds the good glasses, and which windows stick in humid weather. That knowledge is both comforting and dangerous right now.
Inside, the house breathes with familiar sounds. I clock the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. I grab the throw from its spot, my fingers brushing over the soft cashmere blend that's been here longer than I have.
When I return, Janie's leaned back, staring at the stars. I hand her the blanket, our fingers brushing briefly, and settle back into my chair. Stretching my legs toward the fire, I rest my heels on the edge of the stone pit.
She cocoons herself in navy blue, her shoulders relaxing. "Remember when you and Blake caught us with those beers down at Miller's Point?"
I laugh, welcoming the shift. "God, he was furious. Stomping around like he was your father instead of your brother."
"And when he found out you bought us the beer, I thought he was going to rip your head off."
"Yeah, you could have kept that part to yourself. Luckily, he didn't ground either of us."
Her laugh floats up toward the palm fronds. "I guess it was training for his own family. He's such a great dad, right?"
"He is. He's a really good man." I poke at the embers, watching orange sparks spiral upward. "Always has been."
"He is. I'm hoping eventually he will stop worrying about me and realize I'm a woman and not the kid he has to protect."
"You know that’s baked into him," I say, turning my head to look at her. "He grew up fast with your mom. Thank God for Hank. I really think your dad is an undercover superhero."
"He did." My voice softens. "Blake was only seven when they met. Hank didn’t even blink at marrying Mom and making him his own."
"Pretty awesome."
The firelight catches the soft curve of her lips. Her straight nose, the delicate line of her throat. Something twists low in my chest. When did Janie, little Janie, become this beautiful, grown woman?
I drag my gaze back to the flames. I’m practically family. The stray they took in when everything fell apart.
“Your dad sat me down the first night I moved in,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Full-on Hank Harrelson talk. Said I was welcome under his roof, but I’d better remember there was a pre-teen daughter in the house and boundaries were non-negotiable.”
Janie laughs softly. “That's hilarious. I can't believe he said that to you.”
“Best thing that ever happened to me,” I admit. “When my parents shut me out, your family gave me something solid. Rules. Dinner at six. People who noticed if I needed help.”
Her expression softens. “What about them? Your family? Have you talked to them recently?”
The question catches me off guard. Most people don’t ask. But Janie always did. She's never tiptoed around the hard things.
"No." I watch the last flames dance over charred wood. "Not once in twelve years. Can you believe that? My grandfather set up the education trust for all of us, so I had that for college and law school. I've been on my own, otherwise, since I was eighteen."
"Not even your mom?"
I shake my head. "She made her choice. Chose her marriage and social standing over..." Over me. I can't finish the sentence.
Janie watches me, her eyes reflecting firelight. "You know, I've heard bits and pieces over the years, but never the whole story. Feel like talking about it? Totally okay if you don't want to."
Part of me wants to deflect, keep the wall up like I always do. But something about tonight is different. Maybe it's knowing she's family, that she wants to know because she cares. Or, maybe I've just had one too many IPAs.
"I mean, you know the whole story about Charlie killing that girl, right?"
She nods, but I'm not sure she knows the whole story. Maybe she doesn't need to.
"My father erased me after I testified against my brother." I jab the poker into the fire, sparks spiraling into the dark.
"Everyone tried to shield me from the drama back then."
"It was ugly, Janie." The words slip out before I can stop them. "But I was proud I stood up. I couldn’t lie on the stand. Not about that."
"That girl who died…" Her voice is soft, careful.
"Melissa Thornton. Seventeen. Early acceptance to Cornell." My throat tightens. "Charlie got six years. Served four. My parents made sure it wasn’t more."
Her eyes search mine. "And you lost everything."
I shake my head. "Not everything. I got your family."
The truth of it hangs between us, heavier than smoke.
Janie smiles slowly. "I remember Blake bringing you home that day and my mom telling me you'd be staying with us for a while. It's so crazy how everything from that time is so clear. I even remember she made lasagna for dinner that night."
"Yeah. I remember it, too. I remember thinking I had to show them how much I appreciated being welcomed in. Your dad did that thing with his two fingers to his eyes and then to mine at dinner, like he had his eye on me."
We both laugh, the memory softening into something almost innocent.
"Big, scary Hank," she teases. "I was nine. Young. Impressionable."
"Fair enough." I set the poker back down and lean back, crossing my arms. "I would have done the same if my kid brought home a stray."
"You weren't a stray," she says quietly. "You're family, and still are."
Her gaze lingers, steady and unflinching. And for a moment, I'm stripped down. I'm not the polished lawyer or the man who pulled himself up after being disowned by my family. I'm the kid who lost everything and somehow found something better in their home.
She leans closer, the blanket slipping from her shoulder. Firelight plays across her collarbone, catches in the waves of her hair. I notice the small freckle near her ear, the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
I notice more than I should.
Janie pulls the blanket tighter, studying me through the firelight. "You and Blake, y'all are tight. I love the friendship you share."
I run my thumb along a splinter in the chair arm, thinking back. "Yeah. I'm grateful for him. He saved me, in a lot of ways."
The fire snaps, sending sparks into the dark. "That’s why Blake and I will always be brothers," I say. "Not by blood, but…" I tap my chest, the gesture finishing the thought.
Janie’s smile curves gently. "He’d say the same about you. Honestly, I think you’ve been as much a rock for him as he’s been for you."
I glance at her, surprised. Most people only ever saw Blake pulling me through. But she says it like it’s obvious, like she’s been watching all along.
"Maybe," I murmur, turning the poker in the embers. The warmth isn’t just from the fire anymore.
The firelight catches the angles of her face, softening them. For the first time, I am keenly aware that I don't see her like a little sister at all.
My mouth goes dry. I need to change the subject before these thoughts go somewhere dangerous.
"Are you scared? About Chicago?"
The question hangs between us. For a moment, I think she'll deflect with something clever like she does.
Instead, she looks directly at me. "Yes."
Just one word, but the honesty in it pulls me in. No pretense, no brave face.
"I've never lived anywhere but here," she continues. "What if I'm terrible at living on my own, away from here? What if I fail spectacularly and have to slink back home with my tail between my legs?"
"You won't."
"You sound pretty sure about that."
"I am." And I am. I've watched her grow up, seen her determination. "You're a Harrelson. Failure isn't in your vocabulary. There's nothing you can't do."
She laughs, the sound low and warm. "Now you really do sound like my dad."
Something twists in my chest. The last thing I want is to remind her of Hank right now. Not when I'm noticing the curve of her neck, the way her fingers curl around the edge of the blanket.
Silence stretches between us, comfortable yet charged. Her knee brushes mine when she shifts in her seat and stays there. I should move. I should put distance between us.
I don't.
The fire's almost out, just a few orange embers buried under ash. The night air wraps around us, cooler now, the stars sharp overhead. Palm trees cast shadows across the lawn.
"It's late," I murmur, rubbing my palms against my jeans. "You're probably ready to get to bed."
"Stay a little longer." Her voice is quiet, almost lost in the crackle of dying embers.
Three words. Just three simple words, but they tilt the night into something dangerous.
My pulse quickens. This is where I do the responsible thing and refuse.
I should stand up, say goodnight, and walk to my car.
That's what Blake's best friend would do.
That's what the kid Hank welcomed into his home should do.
Instead, I lean toward her. "You've got ash on your face."
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, a whisper-soft touch to remove the smudge. But my hand lingers, cupping her face. Her skin is warm despite the cooling night. Her hazel eyes lock with mine, pupils wide in the darkness.
For a second, I start to pull back. One step, one breath, and I could walk away—pretend the thought never existed. But she doesn’t move. She just looks at me, steady and sure, and every reason to stop burns to ash.
Her breath catches. Mine stops completely.
I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers.
She freezes for one heartbeat, then her hand curls into my shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, no longer cautious but hungry. Years of buried tension ignite. The space between us vanishes.