Chapter 30 #2
Aubrey exhales, grateful for the escape route. “Yes. Please.”
Melissa turns to the counter, moving comfortably through my space again. She opens the cabinet like she knows where things are … because she does. She’s already learned the layout. Already adapted.
Aubrey watches her with a softness that unsettles me. When Melissa’s back is turned, Aubrey’s gaze slides to mine, and the teasing is gone completely.
She mouths without sound, Who is she?
I shake my head slightly.
Not because I don’t want to tell her.
Because I don’t know how.
She’s Melissa.
She’s the woman who makes my control slip.
She’s the one who makes my Sundays feel like something other than the empty time I need to survive.
Aubrey’s eyes sharpen, like she’s reading the parts I’m not saying.
Melissa returns with coffee. Aubrey thanks her with genuine warmth.
“So,” Aubrey says, shifting back into a lighter tone, “how long have you two been …”
Melissa nearly chokes.
“Friends?” Aubrey finishes innocently.
Melissa coughs, then laughs. “Friends.”
Aubrey nods exaggeratedly. “Yes, friends.”
Melissa’s cheeks are pink now, and I can’t look away from it. She’s embarrassed but not upset. There’s a sweetness to her fluster that makes me want to pull her into me again.
In the kitchen. In front of my sister. Like I’ve lost my damn mind.
Aubrey drags her gaze over me. “You look … different,” she says suddenly.
I stiffen. “I always look the same.”
“No,” she insists. “You look”—she gestures vaguely— “less like you want to bite someone.”
Melissa laughs again, and Aubrey grins at her.
“See? You bring out a nicer version of him.”
Melissa’s smile softens, but her eyes flick to me. Searching. Because in her mind, a man wrapping his arms around her in a break room, a man letting her wear his clothes, a man letting his sister see her in his kitchen—that’s relationship behavior.
And I told her I don’t do relationships.
My chest strains with a sharp, unfamiliar guilt.
Aubrey stands abruptly. “Okay, I’m starving. And I came with a purpose.”
“I’m sure you did,” I mutter.
She pulls her phone from her pocket. “I need you to come to dinner tonight.”
My stomach drops.
“No,” I say flatly.
Aubrey’s eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Colton …”
“I worked all week,” I bite out. “I’m off today. I’m not spending my only quiet night being interrogated by Mom.”
Aubrey flinches slightly, but her expression hardens. “This isn’t about Mom.”
“It’s always about Mom,” I say.
Melissa’s gaze flicks between us, the warmth draining from her expression. She’s hearing the tension. Feeling it. Watching it unfold in real time.
Aubrey lowers her voice, a warning in it now. “We talked about this.”
“I’m not doing it,” I repeat.
“Colton,” she presses, and then the softness returns for a moment, “please.”
The word catches because she never says please unless she’s desperate.
My jaw clenches.
I can’t do this in front of Melissa.
I take a breath, forcing control back into my voice. “Aubrey,” I say evenly, “not right now.”
Her gaze flicks to Melissa. Then back to me. And I see the calculation.
She sighs. “Fine. Not right now.”
Aubrey’s tone brightens again, forced but functional. “I’ll text you,” she says, then turns to Melissa. “It was so nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Melissa says, genuine.
Aubrey steps closer to Melissa and lowers her voice in a way that still carries. “And I’m serious,” she adds. “He doesn’t let people in.”
Melissa’s throat bobs. “I … I’ve noticed.”
Melissa’s eyes flick to me again.
Aubrey turns toward the door, then pauses, looking back at me. Her gaze is sharp now, all sibling honesty. “Don’t shut this down,” she says quietly.
She doesn’t mean dinner. She means Melissa.
But before I can respond, Aubrey leaves, the door closing behind her with a soft click that sounds louder than it should in the quiet penthouse.
Melissa stands still for a moment, staring at the door.
Then she turns slowly to face me.
Her expression is gentle, but there’s a new awareness in it now.
“What was that?” she asks softly.
I swallow.
“It was my sister,” I say, like that explains anything.
Melissa huffs a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. “No,” she says. “Not her. The look you gave her.”
She saw it. Of course she did.
I step closer, careful. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“That’s not an answer,” she says, still soft but more direct now.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair.
The truth is complicated.
The truth is, I don’t want Melissa in the crossfire of my family dynamics. I don’t want her to see what I become when I’m around my parents. How my control tightens, how my patience frays, how old memories crawl up the back of my throat like smoke.
I don’t want her to see me unravel.
But even as I’m thinking it, I realize the part that terrifies me.
I don’t want her to leave.
She steps closer, too, slow and cautious, like she’s approaching the part of me that might break.
“I’m not asking you to tell me everything,” she says quietly. “I’m just … noticing.”
I nod once.
“I know,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “I like Aubrey.”
Of course she does.
“She likes you,” I reply.
Melissa’s lips twitch. “She made it very obvious.”
I should be relieved.
Instead, my stomach twists.
Because Aubrey liking her makes this feel more real. Like this isn’t merely a private, contained thing between two people who agreed not to name it.
Melissa sets her mug down on the counter. “I should probably go,” she says.
The words hit like a punch.
“What?” I ask too sharply.
She flinches slightly, then steadies herself. “Not because of her,” she adds quickly. “Just … it’s Sunday. I need to reset.”
I nod slowly, forcing my voice to stay even. “Okay.”
I hate myself for saying it. She waits a beat, like she expected me to argue.
I don’t because if I argue, I’m admitting something I’m not ready to say out loud.
She disappears into my room to change. When she comes back, I walk her to the door.
She pulls her jacket on, fingers fidgeting at the zipper. I watch her hands, then her face, trying to read what she’s feeling.
I step closer, cupping her cheek gently, thumb brushing under her cheekbone. “Hey,” I murmur.
Her eyes meet mine. “Hey.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I say.
Her brows lift slightly. “I didn’t think you were.”
“Good,” I say, swallowing hard. “Because that … that wasn’t about you.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But it still touched your world.”
Your world … as if she’s only visiting.
I kiss her slowly. When I pull back, her eyes are a little glassy.
“Text me when you get home,” I say.
She nods. “I will.”
She steps out into the hall, turning back once. “Colton?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice is soft. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?” I manage.
“Real,” she says simply.
Then she’s gone. The door closes, and the penthouse goes quiet again.
It isn’t the familiar quiet I used to crave. It’s emptier now. I stand here for a long moment, staring at the closed door, feeling something I don’t have a name for press against my ribs.
I told myself this was a plan.
Casual. Controlled. Safe.
But Melissa in my shirt, in my kitchen, laughing with my sister, it didn’t feel like a plan.
It felt like a life.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
I liked it enough that the thought of losing it makes my body tense with something dangerously close to fear.