Chapter 19
Adrienne
The whole week feels like my brain is trying to think through honey. Everything’s soft and slow and shimmering around the edges. I answer emails, take meetings, and sign invoices, but every time my brain drifts, it slides right back to the garage. To him.
To the way he looked standing over me. I’ve never seen his eyes that dark, never seen his abs flex like with such restraint as I looked up at him from my knees. The taste of him, the sound of his voice when he begged me not to stop. It’s dangerous how easy it is to replay every detail.
I try to shake it off, shifting in my chair, pretending I’m not trying to squeeze my thighs tighter together. My body still remembers every rough, perfect second of that night. A knock at my office door startles me. I sit up too fast. “Come in.”
Axel steps inside, and before I can even read his expression, he’s closing the door behind him. That click alone makes my stomach drop.
I narrow my eyes. “Never good when you shut the door.”
He smirks but doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he sinks into the chair across from me and folds his arms. “Is something really happening with you and Scotty?”
There it is. Subtle as a freight train.
I blink. “Not sure that’s any of your business, is it?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, giving me that brother stare that used to scare off half my high school boyfriends. “I’m not judging, Adrienne. I just want to know what’s going on. Because after what I saw Saturday night—”
“Don’t.” I lift a hand fast, cutting him off. “Nope. We are not talking about what you ‘saw.’”
He laughs under his breath. “Good, I’d rather never mention it again. But I’m not blind.”
“Apparently not deaf either,” I mutter, cheeks flaming. “You know, for a guy who used to call him a playboy—” Axel raises an eyebrow. “—you sure seem invested all of a sudden.”
“He’s still a playboy, sis. I’m just wondering if you have your head too far up your own ass to keep that in mind.”
I groan. “Oh my God, please stop saying words.”
He grins but softens. “I’m serious, don’t make me get Aiden involved.”
The air shifts. His teasing fades, and what’s left is just my protective, stubborn, and annoyingly perceptive brother.
I drag in a breath, fingers toying with the edge of a folder.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I mean, yeah. I have feelings. I think he does too.” The words just keep coming, rule #3 echoing in my head.
“But don’t say anything to him, okay? Don’t pull any brother bullshit.
We’re just… taking it slow. Having fun. So don’t ruin it. ”
Axel’s brow furrows. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need to say this once. Scotty’s my friend, but you’re my sister first. If he screws this up—”
“You’ll step in. Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand, laughing to lighten the air again. “We both know you’d swing first and ask questions later.”
He tilts his head, giving me that overly protective brother look. “You’re damn right.”
I grin back, the tension finally breaking when I think about him doing this same thing when we were kids. Ten years old, and he was already threatening to fight off anyone who hurt his sister. “Don’t worry so much. I’ve got this.”
“I hope you do,” he says, pushing to his feet. “Because I like the guy, but if he hurts you…”
I laugh and start herding him toward the door. “You’ll bury him behind the barn, I know.”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Just making sure we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” I say, shoving his arm lightly. “Now get out of my office before you scare off my next meeting.”
He chuckles, backing out. “Just know that I’ll find out if he does something.”
“Bye, Axel.”
The door clicks shut, and I lean back in my chair with a long exhale, a smile tugging at my mouth. My heart’s still pounding, but this time it’s not nerves, it’s excitement.
It’s been a couple of days since Axel ambushed me in my office, and the echo of that conversation still sits in my chest. So, tonight, I drive out to my parents’ place after work, hoping a little fresh air and my mom’s garden magic will quiet my brain.
The sun’s just starting to dip behind the ridge, painting everything in pastels.
The air smells like dirt and basil, the kind of scent that instantly drops my shoulders three inches.
I slip off my heels on the edge of the porch and pad barefoot across the soft grass to where Mom’s crouched between the tomato vines.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up, voice light and teasing.
“I brought wine,” I counter, holding up the bottle dangling from my hand.
That earns me a smile. “Then you’re forgiven. Grab that basket for me, will you?”
I do, crouching beside her as she starts plucking ripe tomatoes from the vine, her movements slow and methodical.
She’s still got the same steady patience she had when we were kids, like the world could be on fire, and she’d still take the time to do things right.
I guess that’s the kind of patience having triplets gives you.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she says, not looking at me, but I know she’s paying attention. “And when you’re quiet, you’re thinking too much.”
I laugh under my breath, trying to keep it light. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not bad. Just means something’s brewing up here.” She taps her temple with a muddy finger. “You’ve always been my over-thinker.”
I pluck a cherry tomato and drop it into the basket, watching the way her wedding ring catches the fading light. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
She hums, skeptical. “Mmhmm. You always said that when you were ten and lying about not wanting to talk about your feelings when something would happen at school.”
That pulls a reluctant grin out of me. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
“I try. Keeps you kids from pulling one over on me.” She stands, knees popping, and I follow her up, brushing the dirt off my skirt.
We head toward the porch, the cicadas starting up their evening chorus. Mom sets the basket on the table, then gestures toward the swing. “Sit. You look like you could use it.”
I sink onto the swing beside her, the old chains creaking in a familiar rhythm. We sit there for a while in comfortable silence, sipping the wine I brought, watching the sky deepen into hues of blue and purple.
Mom’s the one who breaks it. “So, what’s really going on, sweetheart?”
“Nothing,” I start, but she gives me that look, and my protest collapses. “Okay, maybe not nothing. I just feel…” I search for the right word and come up empty. “Restless, I guess. Like I should be doing more. Or maybe less. I don’t know.”
Her expression softens, but she doesn’t interrupt. She just waits.
“I thought I was happy,” I admit. “With work, with life. And I am, mostly. But lately I’ve been thinking about what’s next, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear or both.”
Mom leans back, one hand resting on the arm of the swing, her voice calm and certain. “You’ve always been like that. Even when you were little, you couldn’t sit still. You were always running ahead of everyone, always chasing the next thing.”
I smile faintly. “You mean trouble.”
“Sometimes that too.” Her eyes glint. “You’ve got that Slade spark, but your fire burns differently. You don’t just want a career, a nice car, a fancy trip… You want purpose.”
Her words tug something deep inside me. I swallow. “What if that adventure takes me away from here?”
Mom’s brows lift. “Away?”
“I got an offer,” I say quietly. “A firm in L.A., Celeste's old firm, actually. They want me to head a department. Junior Partner, actually. It’s… a big deal.”
She blinks, the surprise quick but genuine. “Wow. That’s amazing, honey. I didn’t even know you were looking.”
“I wasn’t.” I twist the stem of my wineglass between my fingers.
“That’s the problem. I thought I was content at Slade.
I like what I do. I love being close to everyone.
But part of me keeps wondering if staying means I’m just…
safe. If I’m missing something, I’m supposed to be brave enough to want. ”
Mom hums again, thoughtful. “You sound just like Celeste when she was deciding if she should move back to L.A. or stay here. Same mix of nerves and fire.” She smiles.
“We never pressured you kids to settle, but your brothers like the routine. They were both ready at a young age to step up into their roles at Slade. You’ve always been my wildcard.
The one who didn’t need a plan to land on her feet. ”
I laugh softly, but it’s shaky. “Yeah, well, this wildcard suddenly feels like she’s out of cards.”
She reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the same gesture she’s been doing since I was a little girl. “Honey, you don’t need me, or anyone for that matter, to tell you what to do. You already know the answer. You’re just scared to say it out loud.”
“What if I make the wrong choice?” My voice cracks before I can stop it.
She doesn’t flinch. “Then you learn from it. That’s what living is. It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s supposed to be yours.”
The lump in my throat grows thicker by the second. Without thinking, I shift sideways and lay my head in her lap like I used to when I was little. The fabric of her skirt is warm against my cheek, the smell of soil and lavender wrapping around me.
Her fingers move through my hair, slow and steady. “You’ll figure it out, baby. You always do. Just promise me whatever you choose, you do it because it makes you happy—not because you’re scared to let someone down.”
I nod against her thigh, eyes blurring as the night hums around us. “I promise.”
For a long moment, neither of us says a word. The porch swing creaks, crickets sing, and I feel small again, safe, loved, and completely undone. And even though the ache of uncertainty still sits heavy in my chest, it feels like I can finally breathe a little lighter after talking to my mom.