Chapter Thirty-One—Riley
I'm moving before Liam finishes reading me the text.
Navy t-shirt off. Andrew's hoodie from the chair on. Fingers dragged through my hair. Out the bedroom door in ten seconds flat.
The living room is already shifting around me.
Liam is pulling his shirt back on, unhurried but efficient, the way he does everything.
Ethan appears from the hallway with his phone in hand, calm in a way that means he’s already three steps ahead of whatever comes next.
Andrew stands at the kitchen counter filling a glass of water, because apparently Andrew's instinct in any crisis is to look like he was never doing anything else.
“He knows the space,” Ethan says, quiet. Not a question. Just establishing facts.
“Every corner of it,” I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“Then we don't change the corners.”
Nobody moves the couch. Nobody hides the glasses from dinner still scattered on the coffee table. But when my eyes land on the laminated pregnancy food chart still sitting on the counter, my stomach flips.
I grab it and slide it into the kitchen drawer. The prenatal vitamins go in next. Then the crackers. Each item disappears with a soft thud that feels too loud in the sudden quiet.
Liam watches me from the couch. “Better,” he says simply.
Ethan picks up his book from the armchair, opens it, and sits down like he's been there all evening.
The lock turns.
Connor comes in carrying a small carry-on bag and the drained look of someone who's lived in airport air for over 24 hours.
He's tanned. He looks good. Marriage clearly agrees with him.
He sees me first.
“Hey.” His face opens up, easy and warm. He sets the bag down and crosses the room, pulling me into a quick, familiar hug—one arm around my shoulders, nothing that lingers. “Worried you'd be asleep.”
“I'm a night owl. You know that.”
“You say you’re a night owl. I’ve never actually seen it.” He pulls back and studies me for a second, the quick inventory scan of someone who's known me for years. “You look good.”
“Airport coffee and stress. Works every time.”
He laughs, and the sound is so completely unchanged that something tightens in my chest. I press my lips together once, fast, and make myself breathe through it.
Then he looks past me. “Gentlemen.”
Liam raises a hand from the couch. “Good trip?”
“Excellent. Maldives. It’s a pain to get there but I cannot recommend it enough.” Connor scans the room—not suspiciously, just reorienting himself in a space he's owned for years. “Ethan.”
Ethan glances up from his book. “Connor. Welcome back.”
Andrew nods from the kitchen. “Heard the honeymoon was good.”
“You heard right.” Connor drops onto the arm of the couch like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Sarah says hello. She's waiting in the car. We're heading home, but I wanted to grab the Harrington files before Monday.” He looks at me. “Walk me through how the latest dinner went?”
I pour him a glass of water because he always forgets to hydrate on flights. My hand drifts briefly to my stomach before I catch myself and drop it.
For the next stretch of minutes we debrief.
The words come out steady enough, but every time Connor nods or asks a follow-up, I feel the weight of what we're not saying pressing against the back of my throat.
Andrew pulls up the follow-up email thread and walks him through it, calm and detailed.
Like he hadn't been inside me just an hour ago. Ethan covers next steps in that measured, precise voice he always uses when he’s talking about business.
I fill in the gaps when needed, keeping my answers short. Connor asks two smart questions. Nods at both. That easy trust of his—the thing that's always made being with him feel safe—sits differently tonight. He has no idea what else he's trusting us with.
“Good,” he says finally. “Really good work. All of you.” Then, to me: “What's your read on Harrington personally?”
“He's testing. Not suspicious—he just wants to know the structure holds when pressure's on.”
“Does it?”
“We're here, aren't we.”
Connor looks at me for a second. Then he laughs, low. “Yeah. You are.” He slaps his knees and stands. “Okay. Files, then home. Sarah will fall asleep in the car if I'm not back in twenty minutes.”
“She already is,” Liam says. “I would be too.”
“You've met my wife exactly twice,” Connor says, pointing at him with a grin.
“She seems like a smart woman. A smart woman knows you were going to be longer than you said.”
Connor chuckles. “That's fair.” He's smiling now, easy and loose the way he gets when he's off the clock. He heads for the office hallway. “Files are in the office, right?”
“I'll grab them,” Andrew offers.
Connor waves him off. “I know where they are. Give me two minutes.”
He's three steps past the kitchen when he stops and turns back.
“You got any sparkling water? Sarah wants some for the road.”
“I'll get it,” I say—too fast.
But Connor is already moving toward the kitchen, the direct path that takes him right past the counter.
I get there first. Barely.
I open the refrigerator and pull two bottles from the back shelf. When I turn around, Connor is standing at the counter, one hand resting casually on the edge. Six inches from the drawer handle. Close enough that one wrong move would end this.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottles. He's looking at me, not the counter. Something crosses his face—not suspicion, just that particular Connor focus, the one where he's noticed something but hasn't named it yet.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He holds my gaze one beat longer than comfortable. Then: “Okay.” He tucks the bottles under his arm. “Andrew has my files?”
“Should be on the desk.”
He disappears down the hall.
I put both hands flat on the counter and let out a slow breath.
Behind me, the living room stays perfectly quiet. Liam's thumb has stopped moving on his phone. Ethan hasn't turned a single page.
Connor comes back with the folder tucked under his arm, looking satisfied.
“Got it.” He scans the room one last time. “You all good for the week? Anything you need before Monday?”
“We're good,” Andrew says.
“Ethan?”
“Nothing urgent.”
Connor nods. He looks at me again. “You eating? Sleeping?”
“Yes and sometimes.”
“Classic Riley.” He shakes his head, smiling, and picks up his bag. “We’ll do a proper dinner Friday. Tonight’s just a quick stop.”
“Looking forward to it. Good luck catching up after your ten-week honeymoon,” I say.
“Don't remind Sarah. She's already worried about her inbox.” He heads for the door. I follow because that's what you do. Like this is just a normal late-night stop-in.
He opens the door.
Steps into the hallway.
Reaches back for the handle.
Stops.
He turns and looks at me. Not the quick scan from earlier. This is slower. Steadier. His gaze drops briefly to the oversized hoodie I'm wearing, like he's clocking something he can't quite name.
“You look different,” he says.
I go very still.
“Good different.” He tilts his head slightly, studying me the way he'd study a deal that surprised him. “Happy.” A beat. “I don't think I've seen you like that before. Not in a while, anyway.”
I have nothing to say.
Not a single word.
I just stand there in the doorway in Andrew's hoodie, prenatal vitamins hidden in the drawer twelve feet behind me, and look at my brother’s face with absolutely nothing to offer.
He holds my gaze for one more second, then nods once, like he's decided not to push tonight.
“Get some sleep,” he says.
The door closes.
I stand in the hallway for a full minute.
The carpet is beige. There's a small scuff on the baseboard across from me, just below the light switch. I've never noticed it before. Now it’s the only thing I can see because I'm staring at the exact spot where his face was, waiting for my chest to settle.
He said happy.
I turn the word over in my mind.
Not because it's wrong.
Because it isn't.
And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with a truth Connor saw in thirty seconds that I've been trying not to look at directly for weeks.
The door behind me stays closed.
Inside, three men are exactly where I left them—not asking questions, not filling the silence, just waiting for me to come back when I'm ready.
I exhale.
Press my palm flat against the door.
Then I go back in.