Chapter 15
ARCHIE
Ididn’t knock right away.
Which was stupid, because standing on my mom’s front porch like I’d forgotten how doors worked wasn’t exactly subtle.
Rhys bumped his shoulder into mine. “You planning to live out here, or—”
“I’m thinking about it,” I said. “It’s peaceful. Low commitment.”
“Ah, yes.” Rhys clapped his hands in front of him, rocking up on the balls of his feet. “Same uneven step you always miss, same doormat that says welcome but feels vaguely threatening, same door that sticks if you don’t—”
“What are you doing?”
“Naming things,” he said, pointing at the door. “Knock harder than you think you need to. Which, by the way, hasn’t changed either.”
I stared at him.
He stared back, blinking once before flicking me in the center of the forehead.
“Rhys!” I swatted at his hand. “What the hell?”
“That’s what you’re doing, right?” he asked. “Taking inventory? Making sure everything’s still the same before you commit to knocking on it?”
I opened my mouth and immediately snapped it back shut. “I was going to knock.”
“Were you?”
“I was thinking about knocking.”
“Okay, cool, so the next time Carl tells me to get his coffee, I’ll just think about it. Same thing.”
I pushed my glasses up with more force than necessary. “Why are you here?”
He flicked me again. “You invited me.”
“I did not! You invited yourself.”
“I said, ‘do you want me to come,’ and you said, ‘if you want,’ which is not a real answer.”
“It is a real answer.”
“It’s your version of a real answer,” he corrected. “Which means yes, please come with me so I don’t have to do this alone.”
“Wow,” I said flatly. “Love being perceived like that.”
“You should,” he said. “I’m very good at it.”
I exhaled through my nose, glancing back at the door like it might’ve changed its mind while we were talking.
“Are your hands cramping?” He pressed his lips to my ear, stage whispering. “Do you want me to knock for you?”
I huffed out a laugh before I could stop it and shoved him back a step. “Shut up.”
“I knew it!” Rhys lit up like I’d just proven a point he’d been waiting on all morning, rocking back on his heels with a grin. “You love me.”
“Barely,” I muttered.
“Liar.”
Of course I was.
I loved Rhys.
Not in the way that replaced anything. Not in a way that tried to rewrite what had already been carved out of me.
Abel was his own space. Untouchable. Still there, whether I wanted to look at it or not.
Rhys never tried to take that.
“Don’t make it weird,” I said.
“Too late,” he replied cheerfully. “You brought me to meet your mom. This is already weird.”
“You’ve met my mom plenty of times. I brought you as—”
Rhys tilted his head, watching me closely now, grin softening just enough to notice. “As?” he prompted.
I looked back at the door. “…backup,”
“Mm,” he said, like that confirmed everything he already knew. “You can say it. I’m the best.”
“The best at annoying me.” I shot back, chuckling as he popped a wet kiss on my cheek. “Alright, Alright. I’ll knock.”
Raising my fist, I tapped my knuckles twice against the wood before I could overthink it.
This wasn’t the kind of house you just walked into. Never had been. No open-door, wander-in, help-yourself-to-the-fridge energy—everything here started with a knock, with waiting, with being let in.
Footsteps shuffled on the other side of the door, followed by the lock clicking. The door swung open.
“Arch—” She didn’t finish it before pulling me into a hug, arms wrapping tight around my neck.
It caught me off guard just enough that I went still for a second before returning it, hand coming up automatically to her shoulder.
This.
This was what still made sense when everything else was shit.
She still smelled the same as she did when I was ten. Warm sugar, green tea, and the laundry detergent she swore was a miracle for grass stains.
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Rhys called, and Mom pulled away with a laugh, turning to Rhys with that same momentum. “Rhys, hi—come here.”
He stepped in, hugging her easily. “Hi, Nora.”
“I love when you crash our Sunday lunches,” she said, squeezing him once before letting go. “It makes him easier to deal with.”
“Wow,” I said, deadpan. “Good to know my presence alone is not enough.”
“I’m essential,” he said, nodding once like this had been decided long ago.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—invited.”
“I did not invite you.”
Mom laughed softly at that, already stepping back to let us in. “Come on, both of you. Food’s ready.”
I stepped past her into the house, slipping off my shoes. Rhys matched the movement before trailing behind me with a pep in his step.
“Do you wanna skip down the hallway with me?”
“You’re laying the sunshine on a little thick, babe. I’m fine.”
But I knew what he was doing. Pulling my attention toward him so I couldn’t spiral.
Too bad for him, I was excellent at it. 10/10. Multiple tabs open, all of them buffering.
“Suit yourself,” Rhys sing-songed, bouncing into the kitchen. He tossed himself onto a stool and pulled out the one next to him, patting the top of it. “Saved you a seat.”
“How chivalrous of you,” I chuckled, but waited to sit. “You need any help, Mom?”
“No,” she said, reaching for a dish towel and then setting it right back down. “You sit. I’ve got it.”
“You sure?” I hovered a second longer than necessary.
“Archie,” she said, a little firmer now. “Sit.”
I nodded and lowered myself onto the stool Rhys had pulled out for me, hands settling on my knees for a second before I hooked them under the edge of the counter instead. It took more effort than it should have to stay put.
Mom moved around the kitchen like she had a list in her head she was trying to keep up with—setting things down, adjusting something that didn’t need adjusting, glancing toward the counter like she might’ve forgotten something important and couldn’t quite remember what it was.
Almost like she was here, but not all the way.
A notebook sat open near the edge of the counter, pages filled tight, lines crowding each other, arrows connecting thoughts that didn’t want to stay separate. There was a second page half-tucked underneath it and a third waiting nearby.
I could help.
Maybe… organize a bit—stack things, finish something, close the loop.
“Hey.”
I looked up.
She was right in front of me now, closer than I’d realized she’d gotten, her hand coming up to my cheek for a second before she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“Archibald,” she said softly. “I know you’re grown up now, but I enjoy taking care of you.”
“But—”
“So.” She brushed her hand once over my hair before stepping back. “You’re going to have to relax.”
Rhys snorted from beside me. “Relax? What’s that? Does Archie know how to do that?”
“I relax!”
“When?” he shot back.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The answer was obvious.
Henry.
The second I stepped into his orbit, I stopped bracing. The constant pressure in my chest finally eased off, and I didn’t have to keep everything running at once just to stay ahead of it. The world could be falling apart around me, and I wouldn’t panic.
Because he’d catch it.
Or he’d make sure it never got the chance to fall in the first place.
God.
My hands twitched with a restless energy settling into them. I could call him. I knew I could. He had a meeting with his publisher, but I also knew, with every bone in my body, that if I called, he’d answer.
“Earth to Archie,” Rhys said, nudging my shoulder.
I blinked, dragging myself back into the kitchen—into the heat, the smell, and the low clatter of dishes.
“I’m here,” I said.
Barely.
Two bowls clinked softly as she set them down, one after another, adjusting each one until she was satisfied. A row of painted daisies decorated each rim, steam curling up in the air.
Rhys groaned next to me, and my stomach growled at the scent—a blend of spices she’d never reveal.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
Rhys blew on it once, then took a full bite. “ohmygod.”
A hint of amusement flicked across Mom’s face. “From the garden.”
“Obviously. Nora Quinn would never be caught dead using a canned vegetable.”
She pointed her spoon at him. “Don’t you forget it.”
He grinned, unbothered, tipping his stool back as he took another bite.
I picked up my spoon slower, watching the steam curl along the surface before blowing on it and taking a careful bite.
My mom stayed on the other side of the counter with her own bowl, fingers wrapped loosely around it. She never sat when we were here, always hovering within reach of something that might need her.
Stirring her soup, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. My brain’s just been… moving. I keep thinking if I just follow it all the way through, I’ll get somewhere.”
Must be genetic.
“It’s okay. I just—” I stared into my bowl. “I thought you were upset with me.”
“No. No, Archie.” Her spoon clicked softly against the counter as she set it down. “I send things because I need you to have them. To stay sharp. To stay aware.”
“Mom.” I let out a small breath through my nose. “We both know you send them in case it triggers something. A memory.”
The shift was unmistakable. Tension coiled so tight, it was almost tangible.
Shit.
Her shoulders drew in just enough that I knew I’d crossed something we usually left alone.
Dropping my gaze to my bowl, I pulled my spoon through the broth without taking another bite, buying myself a second I probably didn’t deserve.
We didn’t talk like that.
Not directly.
We circled everything, let it exist without ever saying it out loud because saying it made it real in a way neither of us seemed willing to deal with.
And now I had.
Lips pressed together, the guilt started to creep in, because I knew better. I always knew better.
Rhys shifted beside me, the back legs of his stool hitting the floor again with a quiet thud as he leaned forward. “I think what Arch is trying to say is that it gets to be a lot. All at once.”