Chapter 14
Theo
Rachel’s not answering my texts.
Three days. I’ve sent maybe five messages total—not trying to be pushy, just checking in. Casual stuff. “How are you holding up?” and “Want to grab coffee?” and “Tommy still loving that fire truck?”
Her responses have been getting shorter.
Fine.
Busy with job stuff.
He loves it.
That last one came through this morning, and I stared at it for ten minutes, trying to figure out whether she was actually fine or if “fine” was code for “leave me alone.”
I’m betting on the second one.
Which is why I’m driving to Jake’s house at eleven on a Saturday morning without an invitation.
Jake’s truck isn’t in the driveway when I pull up. I text him: You home?
His response comes fast: Hardware store with Tommy. Buying supplies for his Alaska prep. Be back in a few hours.
Perfect. Or maybe not perfect. Depends on how you look at it.
I get out of the truck and walk up to the front door. Ring the bell.
No answer.
I ring again.
Still nothing.
I’m about to leave when I hear movement inside. The door opens, and Rachel appears in the doorway wearing old sweats and a t-shirt that’s definitely Jake’s. Her hair’s pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s not wearing any makeup.
She looks exhausted.
“Theo.” She blinks like she’s surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you. You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
There’s that word again.
“Can I come in?”
She hesitates, then steps back. “Yeah. Sure.”
The house is quiet except for the sound of the washing machine running somewhere in the back. I follow her through the living room toward the kitchen.
“Jake and Tommy at the hardware store?” I ask.
“Yeah. They’ll be gone for a while. Jake’s buying half the store for his Alaska trip.” She stops at the doorway to the laundry room. “I was just doing laundry. Exciting Saturday.”
The laundry room is small—washer and dryer stacked in one corner, folding table covered with Tommy’s clothes. Rachel moves to the table and starts folding a tiny shirt with mechanical precision.
I lean against the doorframe. “How are you really doing?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I don’t believe you.”
She folds another shirt and doesn’t spare me a glance. “What do you want me to say, Theo? That I’m having a great time being unemployed? That Derek threatening to take Tommy is super fun? That I love applying for jobs that never call back?”
“I want you to be honest.”
“Fine. Honest?” She drops the shirt. “I’m a mess.
I can’t find work. I can’t pay my own bills.
I’m living in my brother’s house like I’m still a kid who can’t figure out her life.
And everyone was right—I’m not stable. I’m not good enough.
Derek was right to leave, and he’s probably right that Tommy deserves better. ”
“That’s garbage.”
“Is it?” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are red like she’s been crying. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty accurate.”
“You’re not a failure, Rachel.”
“I lost my job. I can’t find another one. My ex is threatening custody because I can’t get it together.” She picks up another shirt, grips it too tightly. “That sounds like failure to me.”
I push off the doorframe and move closer.
“You know what failure looks like? Losing everything because you trusted the wrong people. Having your business partner steal a hundred thousand dollars while you were too stupid to notice. Spending two years paying off debt from a restaurant that doesn’t exist anymore.
” I stop in front of her. “That’s failure. And I lived through it.”
She sets the shirt down. “What?”
“My restaurant in Portland. The one I told you about.” I lean against the folding table.
“I had two business partners, childhood friends.
We pooled everything we had to open that place.
My name was on the sign, my recipes on the menu.
And I trusted them completely—trusted they'd have my back the way I had theirs.”
“Theo—”
“They started skimming six months in. Small amounts at first. By the time I caught on, they’d drained over a hundred thousand dollars and disappeared.” I cross my arms. “The loans were in my name. The lease was in my name. Everything fell on me when they vanished.”
Rachel’s quiet, watching me with those green eyes that see too much.
“I spent two years drowning,” I continue. “Working three jobs, selling everything I owned, barely sleeping. My credit tanked. My family stopped calling because they were tired of hearing about it. I felt worthless. Like the biggest idiot who ever lived.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was. But you know what I learned?” I meet her eyes. “Rock bottom doesn’t mean you stay there. It means you have nowhere to go but up. And the people who doubt you? They don’t matter. The only person who matters is you, and whether you believe you can rebuild.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
“You should because you’re doing it right now. You left a bad situation. You’re protecting your son. You’re applying for jobs even when it’s hard. You’re not giving up.” I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s not failure. That’s strength.”
Her breath catches. “Why are you here, Theo?”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because your texts sounded wrong. Because I needed to make sure you were okay.” I let my hand drop. “And because I’m falling for you, and that terrifies me, but I can’t seem to stop.”
“You shouldn’t fall for me. I’m a mess.”
“I like messes.”
“I’m serious. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even give myself what I deserve.”
“I don’t need you to give me anything.” I move closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “I just need you to let me be here. Let me help. Let me show you that you’re not alone in this.”
“Theo—”
I kiss her.
Soft at first. Careful. Giving her a chance to pull away, to tell me this is a mistake, to remember all the reasons this shouldn’t happen.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she kisses me back. Hard. Desperate. Like she’s been holding herself together for three days, and this is the moment she finally lets go.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping tight enough to sting. The laundry table digs into my back, but I don’t care. All I care about is her mouth on mine and the way she’s kissing me like I’m the only solid thing in her collapsing world.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Jake won’t be back for hours.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I lift her onto the folding table like she weighs nothing.
Her thighs spread wide on instinct, soft gray sweats shoved down to her knees, bunching at the ankles.
The second her ass hits the metal surface, she yanks my hips forward, nails digging into my belt loops, pulling me between her legs like she’s starving.
I rip her panties to the side, the elastic snapping against her hip.
She gasps, back arching, and I swallow the sound with my mouth.
My tongue fucks into her, deep and filthy, tasting the desperation she’s been hiding behind short texts and “fine.” She moans into me, hips rolling, trying to ride my face right there on the table.
I fist her messy bun, yanking her head back hard enough to bare her throat.
My teeth sink into the soft skin just below her jaw (hard, claiming), and she whimpers, thighs trembling around my ears.
The washer kicks into spin cycle, the table rattling beneath her, and she grinds down harder, chasing friction.
Dropping to my knees, I shove her legs wider, shoulders wedging between them.
No teasing. My tongue spears inside her, one long, greedy lick from entrance to clit, lapping up every drop like I’ve been dying for this taste.
She’s slick, swollen, dripping down my chin.
I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking fast, merciless, while two fingers plunge deep and curl hard against her front wall.
“Theo—” Her voice cracks, hands clawing at the dryer door, knuckles white.
The machine’s thump-thump-thump syncs with my tongue, and she’s riding my face in rhythm, hips bucking, thighs clamping around my head.
I don’t let her breathe. I don’t let her think.
Just devour her like she’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I yank her off the table so fast the metal legs screech across the tile. She’s still clenching around nothing, thighs slick, eyes glassy with need. I spin her, shove her down—face-first into a pile of Tommy’s clean towels, ass up, back arched like an offering.
I don’t give her time to breathe.
One hand fists her hair, the other spreads her open—wide—and I slam back in. The angle’s brutal, deeper than before, the head of my cock dragging against her front wall with every thrust.
She screams into the towels, muffled and raw, her whole body jerking forward with the force. The washer’s still spinning, thumping in time with my hips, and I use it—fuck, I use it—driving into her so hard the vibrations travel up her spine and make her clit throb against the machine’s edge.
“Hold on,” I snarl, voice shredded.
She claws at the towels, knuckles white, trying to anchor herself.
I pull out slow, just the tip, then slam back in, bottoming out, balls slapping her swollen clit.
Again. Again. Again. Each thrust is a punishment, a claim, a prayer.
Her pussy flutters around me, milking me, and I can feel her climbing, climbing, climbing.
I flip her onto her back without pulling out and hook her knees over my elbows.
Fold her in half. Her ankles dangle by my ears, thighs trembling, and I drive—long, punishing strokes that make her tits bounce under the t-shirt, nipples hard and visible through the fabric.
The dryer door bangs open with every thrust, metal clanging, and I don’t care. Let it break.
“Look at me,” I growl.
Her eyes snap open—green, wild, wrecked. I lean down, bite her lower lip, taste blood and her. “You’re gonna come on this cock. You’re gonna squirt all over me. And then I’m gonna fill you up until it leaks down your thighs for days.”
She sobs—"Yes, Theo, please.”
I angle my hips, grinding against her clit with every thrust. The pressure builds, her walls fluttering, and I feel it—the moment she breaks.
Her back arches off the floor, pussy clamping down so hard I see stars, and she squirts—hot, wet, gushing around my cock, soaking my jeans, the towels, the tile. The sound is filthy, obscene, perfect.
I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I fuck her through it, hips snapping, chasing my own release. One hand slides between us, thumb circling her clit in tight, ruthless circles, and she comes again harder, her whole body seizing, nails raking down my back, drawing blood. The pain shoves me over the edge.
“Fuck—Rachel—” I roar, burying myself to the hilt, pulsing hot inside her, thick ropes of cum filling her up, spilling out around my cock as I jerk through the aftershocks. My vision whites out, ears ringing, every nerve on fire.
We lie there on the laundry room floor for another ten minutes. Not talking, just existing in this bubble where Derek and job applications and custody battles don’t exist.
Eventually, Rachel sits up. “Jake’s going to be home soon.”
“Right. Yeah.” I stand and help her up. “Should probably make ourselves presentable.”
We get dressed quickly. Rachel rewashes Tommy’s clothes while I straighten up the folding table. By the time we hear Jake’s truck in the driveway, we’re both in the kitchen looking completely innocent.
Except we’re not innocent. Not even close.
And when Rachel catches my eye across the room while Jake’s telling Tommy to wipe his feet, I see the same thing I’m feeling.
This just got a lot more complicated.
And neither of us knows how to stop.