Zach
Amber sat next to me on the couch, our hands knitted tightly together, her thumb tracing small, anxious circles against my knuckles.
Isabella sat across from us in the armchair, hands folded in her lap, while Luke perched on the edge of the settee behind her, one arm draped along the back like he owned the whole room.
The rich prick liked lording over everyone.
I’d actually had a nightmare last night about his spawn—something involving tiny horns and a briefcase. But then I glanced at Isabella, at the way her fingers kept drifting to her still-flat stomach, and remembered this was her child too.
Ignore him, I told myself.
“Do you know why Clive wanted us to adopt one another’s children?” Isabella asked softly, her voice carrying that same gentle patience I remembered from every scraped knee and failed exam of my childhood.
To torture me?
I shook my head.
“To protect you both, in case something happened to either one of us.” She paused, twisting her hands together. “I guess I failed your dad when you left.”
I swallowed hard, throat tight, when I saw the tears shimmering in her eyes, threatening to spill.
“So this,” she said, raising her hand between me and Amber, “is actually a good development, from what Amber’s told me. Clive would have been happy.”
I thought of my dad—chilled, outdoorsy, full of terrible dad jokes, but so full of love it used to embarrass me in front of my mates. Of course he’d have treated Amber like his own. I’d just never let Isabella do the same for me.
My eyes dropped to her stomach. She didn’t look pregnant yet. Just Isabella, soft cardigan and all, sitting there like nothing in the world had changed.
“Mark and Zoe wouldn’t have been there for either of you, so we created our own little family instead.”
I sighed and nodded slowly, something in my chest finally loosening.
“Yeah. It makes sense now,” I said.
Her shoulders sagged with visible relief, and a small smile broke across her face.
“Good. Now, for some ground rules,” she said, turning to Amber with a broad, almost mischievous smile.
I raised an eyebrow.
She could try.
? ? ?
Isabella held me so tightly that for a moment I sank into the hug and placed a hand on her back. This felt like coming home after a long spell in the wilderness.
“I’m always here for you,” she whispered, pulling back.
The lump in my throat prevented me from speaking, so I nodded.
“We’ll see you soon, son,” Luke said, with a wink.
My eyes flicked behind her.
The message was clear in my eyes to him.
Die, you filthy fucking boomer. Die.
I smiled and took Amber’s hand. I waved at Isabella as we walked away. Amber was going to walk me to my car, which was out of sight from the parents. A fifteen-to-twenty-minute tonguing session was the norm before I left. I walked a little faster, since this was our first legitimate one.
? ? ?
I dropped Amber off at her house and was about to pull away when a message buzzed through.
Luke.
Amber paused in her doorway, blew me a kiss, and disappeared inside. I waved, but the second the door clicked shut behind her, I tapped on the message.
Luke: I’ll be watching you.
I glanced up at the house—curtains drawn, porch light glowing amber against the dark—but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Me: Kinda creepy, but okay, boomer.
I pocketed my phone and reversed out of the driveway, briefly considering scraping my car against his Aston Martin on the way past. My Audi could take it. But the thought of the paintwork bill put me off fast enough.
It wasn’t until I was on the road home that I properly turned Luke and Isabella over in my head.
He was fiercely protective of her—overbearing, controlling, borderline unhinged at times—but never actually harmful.
Not to her. Not to Amber either, as far as I could tell. Just everyone else who dared get close.
I flicked my playlist on as I merged onto the motorway, streetlights strobing past in steady rhythm.
Amber had been buzzing all evening about the new baby, and some of that had leached into me too, whether I wanted it to or not.
Both mother and daughter had been animated in the best way—hands moving, words tumbling over each other, faces lit up.
It was only then, watching them from the edge of the room, that I’d caught the look in Luke’s eyes. Soft. Dreamy. Laced with a heavy dose of self-satisfaction, like a man watching a plan finally click into place.
I guessed that made me an extension of that prick’s family now, too.
At least Isabella was normal.
I turned the music up, the bassline thudding through the seat, and let my mind wander to booking a weekend away with Amber. Somewhere south, maybe, since the weather up here still couldn’t decide what season it wanted to be.
I sent a silent, half-serious prayer of thanks to my maternal grandparents, wherever they were, for setting up my trust fund all those years ago. Maybe some part of them had known exactly what kind of woman their daughter would grow into.
Thoughts drifted, one into the next, until they settled on my dad—on the values he’d spent years quietly trying to instil in me, half of which I’d only started listening to now that he wasn’t around to see it.
“I’m trying, Dad,” I whispered.
The words got lost under the music before they’d even finished leaving my mouth.