Chapter 18 #2
He didn’t look annoyed. He didn’t look surprised. He looked concerned. Genuinely, unmistakably concerned.
His eyes swept over me from head to foot—my face, my posture, the way my hands were clenched at my sides like I was holding myself together by force of will alone.
“Welcome home, Miss Frankie,” he said gently.
Something in my chest cracked.
“I have spoken with the veterinarian’s office,” Jeremy continued smoothly, stepping aside to let us in. “Your cats are all fine. They’ve had their checkups, their shots, and are in excellent health. They will be here within the hour.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It came out shaky and thin, but it came out.
“I also had some supplies sent over for them while we wait,” he added, his tone precise but kind. “Food, litter, temporary beds. The movers will bring your things shortly and set you up in Mr. Archie’s wing—the butterfly bedroom, I believe that was your favorite the last time you stayed over.”
The butterfly bedroom.
Of course, he remembered.
My vision blurred and I blinked hard, nodding because words were still beyond me.
Archie’s hand found the small of my back, warm and anchoring. Jake shifted behind me, the backpack still slung over one shoulder, his presence heavy and protective in a different way.
Jeremy noticed everything.
Always did.
“If you’d like,” he said softly, “there’s tea ready in the sitting room. Or you may prefer to lie down for a bit. You look… very tired.”
That was it. That was the thing that finally broke through the fog. Jeremy’s kindness had always been like a welcoming, if exceptionally proper hug. I nodded again, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Tea sounds… nice.”
“Of course,” Jeremy said immediately. “I’ll bring it to you.”
As he turned away, Archie guided me forward, and Jake followed without question, without comment.
The three of us moved through the house together, close but not touching—except for Archie’s hand at my back and Jake carrying what little piece of my life I’d managed to grab before it was taken from me.
The tension between them was still there.
Quiet. Controlled. Waiting.
The sitting room felt warmer than the rest of the house, softer somehow. Muted light filtered in through tall windows, catching on polished wood and the curve of a couch I’d sat on a dozen times before. Familiar. Safe. Almost.
Jake crossed the room first and set my backpack down carefully by the couch, like it was fragile. Like I was.
I turned to thank him, already bracing myself to sit, when he spoke.
“Hey—Frankie?” His voice was rougher than it had been in the car. Not angry. Not sharp. Just… stripped down. “Can I—” He stopped, exhaled, then tried again. “Can I give you a hug?”
I froze.
Not because I didn’t want one. That was the problem. I was suddenly aware of everything—of Archie just behind me, of Jake standing in front of me, of how thin my emotional skin felt. Awareness buzzed under my skin like live wire, growing louder by the second.
Jake saw the hesitation flicker across my face.
“You look like you need one,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, softer still, “Jeremy’s right. And… I need to give you one.”
That did it.
I swallowed, nodded once. “Okay.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Jake stepped into my space and wrapped me up in a hug so big and complete it stole my breath.
His arms went around me, solid and warm, lifting me just enough that my feet barely brushed the rug.
I made a small sound of surprise before instinct kicked in and I grabbed onto him, my face pressed into his shoulder.
He smelled familiar. Like soap and outside air and something that was just Jake.
He didn’t rush it.
He just held me.
For a long moment, I let myself be held—let the shaking in my chest settle, let the pressure ease, let myself exist without bracing for the next hit. Eventually, my arms tightened around him in return, fingers curling into the back of his shirt.
When he finally set me down, carefully, reluctantly, I hadn’t quite found my balance yet.
Archie was already there.
He looped an arm around my waist from behind and pulled me back against him, his front to my back, solid and grounding. His chin dipped near my temple, his presence a quiet wall at my spine.
“Okay,” he said calmly, that same soothing voice smoothing over all the jagged edges inside me. “Let’s sit.”
I let myself lean back into him for half a second longer before he guided me forward to the couch, his hand never leaving my waist until I was settled.
I’d barely registered the shift when Jeremy reappeared.
He moved with quiet efficiency, setting a tray down on the low table in front of us. My brain was still catching up when he reached for the teapot.
He poured a cup.
Then another.
Then—another.
I stared.
Jeremy handed the first cup to me, pressing it into my hands like it was an anchor. “Careful, Miss Frankie. It’s hot. Sugar and milk, as you like it.”
I blinked up at him. “Thank you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the look Archie and Jake shared.
It was brief.
Mutual.
Semi-horrified.
Jeremy passed them their cups without comment.
Neither of them said a word.
Both of them took the cups.
Both of them sipped.
If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have laughed.
Instead, I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic and let the heat seep into my palms, into my bones. The tea smelled like comfort. Like something that had existed before today fell apart.
Jeremy gave a small, approving nod, then stepped back. “I’ll let you sit for a bit. I’ll be nearby.”
When he left, the room settled again—quiet, heavy, but not crushing.
Jake sat on one side of the couch, close enough that our knees almost touched. Archie took the other, angled slightly behind me, his presence still a steady weight at my back.
I took a careful sip of tea.
The wild hum under my skin hadn’t gone away.
Archie shifted beside me, lifting his phone. “I’m going to text Bubba,” he said quietly. “Let him know where you are and that you’re safe. He’s probably going to want to come over. Are you okay with that?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
Jake was already pulling his phone out. “I’m messaging Coop,” he added, tone practical but edged. “Last thing we need is him freaking out because you’re suddenly gone.”
Just like that, they were handling it. Managing the fallout. Looping people in. Taking care of the pieces I didn’t have the energy to touch.
And I was sitting there, sipping tea.
The contrast almost felt surreal.
I took another careful drink, the warmth spreading through me as the room settled into a fragile calm. My shoulders finally lowered a fraction, the constant tension easing just enough that I could breathe without it hitching.
Then—
The sound of the front door opening echoed down the hall.
My head snapped up.
A familiar voice followed, sharp and animated. “Jeremy? We’re home—”
Mom.
Another voice came right after hers.
Mr. Standish.
The calm shattered.
Exhaustion flared straight into anger so fast it made my hands shake around the cup. My pulse kicked hard, every nerve lighting up as the reality of them being here slammed into me.
Jake was on his feet instantly.
Archie rose a beat ahead of him.
The difference was subtle—but unmistakable.
Jake’s expression was tight, braced, ready to argue.
Archie’s face went cold. Not angry. Not reactive. A mask slid into place, smooth and unreadable, like steel behind glass. Whatever fragile peace I’d been clinging to vanished in the space between one breath and the next.