Chapter 14
When Home Isn’t Home
Remi
Ishut the apartment door behind me and just... stare.
It’s exactly how I left it.
Same shoes kicked off by the entryway. Same coffee cup I forgot to put in the cabinet sitting on the counter. Same couch cushions slumped from too many movie nights with Matthew.
And yet, it feels like a stranger’s space.
This used to be mine. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar.
Now it just feels... empty.
I drop my keys in the bowl and lean against the door, exhaling slowly as I press my head back against the wood. God, I hate how weird this feels. How wrong.
It’s only been a week.
One week of making breakfast in a too-quiet kitchen. Of sneaking smiles from guarded little girls who are far too old in the ways that matter. Of bumping into a man who keeps pretending he’s not watching me but softens every time he does.
I came into that house thinking I wouldn’t last a week. That I’d be too loud, too messy, too me for that carefully built structure Coleman hides behind.
But now I miss the chaos.
I miss them.
And it terrifies me.
I shove off the door and walk straight to my room, yanking open drawers and grabbing the duffel bag I barely used last time. I toss in more leggings, another hoodie, a few extra bras, my makeup bag—nothing dramatic, but enough to feel like I’m not just a visitor anymore.
Halfway through packing, I hear the front door open.
“Rem?”
Matthew’s voice drifts down the hall, and I can already hear the concern in it.
“In here,” I call out, not bothering to stop what I’m doing.
He appears in the doorway a second later, eyebrows raised at the pile of clothes now threatening to take over my bed. “So... you’re moving out?”
I freeze with a sock in one hand. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” he echoes, stepping inside and folding his arms. “Rem, you brought, like, one hoodie and a toothbrush last week. Now you’re packing enough to survive a winter storm. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I sigh, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “It’s not what you think.”
He lifts a brow. “Oh, so you’re not falling for the hot single dad you’re nannying for?”
I glare at him, but my face burns. “I’m not—okay, maybe a little. But it’s more than that.”
“More than falling for a guy you live with who has two adorable kids and looks at you like you hold the secret to gravity?”
“Matthew,” I groan.
He grins but softens. “Talk to me.”
I rub my hands together, suddenly unsure how to explain it. “I didn’t think I’d fit there. I thought it’d be awkward or cold or too structured for me. But it’s not. It’s... warm. It’s kind. And those girls—they’re starting to let me in.”
“You love them already.”
I nod. “I do. And when I walked in here tonight, it just... didn’t feel like home anymore. That house did. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
Matthew watches me, quiet for a beat.
Then he smirks.
“You need a night out.”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re in your feels. You’re spiraling. Classic symptoms of ‘falling-too-fast-itis.’ Luckily, the cure is a tequila-fueled night with your brothers.”
“I don’t need tequila,” I mutter.
“Yes, you do. And maybe a lap dance from some cowboy who says ‘darlin’.”
I burst out laughing, the tension in my chest loosening just a little. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m right,” he says, already pulling out his phone to text the others. “We’re going out tonight. You can overthink your life tomorrow.”
I shake my head but smile anyway.
Because for all the confusion and ache twisting through me right now, there’s something grounding about knowing I’m not doing it alone.
I’m not sure how many drinks I’ve had, but I’m at that stage of tipsy where everything feels a little blurry—like the edges of the world are softening just enough to make me forget how hard it’s all been.
The music’s loud.
My brothers are louder.
And for the first time in days, I’m laughing without thinking about who might be watching.
“Okay, but be honest,” I say, slurring only a little as I point a french fry at my brother Tyler across the booth, “was I the dramatic sibling or just the most expressive?”
Tyler chokes on his beer.
“No offense, Rem,” Jesse says as he slides the ketchup back toward me, “but you once threw a shoe at the TV because the guy didn’t pick the girl you liked on The Bachelor.”
“I stand by it,” I say, dramatically placing a hand to my chest.
“You were twelve.”
“And emotionally aware.”
They all burst out laughing. Matthew slings an arm around the back of my seat, pulling me into a side hug. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. But you’ve also always had the biggest heart.”
“Aww,” I grin, nudging my head against his shoulder. “You’re just saying that because I let you borrow my concealer when your girlfriend gave you a hickey and you didn’t want Mom to see.”
“Wow,” he mutters, face red. “Betrayal runs deep in this family.”
More laughter. Mason’s got tears in his eyes now, and Oliver’s waving down the waitress for another round. It’s loud, messy, and perfect in the way only a night out with my brothers can be.
But it’s also not enough tonight.
Because even with all the noise around me, I feel it—this quiet ache tucked under my ribs.
I miss them.
I miss the way Payton pretends not to care but always listens when I talk.
I miss Paige’s giggles when she thinks no one’s watching.
I miss him.
God, do I miss him.
I reach for my phone before I can stop myself.
Me:
Have you talked to the girls?
The moment it sends, guilt twists in my stomach.
But then—It takes him all of sixty seconds to reply.
Coleman:
Not yet. Why?
I chew on my straw and stare at the screen. I bite my lip, leaning forward as the lights blur. I read his message three times, then type
Me:
I miss them.
I miss you.
There. It’s done. I hit send and immediately want to crawl under the table.
A moment later, three dots appear.
Then disappear.
Then reappear.
Coleman:
Remi…
Where are you?
My heart stutters. I type back:
Me:
Out with my brothers
He doesn’t respond right away, and the delay makes my heart pound.
Finally, his text appears:
Coleman:
That’s not what I meant. Where are you?
I glance around the bar. Tyler’s doing karaoke now—badly. Oliver’s chatting up the waitress. Matthew’s checking his watch and pretending not to notice how many texts he’s getting from his girlfriend.
They’re all here. I’m safe. But I’m not home.
I pull in a breath and finally reply:
Me:
Harrigan’s. Why?
I know why.
Even through the tequila haze, I know exactly what I want.
I want him to come get me.
Even if I don’t know what it will mean when he does.