Chapter 20 #2
Archie walked in.
The temperature in the room changed. It wasn’t dramatic—he didn’t slam anything, didn’t raise his voice—but he carried tension with him like a cloak. His jaw was tight, his expression controlled, and his eyes went straight to me.
The second he saw me with Tabby in my lap and Tory prowling the bench like a tiny lion, something in his face eased by a fraction.
“You’ve got them,” he said softly.
I nodded.
He came closer, slow, careful, like he was approaching an injured animal. Like he wasn’t sure if I’d bolt. What was worse, I hated the fact that he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t even sure I wouldn’t run.
“How bad is it out there?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His mouth flattened. “It’s… loud.”
Jake made a low sound that was almost a growl.
Archie’s gaze flicked to him for a split second, then back to me. “You don’t have to go back in there,” Archie said. “Jeremy’s keeping them contained.”
I glanced up and realized that Jeremy had slipped out but I hadn’t seen him go. The doors to the hall were closed.
“Contained,” Jake muttered.
Archie ignored him. “Bubba’s on his way,” Archie added, voice gentler. “Rachel too.”
My head snapped up. “Rachel?”
He nodded once. “I called her. I told her you needed her.”
My throat went tight again.
I didn’t know what to do with the fact that Archie had thought of Rachel. That he’d been willing to involve her. That he’d made space for something that wasn’t about him.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
His eyes held mine. Dark. Steady. There was something in them I couldn’t name—anger, maybe, but aimed outward, not at me.
“We’re going upstairs,” Archie said after a beat. “Game room. Jeremy’s bringing dinner trays. We can take the cats up with us, or open the door and let them have the run of the house.” He paused. “Might be better to keep them with us for now.”
Because my mother was out there. I didn’t want to let them out of my sight. “I can’t eat,” I said automatically.
Archie’s mouth twitched like he didn’t believe me. “You will,” he said, low, like an instruction. Then, softer, “Even if it’s just a bite.”
Jake stood. “I’ll carry her,” he said abruptly, then looked like he wanted to punch himself for saying it.
Archie’s eyes narrowed. “She can walk.”
“I can walk,” I said, because the two of them deciding things about my body was starting to feel a little too familiar for today.
Jake’s face tightened. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just—”
“I know,” I said quietly. I did. I knew he was trying to help. It just… hit wrong with everything else piled on top of me. “Can you help with the cats though?”
Blowing out a breath, Jake gave me a smaller smile. “Absolutely.”
Archie offered his hand.
Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just there. I stared at it for a second too long, then placed my hand in his. His fingers closed gently. Warm. Steady.
Jake picked up my phone from the bench without asking and handed it to me like he was silently reminding me to keep my lifelines on me.
Then Jeremy appeared with a cat carrier.
“Miss Frankie,” he said, calm as ever. “Would you like them upstairs as well?”
“I would, but we can just…”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Tory, hearing the carrier, immediately jumped in like yes, finally, the chariot. She went right in, tail flicking with just a hint of impatience. Tabby started to purr like a motorboat as Jake scooped her up in his arms.
Tiddles strolled over to me, yawning again as if he was doing me the greatest of favors. When he wound around my legs, I released Archie’s hand and knelt to pick Tiddles up. He rubbed his head against my chin and began to purr.
As I rose, Archie’s eyes gleamed and his mouth curved into a warm grin. I didn’t realize I was smiling until my cheeks ached. Instead of leaving via the hall, Jeremy guided us through another set of doors to a back staircase that I always forgot was there.
Upstairs, the game room looked exactly like it always had—comfortable couches, a giant television, a bar area, shelves of games and books. Familiar. Safe. Like a place designed to absorb chaos and turn it into noise and laughter.
But tonight it felt like a bunker.
Archie shut the door behind us.
Jake leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes still sharp. He looked like a guard dog that had been trained to be polite.
I sat on the couch and immediately had two cats on me and one cat on the back of the couch, judging.
Jeremy returned in short order, setting down trays with surgical precision. Apple sauce pork chops. Stuffing. Roasted corn.
My stomach gave an embarrassing little lurch. Traitor.
Archie sat beside me—not too close, but close enough that his shoulder brushed mine.
Jake took the chair opposite like he was choosing distance on purpose.
No one spoke for a few seconds. Then Archie’s phone buzzed.
He glanced at it, jaw tightening, and stood. “I’ll be right back,” he said, voice calm but clipped, and stepped out of the room.
The second the door shut, Jake’s gaze landed on me like he’d been waiting.
“You don’t have to stay here,” he said.
I blinked. “Here as in… the room? Or here as in… the house?”
Jake’s mouth tightened. “Both.”
My chest squeezed. “Where would I go?”
He hesitated, and his anger gave way to uncertainty. I didn’t doubt the feeling at all. It was currently warping through me. I’d been running on pure adrenaline and terror, Jake had leaned on anger. Now… well, now reality was a hell of a lot harder.
“My place,” he said finally. “If you want. Mom and the girls would love it. You can have my room, I’ll sleep on the couch. Hell, they’ll even love having the cats there. I mean—if you don’t want, that’s also fine. I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I hate that this was decided for you.”
The words hit something raw.
Because yes.
Yes, me too.
I stared down at my plate like it might have answers. “I don’t know what I want,” I admitted. “I don’t even know what’s happening. My mom—she just—she didn’t even tell me. They took my cats.”
Jake’s expression twisted, pain and fury mixing. “I know.”
A knock sounded at the door. Before either of us could move, it opened. Bubba filled the doorway like a storm.
He took one look at me—pale, cats on me, plate untouched—and the expression on his face changed so fast it was almost scary. His eyes softened first, then hardened again, like he was deciding who to kill.
“Damn, Angel,” he said, and his voice was so gentle it made my eyes burn.
I stood without thinking, dislodging the cats who didn’t even protest. Or maybe I just didn’t hear them.
He crossed the room in three strides and wrapped me up in a hug that was different from Jake’s. Jake’s was desperate. Bubba’s was certain. Like he could hold me together by sheer force.
I grabbed onto him and breathed him in—soap and aftershave and a hint of oil, maybe from his bike.
“I’m okay,” I lied into his shoulder, because I didn’t want him to look more upset than he already did.
Bubba’s hold tightened. “No, you’re not,” he said softly. “And that’s fine. You don’t have to be.”
I broke.
Not fully. Not a sobbing mess. But my eyes flooded, and my throat made that stupid sound like my body was trying to cry without permission.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, cupping my face in his hands like I was seven again and scraped my knee. His thumbs brushed my cheeks, wiping tears.
“Where are the cats?” he asked, voice low and fierce.
I pointed behind me without thinking.
Tory chose that moment to leap onto Bubba’s shoulder like she owned him.
He blinked once, surprised, then his mouth twitched. “Hello to you too,” he muttered, steadying her automatically like this was normal.
That stupid sight—Bubba, with Tory perched like a pirate parrot—made me laugh through tears. Jake made a sound that might have been a reluctant chuckle. Bubba’s eyes flicked to Jake, then back to me. His expression sharpened again.
“Talk to me,” he said, motioning me back to the sofa. “What happened. From the top.”
So I did, and Jake got me perched in my seat and shifted my tray in front of me. It all smelled so damn good.
Not perfectly. Not in a straight line. But I told him about walking into my apartment and the movers and the boxes and the way the man had called me honey like I was insane.
I told him about the address being Archie’s house.
I told him about my mom showing up here like it was planned and fine and normal.
By the time I finished, Bubba’s jaw was tight enough I thought his teeth might crack. Jake looked like he wanted to punch a wall.
And I felt… hollow. Like saying it out loud had sucked the last air out of me.
Bubba exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said, too calm. Too controlled.
That was never a good sign.
“Where’s Coop?” I asked, because the absence was a weight. A missing tooth my tongue couldn’t stop finding.
Jake’s eyes flicked away.
Bubba’s expression shifted—something like frustration, something like worry.
“I texted him,” Jake admitted. “He hasn’t answered.”
My chest tightened. “He’s mad.”
Snapping his gaze back to mine, Bubba shook his head. “No,” he said immediately. “He’s… he’s something, but he’s not mad at you.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that.
Before I could argue, the door opened again.
Rachel stepped in. The moment she did, Jake whisked my tray away, which was good, I hadn’t even cut into the pork chops yet.
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask permission. She walked straight to me like gravity pulled her there and took my face in her hands like Bubba had, but where Bubba’s touch was fierce, Rachel’s was soft.
“Oh, Frankie,” she whispered, and her voice cracked, then she hugged me.
All at once, the need to pretend just fell away. I sagged into her and let the tears come, quiet and hot and humiliating.
“It’s okay,” Rachel murmured into my hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
I nodded against her shoulder, chest hitching.
Somewhere behind us, Bubba and Jake had gone very still, like they were standing guard again.