Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dorian
“Do you mind if we talk business for a bit?” I ask.
Norah looks up from where she’s curled into the corner of the sofa, knees tucked beneath her, Ryker’s blanket pulled up around her shoulders.
Her hair is still a little damp from melted snow, loose around her face in a way that feels painfully intimate after the day we’ve had.
She nods immediately. “Of course.”
Ryker’s living room is warm in that deep, earned way that only comes after hours of cold. The kind of heat that settles into your bones instead of just brushing your skin.
The windows fog slightly from our breath, the world outside muted and white. Cocoa steams in heavy mugs on the table, cinnamon and chocolate hanging thick in the air.
When Ryker invited us back here, I jumped at the chance without hesitation. The market was joyful and loud and full, but it took everything out of me. Out of all of us.
I know we all loved to see all her flowers sell out, but we also needed this.
This feels like the exhale.
I sit forward in the armchair, elbows on my knees, scarf draped over the back like an afterthought.
Ryker leans against the opposite arm of the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, mug cradled in both hands. Jude sits on the floor, back against the coffee table, glasses off and resting beside him.
Norah is the center of the room without trying.
“I wanted to say,” I begin, glancing between them, “the idea you had for the community hall is perfect.”
Ryker hums around a sip of cocoa. “Yeah. It is.”
“It solves three problems at once,” I continue. “Temporary access for vendors. Keeps the square active. Gives the town time to breathe while the structural work gets done properly.”
Jude nods. “Mayor Brighton was practically glowing.”
“He was,” Ryker agrees. “Which is not something I say lightly.”
Norah smiles at that, her chin tucked into the blanket. She looks tired. Not the brittle kind. The good kind. The kind that comes from being fully present for something that mattered.
“Jude,” Ryker says casually, “you wanted to ask something.”
Jude blinks, clearly surprised to be put on the spot. “I did?”
Ryker lifts his brows, pointed.
“Oh,” Jude says. He turns his head toward me. “How’s your mother?”
The question hits harder than I expect.
I had stepped away from the market earlier, heart racing, hands shaking as I rushed to the hospital after the call. I hadn’t mentioned it when I returned.
I didn’t want to bring that energy back into the square. Didn’t want to pull Norah away from her stall, from the joy on her face when people bought her flowers.
“She’s fine,” I say carefully. “Stable. The flare was mild.”
Norah’s eyes are on me immediately. Soft. Encouraging. She doesn’t push. She simply waits.
I breathe out slowly.
“There’s something I should have told you both sooner,” I say, voice quieter now. “My mother has MS.”
The words sit heavy in the room once they’re out.
Jude’s face shifts first, concern settling in without pity. “I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s so scary.”
“It is, but we’re handling everything as best as we can.”
Ryker nods once. “My aunt had it.”
I look at him sharply. “She did?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Diagnosed in her forties. Mobility issues, mostly. Fatigue. She lived with us for a few years when things got harder.”
Something in my chest loosens at that. “How did your family handle care?”
“Badly at first,” he admits. “Then better. We learned.”
Jude leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Is she getting support?”
“Yes,” I say. “Medication. Physical therapy. I go when I can.” The words tumble out faster now, the dam finally cracking.
“I should be there more. I should have told you earlier. Should have been honest instead of compartmentalizing everything like it would just disappear if I ignored it long enough.”
Norah shifts closer without a word, her foot brushing my knee.
“I didn’t want to bring it into this,” I continue. “Into her heat. Into something that already felt overwhelming. But it’s been sitting in my chest for years. Every decision I make. Every place I choose to be.”
Jude’s voice is gentle. “That’s a lot to carry alone.”
“It is,” I admit.
Ryker studies me. “You don’t have to do that here. I like to think that we’re kind of becoming friends, aren’t we?”
I swallow. Hard.
The realization lands slowly and then all at once. Just how much this has been weighing on my conscience.
How carefully I have been keeping parts of myself separate, afraid that if I let them touch, they would collapse everything else. How alone I’ve been as I dealt with this.
Norah squeezes my knee, eyes warm and steady. “Thank you for telling them. For trusting us with this.”
I nod, throat tight. “Now,” I say, forcing a breath, “can we address the elephant in the room?”
Norah laughs softly. “Am I the elephant?”
Jude grins. Ryker snorts. The tension breaks, not completely, but enough.
“You’re not an elephant,” Jude says. “You’re the entire room.”
Norah rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
I sit back, heart pounding, words lining up with terrifying clarity. “I care about you,” I say, looking at her directly. “All of this was not a one-time thing for me. I’m in love with you.”
The words feel dangerous and right all at once.
Ryker doesn’t interrupt. Jude doesn’t deflect. Norah’s breath catches.
“I don’t want what happened between us to be something we pretend was just circumstance,” I continue. “I want to build something. Honestly. Together. If you want that.”
Silence stretches, full and alive.
Norah’s eyes shine, not with fear, but with recognition. “I do,” she says softly.
“Good, because I need this. I need us to work this time around, Norah.”
The room doesn’t rush me after the words leave my mouth. That might be the most surprising part. No one flinches. No one fills the space with noise to soften the impact.
The quiet that settles is warm and attentive, like everyone is leaning in instead of pulling away.
Norah is still curled into the corner of the sofa, blanket tucked under her chin, cheeks flushed from the fire and the cocoa and the day. Her eyes stay on mine, open and unguarded.
She doesn’t look startled. She looks like she’s been waiting for honesty.
Ryker shifts first. He sets his mug down on the table, the ceramic making a soft sound against the wood.
“We should talk about Claire,” he says, voice low but certain.
Jude nods from the floor, pushing his glasses up even though they’re not slipping. “Yeah. We should.”
Norah draws a breath, shoulders rising beneath the blanket, then settling again. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t brace.
That alone feels like a gift.
Ryker speaks carefully. “Claire was… contained. That’s the word I keep coming back to. It fit in a box. We all knew where the edges were.”
Jude glances at me. “And it never touched the rest of our lives. Not really. We loved her. We will always love her. But this, whatever this is with Norah, it consumes us whole.”
I swallow. “With Norah, everything touches.”
She lets out a small laugh, but there’s emotion under it. “I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying.”
“It’s both,” Ryker says immediately. “And that’s the point.”
Jude’s voice is softer when he continues. “This is the first time any of us have cared about someone like this.”
Norah’s fingers tighten slightly in the blanket. She nods, slow and thoughtful, like she’s taking that in and weighing it.
“We want a chance to make you happy,” Ryker adds. “Not fix you. Not decide for you. Just… be part of your life in a way that adds something instead of taking.”
The words hit me square in the chest. I feel the truth of them echo against my ribs. I’ve wanted so many things in my life with urgency and ambition, but this feels different. Quieter. More deliberate.
“I fucked up with you,” I say, turning fully toward Norah now. “I walked away when I should have stayed. I convinced myself distance was safer than honesty. I’m grateful I’m being given a second chance.”
Her lips part. She doesn’t interrupt. She listens.
Ryker shifts closer to the couch, resting his forearm along the back without crowding her. “We’re not asking you to promise anything tonight.”
Jude nods. “We just want to be clear about where we stand.”
Norah studies each of us in turn, eyes bright, expression serious but not closed. “I care about you,” she says simply. “All of you. What happened wasn’t an accident. It mattered to me.”
The room seems to warm another degree.
Ryker’s gaze drops briefly to her legs tucked beneath her. “Are you still sore?”
The question is gentle.
Her cheeks darken, but she smiles. “A little.”
He hums softly, approval and care tangled together. “We’ll take it easy.”
I move before I overthink it, leaning in to kiss her. My mouth meets hers with intention, heat blooming slow and sure between us. She opens to me willingly, fingers slipping into my scarf, pulling me closer.
Ryker joins without asking, his hand warm at her waist, his mouth finding her neck, careful but possessive.
Jude rises from the floor, hands braced on the couch as he leans in, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth like he’s reminding her he’s there too.
She makes a sound that goes straight through me, breathy and honest. Her hands reach, one finding Ryker’s wrist, the other catching Jude’s sleeve.
The kiss deepens, bodies pressing closer, heat pooling low and insistent.
Then Jude’s phone rings.
He stills instantly, breath leaving him on a quiet curse. “Give me a minute.”
He steps away, phone pressed to his ear, shoulders tensing as he listens.
“Okay,” he says. “Calm down. Start from the top. What is going on?”
Ryker and I pull back just enough to look at each other. Norah’s eyes search our faces, concern flickering.
Jude’s voice sharpens. “Okay, calm down and tell me what the hell happened.”
There’s no discussion about it. No argument.
The keys are already in his hand when the call ends, his face pale and sharp with focus in a way that tells me this isn’t the first emergency he’s navigated in his life.
He moves with purpose, coat already on, phone pressed to his ear as he jogs toward the truck.
“Give me the keys. I’ll drive,” I tell him. Jude concedes.
Ryker climbs into the back with him, one knee braced against the seat, eyes locked on Jude’s expression like he’s trying to read the story before it finishes being told.
Norah slides into the passenger seat beside me, hands shaking as she fumbles with the seatbelt. I reach across and help her, fingers brushing hers, grounding myself as much as her.
Snow streaks past the windshield as I pull out of the driveway and head toward Maple Glen, tires crunching loud in the quiet night. The heater blasts hot air that smells faintly of cedar and cocoa and tension.
Jude keeps the phone on speaker.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Start again. From the beginning.”
Amber’s voice crackles through, high and breathless. “I don’t know what’s got into him. He left, Jude. And I—I thought starting over would be the best solution for all of us. I didn’t tell him we were here.”
Ryker leans forward. “How did he find you guys?”
“I don’t know,” Amber sobs. “He just showed up. He’s drunk. He’s yelling. He’s trying to break the door down.”
Norah’s breath catches beside me. I feel it like a knife.
“Is Maisie hurt?” Jude asks, voice controlled but tight around the edges.
“No. She’s hiding in the back room with me. Stella’s trying to keep Luke out. The dog went for him. Rufus tore into his arm when he tried to shove past the door.”
Good dog, I think grimly.
“Stay inside,” Jude says. “Don’t open the door for anyone but us. We’re ten minutes out.”
The call drops.
The truck feels too small suddenly. Too full of air and noise and panic.
Norah grips the edge of the seat, eyes forward, lips moving silently like she’s counting breaths. I place my hand over hers, feel her fingers curl into my palm hard enough to hurt.
“We’re almost there,” I say softly.
She nods, jaw tight.
Maple Glen is quiet when we arrive. Too quiet. The houses sit back from the road, lights dim, snow coating everything in a deceptive layer of calm.
The truck pulls up hard, tires skidding slightly, and we’re out before the engine fully cuts.
Luke is there.
He’s pacing in the front yard, jacket torn off and lying in the snow, one sleeve shredded and dark with blood.
His face is red and twisted with rage, eyes wild. He turns when he hears us, lips pulling back in a snarl.
“Where is she?” he slurs.
Ryker moves first.
He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t posture. He crosses the space between them in three long strides and drives his fist into Luke’s jaw with a crack that echoes off the houses.
Luke staggers, nearly falling, spitting blood into the snow.
Norah screams.
Luke swings back wildly, uncoordinated and furious. His fist cuts the air inches from Jude’s face.
The second blow lands straight into Jude’s nose, and we all hear the loud crack of his nose breaking.
That’s when I step in.
I don’t think. I act.
I grab Luke by the collar, twist, and drive my fist into his temple with everything I have. The impact travels up my arm, bone jarring bone.
He goes down hard, body folding and hitting the ground with a dull thud. He doesn’t get back up.
The door behind us flies open.
A woman, I assume has to be Amber, appears first. She has a slight resemblance to Jude, with the deep-set eyes and narrow nose. Her face streaked with tears, arms wrapped tight around a small, shaking body.
Her daughter peers over her shoulder, eyes wide and terrified. Behind them stands a woman I assume is Stella, one hand gripping the doorframe, the other holding the collar of a large dog with blood on its muzzle.
Sirens wail in the distance.
Too close.
Too fast.
“Stay back,” Jude calls, but it’s already too late.
Red and blue lights flood the street as the police cars skid to a stop. Officers spill out, shouting commands.
Hands go up. Ryker steps back slowly. I release Luke and raise my arms.
Norah is crying openly now, voice breaking as she tries to explain. “He was attacking them. It was self-defense.”
No one listens.
Cold metal bites into my wrists as I am cuffed. Jude and Ryker are treated the same. Luke groans on the ground, bloodied and still, and somehow he’s the one they kneel beside first.
As they lead us away, I catch Norah’s eyes.
I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
Whatever comes next, I would do it again.