Fallon
Chapter fifty-nine
The Show Must go on
The ring light hums as Jules adjusts it for the third time, face scrunching toward her phone screen like it bitch-slapped her.
“No. Not a cold day in hell. That filter is washing what little color I have away.”
“I think your porcelain skin is gorgeous,” I say, sliding a clean cape over the chair.
“Yeah, until the sun goes down, and I suddenly turn into a glowstick.” She smiles, cheekbones rising.
I watch as she swipes until satisfied, her bright orange nail taps record.
Instantly, Jules transforms-chin lifted, shoulders back, boobs tossed to the heavens, a brilliant smile pulling at her lips.
“Hey, my beauty besties,” she sings to the camera, voice sugar-sweet. “Welcome back, where we turn mental breakdowns into fresh layers and great highlights.”
I snort despite myself and move behind her, pretending to organize product while she films a quick transition reel—hair flip, wink, exaggerated gasp as she holds a blow dryer.
“Okay, cut,” she says, lowering the phone. “I have a hunch that this one will—what are the kids saying—eat and leave no crumbs.”
“You say that about all of them.”
“And I’m usually right. I told you—you have to manifest your success.”
She hops down from the stool, nearly tripping over her own wedges, then steadies herself on the counter, pretending nothing happened.
“So,” I remark casually, possibly too casually, “are you and Jonah…hooking up again?”
Her head snaps toward me so fast I worry about whiplash.
“Excuse me?”
I shrug, folding towels with exaggerated focus. “You’ve been between…glowing. And yelling at your phone more than usual.”
Jules’s laugh is flat as she flops into the nearest chair, crossing her arms under her chest. “Oh, he lays it on thick when we’re all together,” she says. “Flirting, teasing, touching me. I’m the highlight of his life.”
I glance at her, noting the pinched expression. “But?”
“When there’s no one to interrupt us?” She scoffs. “Crickets. He ignores my texts. He sends my calls to voicemail. He pretends I don’t exist. Nothing, nada.”
“That’s…confusing.”
“It’s bullshit,” she corrects. “It has to be fear, ego, or some weird self-sabotage thing. I have found some men do this when they realize they might actually care.”
I hum, getting lost in my thoughts. Jonah is a good guy; he’s my friend. Jules is my friend, too, though. I hope they can work through this, whatever this is. I don’t want to be forced to choose.
I say, “Some men take a while to believe they’re allowed to want something real. Doesn’t make it fair. But I’ve learned it’s not always as simple as it looks from the outside.”
She studies me for a beat, then tilts her head. “Okay. My turn.”
I freeze. “Should I be scared?”
“Possibly. What’s up with you and that hunk of a man, Cyrus?”
I tug my bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth.
Contemplating how much I want to share. What do I tell her?
That he makes my toes curl and blood boil at the same time?
That I enjoy arguing over ice cream flavors with him as much as I enjoy stripping his clothes off with my teeth?
I’m not used to sharing. “What about him?” I ask softly.
Jules leans forward, elbows on her knees, voice gentler now. “You don’t look at him like someone you’re still figuring out.”
My smile betrays me. “That’s because I’m not.” There it is. The truth, warm and steady instead of fragile and insecure. “My feelings for Cyrus didn’t magically pop up,” I admit. “They never left.”
Jules’s face softens. “And the future?” This time, there’s no hesitation.
“I can’t envision a future without him in it,” I say. “With him. With the kids. During the hard days and the good ones. Every minute of it.”
Jules blinks. “That’s…different from how you used to talk about this.
“Because it’s different now,” I say. “This isn’t hoping he comes around or praying for him to have something to do with Billy.
He has fully immersed himself into our lives.
It’s real. We’re practically living together.
We’re building routines. We’re showing up for each other when it’s inconvenient, and when it’s messy, and when times are slow. ”
Her expression shifts—thoughtful, more emotional. “And Liam?” she asks carefully.
My hand covers my heart; the gentle tug of my lips is answering enough. “I love him too. He and Billy have the best relationship.”
“I noticed at Lani’s he was referring to you as his mom.”
Moisture gathers around my lashes, “I didn’t ask him to do it,” I rush to explain, voice thick.
“It’s something that’s new. It feels—right.
I was worried about how Cyrus would react, but he was outside the fort the first time it happened and heard…
” I trail off, shaking my head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. “It felt natural. Right.”
Jules stands, crosses the room in two steps, and wraps me in a hug.
“That’s huge.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “And there’s no pressure for me to be anything other than what I want to be with Liam and Cyrus.
It doesn’t weigh on me, being a mom to a child I didn’t carry.
My love for them is effortless…the trust that Liam gives to me has been earned over time.
We’re meant to be a family. I am so honored to be a part of his life. ”
She pulls back to study my face.
“I love this for you guys.”
“I’m blissfully happy with the life we’re building,” I say. “With the way we co-parent. With the way he listens. With the way he touches me, it’s as if he doesn’t believe that I’m really there with him.”
Jules smiles through glassy eyes.
“You deserve that.”
“So does Cyrus,” I admit. “So do the kids.”
She squeezes my hands once before stepping back, visibly emotional. Then she claps sharply, forcing brightness back into the room.
“Okay. Emotional honesty hour is over. Let’s go film one more reel before I ugly cry and smear my mascara.”
I laugh, lighter now. “What now?”
Jules flips her ponytail. “A day in the life of a salon that runs on caffeine, trauma bonding, and unresolved conflict with a coloring brush,” she says, already lifting her phone again.
“Turn around. The internet eats this shit up. The algorithm loves that you never show your face. Which is a shame, because babe, that’s one hell of a face. ”
“Oh, no. Not after what happened. You can keep the internet for yourself.”
“Babe, we don’t run from our problems, we become the whole ass problem. Now. Turn. Around.”
Ignoring my heart palpitations, I step into the frame anyway, my posture straight and relaxed for once.
The future is still terrifying. Being in love is always a risk. But standing here—lights bright, coffee warm, friendship steady—I’m sure the sizzle of emotion warming my body isn’t fear anymore. It’s faith and anticipation. And for once in my lifetime, I’m sure I deserve this.