Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Summer
The door creaked softly as I pushed it open, my heart clenching the moment my eyes landed on Jake.
He was curled up in the corner of his bed, his small frame trembling, his face buried in his arms like he was trying to make himself disappear.
My chest tightened painfully at the sight.
He looked so small, so helpless, and I hated that he felt like this—like he had to brace for the worst, like the world had already decided to take everything from him.
I moved carefully, stepping inside with quiet, deliberate steps. I didn’t speak right away, giving him a moment before I knelt beside the bed. My hand reached out, hesitating for a second before gently rubbing slow circles on his back. “Jake,” I murmured softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
His little body stiffened at my touch, but he didn’t pull away. That alone was progress.
Malcolm stood a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move closer. He just watched, his presence grounding but not overwhelming, giving Jake space to process that he wasn’t alone.
A shaky breath left Jake’s lips before he finally, hesitantly, lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp, his expression wrecked with fear. “I don’t wanna go with them,” he whispered, his voice so small it nearly broke me in half.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You won’t,” I promised. “I won’t let that happen.”
His lip trembled, and for a second, I thought he might crumble all over again.
But before he could, Malcolm finally moved, crouching down so he was at eye level with Jake.
His voice was calm, steady, carrying an unshakable certainty that even I felt.
“We won’t let that happen,” he echoed, his gaze locked onto Jake’s. “That’s a promise.”
Jake sniffled, blinking at him like he wanted to believe it but didn’t quite know how.
“Do you trust Summer?” Malcolm asked, his tone softer now.
Jake nodded weakly.
Malcolm tilted his head. “Then trust me too.”
There was a long silence, but then, slowly, Jake nodded again. And for the first time that night, he didn’t look quite so afraid.
I exhaled, feeling the tension in my body loosen just slightly. But I knew this wasn’t over. He needed more than just words. He needed to feel safe again.
“Hey,” I said, nudging his arm lightly. “Wanna get out of here for a bit? Go outside?”
Jake hesitated before nodding again.
Malcolm and I led him to the backyard, the cool night air wrapping around us as we stepped onto the grass. The tension in Jake’s shoulders didn’t completely disappear, but he looked a little less like he was about to shatter.
Malcolm glanced around before spotting an old soccer ball near the fence. He kicked it toward Jake without a word, his expression casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Jake blinked at it, then up at Malcolm.
Malcolm arched an eyebrow. “What? You too cool for soccer?”
A flicker of something—something that wasn’t fear—passed over Jake’s face.
Slowly, he toed the ball before kicking it back.
Malcolm smirked. “Not bad, kid.”
And just like that, they started playing. The kicks were hesitant at first, unsure, but then Jake got bolder. His laughter came in small bursts, soft and quiet, but it was there. And the moment I heard it, I felt something inside me loosen, something warm curling in my chest.
I leaned against the porch railing, watching as Malcolm pretended to stumble back dramatically after Jake kicked the ball toward him. “You got lucky,” Malcolm told him. “Try that again, and I’ll actually block it this time.”
Jake grinned—actually grinned—as he kicked it harder.
I shook my head, unable to hide my smile. Malcolm caught my eye over Jake’s head, and for a brief second, there was something undeniably soft in his gaze. Something that sent a shiver down my spine.
By the time Jake finally started yawning, his eyelids drooping, it was well past his bedtime. I tucked him in, brushing his hair back, and whispered, “You’re safe.”
His tiny fingers clutched at the blanket, and just before his eyes closed, he mumbled, “Thank you.”
I stood there for a long time after he drifted off, my heart aching in ways I didn’t quite know how to explain.
By the time I stepped back outside onto the porch, Malcolm was already there, leaning against the railing, staring up at the night sky. The air between us was thick with unspoken words.
I hesitated before finally speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Malcolm didn’t look at me. “Do what?”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Pretend to be my boyfriend. You don’t have to get involved like this.”
That made him turn. Slowly. Deliberately. And when his eyes met mine, something dark flickered there—something unreadable.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips, lazy, confident. “Then make it real.”
My breath caught. “What?”
Malcolm shrugged, his gaze never wavering. “You want me to stop pretending?” He took a step closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, close enough that my pulse jumped. “Then let’s stop pretending.”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering so loudly I swore he could hear it.
I should have laughed it off. Should have brushed it away, told him he was being ridiculous.
But I didn’t.
Because deep down, I didn’t want him to stop.
And that realization?
That was terrifying.