Chapter Thirty-Six—Riley
The door clicks shut.
Connor doesn’t move.
He stands in the middle of the room, staring like this might rewind if he waits long enough.
Everything they brought into this space—the noise, the movement, the constant presence—drops out all at once. The place feels too big without them.
Connor turns.
He doesn’t look at me as he walks to the kitchen. Just moves past, steady, controlled, like he’s already holding something down and doesn’t trust himself to loosen his grip.
He drags out a stool and sits, both hands flat against the marble, eyes fixed somewhere past the windows.
I stay where I am.
I’ve learned this part. Filling the silence never helps with Connor. It just gives him something to push against.
A minute passes.
Maybe more.
He turns slightly, just enough that he’s facing me now.
“I’m your brother, Riley.”
His voice is quiet. Too quiet.
“You could’ve called me. It’s been over two months and you never said a word. At any point. One phone call. Why didn’t you?”
There isn’t a clean answer.
I knew that before he asked.
“It moved fast,” I say. “Faster than I thought it would. And you were on your honeymoon and I didn’t want to—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, sharper than anything he’s said so far. “Don’t make this about my honeymoon.”
I stop.
“That’s not the reason.”
I swallow. He’s not wrong.
“It’s part of it,” I say, quieter. “You had ten weeks where things were good. I didn’t want to be the call that—”
“Riley.”
Just my name, but it lands like a correction.
I let out a breath.
“I didn’t know what to tell you,” I say. “I didn’t know what it was yet. I didn’t have a version of it that made sense.”
Connor watches me. Doesn’t interrupt this time.
“And I knew what you’d ask,” I add. “I knew exactly how that conversation would go.”
“Yeah?” His voice stays level. “Walk me through it.”
“You’d ask me to choose.”
It sits there.
“Or you wouldn’t say it like that,” I go on, words coming faster now, less controlled. “But it would be there. Pick one. Or walk away from all of them. Or go back to Portland and pretend none of this happened.”
His jaw tightens.
“And I wouldn’t be able to do it,” I say. “Any of it.”
Silence again.
But this one is different.
Not empty. Tighter.
Connor leans forward, forearms braced on the counter, hands clasped together like he’s trying to hold onto something solid.
“You think that’s what I’d do,” he says.
Not angry.
Worse.
“You think I’d make you choose like that.”
“I think you’d try to fix it,” I say. “I think you’d look at it like a problem and try to make it make sense. And it doesn’t. Not in a way you’re going to like.”
“But Andrew?” His voice rises. “Really?”
He steps closer, not all the way, but enough.
“That’s him, Riley. That’s the guy who left you wrecked at twenty-one. And he’s been sitting across from me for over a year, working with me, building something with me, and neither of you thought to say a word?”
I don’t answer.
Connor’s jaw tightens.
“He knew who you were. You knew who he was. And you just… what? Let it sit there like it didn’t matter?”
“I didn’t know until he walked through the door, Connor. I had no idea he was your partner.”
“Then why didn’t you say something then?” he cuts in. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I was the only one in the room who didn’t know what was going on.”
“And you trust him?” Connor adds, quieter now. “After that? After what he did to you?”
I hesitate.
That’s enough of an answer for him.
“Riley.”
“He’s not that guy anymore.”
“That’s not an answer,” Connor says.
“It is,” I push back. “You just don’t like it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is if the outcome’s the same.”
He exhales hard, pushes back from the counter, and stands.
There it is.
The first crack.
“You don’t get to decide what I’d do,” he says, pacing once, then stopping like he caught himself. “You don’t get to run that whole conversation in your head and then not give me the chance to actually be in it.”
“I wasn’t trying to shut you out—”
“You did,” he says, more animated now. “You shut me out completely.”
I flinch.
“I was trying to figure it out first.”
“For who?” he asks. “For me? Or so you wouldn’t have to deal with what I might say?”
I don’t answer right away.
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters.
I press my thumb into my palm, harder this time.
“I didn’t want to be a problem,” I say.
The words come out before I can stop them.
Connor goes still.
“You’re not a problem.”
“I know that,” I say automatically.
“Do you?”
I look at him.
Really look.
He’s not angry in the way I expected. Not yelling, not losing control.
He looks… tired.
“I didn’t want to blow up what you’ve built,” I say. “The company. Your partnerships. Everything you’ve been working on with them. I didn’t want to walk in and make you choose between me and that.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“You already did tonight.”
The words hang there.
Connor’s expression tightens. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. “Because I walked into a situation where three guys I trust were standing in my kitchen with my sister and I didn’t know what the hell was going on. That’s not the same as you coming to me and telling me the truth.”
I don’t argue that.
Because I can’t.
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing again, this time not stopping right away.
“I’m supposed to have your back,” he says. “That’s the whole thing. That’s always been the thing. And I walk in tonight and I don’t even know what I’m backing you up on.”
“I didn’t know how to explain it.”
“Because it’s not simple,” I say, more force behind it now. “It’s not one thing I can point to and make sense for you.”
Connor doesn’t interrupt.
“I care about them,” I continue. “All of them. This isn’t just something that happened—it’s not just sex or convenience or whatever you think it is.”
My voice steadies.
“It works. I don’t know how else to explain that part, but it does.”
Connor watches me carefully.
“And I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” I add. “Not this steady. Not this… sure about what I want.”
“Then you say that,” he snaps. “You say, ‘I don’t know what this is yet, but I need you to trust me.’ You don’t just shut me out for months and then expect me to catch up in five minutes.”
“I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.
“You were,” he says. “From me, you were.”
That one lands deeper than the rest.
I look away.
The windows reflect us back—two people standing in a space that suddenly feels unfamiliar.
“I was scared,” I admit.
Connor’s pacing slows.
“Of me?” he asks.
“Of what you’d say,” I answer. “Of what it would turn into. Of losing this before I even understood what it was.”
He studies me for a long second.
“And now?” he asks.
“I’m still scared,” I say. “That didn’t go away.”
“Then come stay with us,” he pushes. “I gave you an out. Take a breath. Get some distance from all of this.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not leaving.”
He goes still again.
“Riley—”
“I’m not going to stay with you and Sarah,” I say. “I’m not going back to Portland. I’m not stepping away from this just because it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” he repeats, like the word doesn’t even come close.
“I know how it sounds.”
“Do you?” he says. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re setting yourself up to get hurt again.”
Connor studies me for a second, something tightening in his expression.“And do you even know which one of them is the father?”The question lands hard.I don’t answer right away. Connor’s expression shifts. Not anger this time. Something tighter.
“Riley.”
“Yes,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?”
“No. We are doing this together. All of us.”
A beat.
“And you’re choosing this.”
I take a step closer.
“Maybe I am,” I say. “But it’s my choice this time.”
He doesn’t answer.
“I didn’t run,” I add. “You saw that. You told them to leave, and I stayed. I’m still here.”
“That’s not the same as knowing what you’re doing.”
“I don’t,” I admit. “I don’t have a clean answer. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what this looks like in six months.”
I take another breath.
“But I know I’m not walking away from them.”
Connor watches me.
Like he’s trying to decide if this is something solid or something that’s going to fall apart the second he lets go.
He opens his mouth.
Stops.
Closes it again.
Something shifts in his expression—not anger, not grief. Harder to read.
“I need a minute,” he says.
He pushes to his feet and heads for the door without looking at me. This time I don't try to stop him. The door closes behind him and the quiet that follows is different—not empty. It settles.
I walk to the window. My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking, and I let it stay there. For the first time in two months there's no one else here. No one to manage, no one to read, no one to adjust around. Just me, and the city, and whatever comes next.
My phone is on the couch where I left it. I pick it up. Andrew's last message is still there.
Are you okay?
I stare at it for a second.
Then type.
Riley: Getting there.
Send.
I set the phone down and look back out at the city.
Connor’s somewhere in this building. Or outside it. Or walking until he figures out what to do next.
And the three of them are waiting.
For me.
I don’t know what this turns into.
I don’t know how it works.
But I know what I didn’t do.
I didn’t leave.