Capturing Peace

Chapter Eleven

Coen—­November 1, 2010

I WAS FROWNING by the time Saco’s wife, Olivia, was done ranting and bitching loud enough that I’d begun to wonder if she was trying to let me hear her.

Saco groaned. “Sorry, man.”

Waiting until I made sure I wouldn’t tell him he’d made a mistake in marrying her, I asked, “What was that about this time?”

“She took what little savings I had after buying the house, and put it down on a brand-­new Mercedes yesterday without telling me. When she came back, she got pissed that I wasn’t happy for her and took off to her parents’ house.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to be happy about her draining our savings, and then giving us a car payment I can’t afford.” He let out a long sigh. “Anyway, that was her, just coming back from her parents’. I’d had to go out and buy formula last night so I could feed Tate.”

I wouldn’t say it. I would. Not. Say. It. “I’m sorry, Brody.”

“Aw, damn. You’re using my first name, I think I would rather you tell me I made a mistake.”

“Are you a mind reader now?”

He laughed, but it still sounded off. “Nah, I just know you. Tell me something to get my mind off her bullshit. How are you and Reagan?”

I didn’t want to sit there and brag about my relationship when the only good thing to come from Saco’s was his son, but I knew he needed the distraction. “We’re great, to be honest. Things have . . . I don’t know. So much has changed.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good. Every day that passes I know more and more that I need them, and I don’t know what I would do without them. I hate that they don’t live with me, I can’t stand the fact that they aren’t my family. I don’t know how it happened, but I love that kid, and I love his mom so damn much. I want to marry her. I want to adopt—­”

“Whoa, wait.” Saco cut me off. “What? I knew you were really into her, but didn’t the two of you just start dating a few months ago?”

I paused and thought for a second. “No.”

“Yeah, Steele, it’s only been a few months. I’ve been home for a little over three months, you met her after I got home.”

My head jerked back. “Yeah, I met her the day I got out, but that was the middle of August. That was—­”

“Two and a half months ago.” Saco was quiet while I sat there, not moving, not blinking. “So two and a half months, and you already want to marry her and adopt her son?”

I still wasn’t saying anything. That couldn’t be right.

“From what you’ve told me, and the stories I’ve heard from Hudson, Reagan’s incredible. But slow down, you’re twenty-­four, she’s twenty-­two . . . just let this play out for a while. Make sure this is what you want first. Make sure you want to be a dad. I know you love them, but you don’t want to make a decision now, regret it later, and break their hearts then. If it’s meant to be, then it’s not like either of you are going anywhere. So enjoy getting to know her before you marry her. You’ll have the rest of your life with her and Parker.”

“Yeah,” I said on a breath, but I still couldn’t believe what had felt like six . . . seven months with them was only two and a half. And still I wanted them to be mine. What was it Reagan had said to me in Hudson’s apartment? “Everything’s fast with us, but fast feels right when I’m with you.” Never had truer words been spoken.

SCANNING THROUGH THE last dozen or so shots I’d just gotten, I nodded to myself and looked up at my client. “Those are gonna look great, man. If you wanted to change one more time, go for it.”

It was only supposed to be an hour-­long shoot, which is why I’d taken it when he called. And even though this is what I loved doing, I was glad the hour was almost up. I wanted to be with Reagan and Parker.

I walked over and started adjusting the lights while he changed, and glanced over my shoulder when I heard the side door to my studio open. My lips stretched into a wide grin when Reagan and Parker walked in.

Reagan’s eyes widened, and an apologetic look crossed her face when she looked around. “I didn’t know you had a shoot tonight.”

“Last minute.” I shrugged and pulled her in to kiss her quickly before hugging Parker. “Hey, bud! How was school?”

“It was good.” He looked past me at my client and asked loudly, “Are you going to shoot him?”

Reagan looked horrified for all of a second before a sharp laugh burst from her chest, and it took everything in me to keep from laughing with her and my client.

Bending down, I got close to Parker’s face and spoke softly. “Remember when I took pictures with you and your mom?” He nodded. “That’s the kind of shooting I’m doing.”

“Oh, yeah. That was cool.”

I smiled at him. “It was cool.”

“Well we’ll go so you can get back to it,” Reagan said as she put a hand on Parker’s shoulder to pull him back. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“I planned on it,” I said each word slowly as I judged her reaction.

“Okay, I’m exhausted from today—­”

Disappointment quickly flooded my chest, but I refused to let her see it. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She laughed and placed a hand on my chest. “I meant, I’m exhausted in that I’m just going to be ordering takeout instead of cooking. Please come over.”

“Takeout sounds perfect, and maybe bed early and I’ll take care of you since you’re so exhausted . . .” I raised an eyebrow and she blushed.

“Coen,” she chastised.

“Drive safe, Duchess, I’ll see you soon.”

After a quick light-­saber stabbing from Parker and a kiss from Reagan, they left my studio, and I just stood there staring at the door they’d walked through.

“I didn’t know you were married.”

I turned to look at my client and laughed awkwardly. “Uh, I’m not. That’s my girlfriend.”

He looked over at the door, and a look crossed his face like that had explained it all. “Got it! Now I don’t feel bad thinking that kid had probably been the result of the milkman.”

My face dropped and hands clenched into fists, but I forced myself to laugh again. “You ready to finish this?”

“Yeah, but, Coen . . . I wouldn’t be looking out for you if I didn’t say this.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at me like he was about to deliver the worst news possible.

I steadied myself and crossed my arms over my chest as I waited for him to continue. I still hadn’t completely ruled out punching him.

“I dated this girl for a while who had a daughter. I was cool with her kid, the girl was a total sweetheart. Next thing I know my girlfriend’s pregnant and freaking out, saying she can’t have another kid by herself. She tried so damn hard to get me to marry her before she had the baby; but that wasn’t about to happen. And thank God it didn’t. Found out after the kid was born that he wasn’t even mine. My girlfriend had to do a paternity test to find out who the father was because she had been fucking four different guys. Trying to get one of us to marry her because she wanted someone to help her raise her first kid. And she’d sworn up and down she was on the pill. I believed her, trusted her, loved her and her daughter . . .”

My forehead bunched together. “What exactly are you getting at?”

He held up his hands like he was surrendering. “I’m not trying to piss you off, and your girlfriend may be amazing. But I thought my girl had been amazing too. I’d admired how strong she was, and how she never wanted help from anyone. How she’d never let anyone into her and her daughter’s life before me. How she supported her and her daughter all by herself. It wasn’t until push came to shove that everything began unraveling, and I found out everything had been bullshit. An illusion that the four of us—­hell, maybe even more—­had fallen for.”

My body had locked up at some point, and I had to force myself to start breathing again. Keeping my expression blank so he wouldn’t realize he’d just explained Reagan perfectly, I stared at him for a bit longer as I tried to block the words he’d just told me, and finally shook my head. “You don’t know my girlfriend.”

“All right. I’m sorry, you’re right, I don’t. I just . . . when you said she was your girlfriend, it was like déjà vu, and I wish there’d been someone to warn me. So, I had to at least give you something to think about. I told you, she might be amazing. That was just my experience, and I felt like I needed to warn you or something. Sorry for overstepping my bounds.”

“Let’s just finish this shoot, yeah?” I walked over to grab my camera, and no matter how hard I tried not to think about it . . . I couldn’t stop.

His story, and thoughts of what Saco was currently going through, flooded my mind. One with an ex-­girlfriend who matched mine. One with a wife who had succeeded in trapping him in a marriage by getting pregnant. I’d never once worn a condom with Reagan. Even though she’d avoided men, she’d been on the pill ever since Parker was born.

Or, that’s what she’d told me.

Now that I thought about it. That didn’t make sense.

No . . . no. I knew Reagan. I knew her. I loved her. I loved Parker.

But then, why would she suddenly let in a guy after so many years of avoiding them? And a guy like me? I was damaged. I had demons. I was constantly trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve someone like her . . . and now us together made even less sense. Had I seemed like an easy target? Someone who would easily believe her story?

Pressing my hand against my forehead, I willed all this bullshit to leave my mind. I’d never doubted us, or been suspicious of her, until five minutes ago. And it was only because of that fucking story. I knew Reagan. She wouldn’t—­Christ. I’d just told Brody that I wanted to marry her and wanted to be Parker’s dad. He was right. Not even three months later and I was already thinking about marrying her? I couldn’t do this. I just—­I couldn’t.

Reagan—­November 1, 2010

PARKER’S FACE LIT up when there was a knock on the door, and I nodded my head in the direction of it.

“Want to guess who that is?”

His smile got wider before he took off running for the door. “Coen! Did you have fun shooting that guy?”

I laughed and sighed. We somehow needed to get Parker off that whole “shooting” thing.

“Uh . . . yeah. I did.”

“Are you gonna stay tonight? I want you to take me to school tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow as they rounded the corner into the living room. Parker’s excitement was quickly draining from his face, and Coen looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. We’ll talk about it later.”

Parker shot me a confused look, and I tried to compose my expression, but didn’t catch it in time. He looked back and forth between us before walking over to stand next to me.

I took a step toward Coen, but stopped when his near-­black eyes met mine. “Are you feeling okay? Did something happen?”

“No, I’m fine,” he clipped out, his voice rough and low.

I glanced down at Parker when he wrapped an arm around my hip, and looked back at Coen—­who was now looking in the kitchen. Clearing my throat, I tried to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “Well, do you have something in particular you want for dinner?”

“Whatever you want,” he mumbled.

“Coen.”

He looked back at me and shrugged. “I said whatever you want, Ray. Order what you want.”

My eyes widened and my lips parted. He wasn’t raising his voice, but this Coen . . . well I’d never seen this Coen.

“Are you mad at Mom?” Parker asked from by my side, and my chest started aching right then.

Parker hadn’t asked Coen if he was being mean to me since the very first time he met him, and he’d never asked if Coen was mad at me. If he was catching onto the weighted feel to the room too, then I knew it wasn’t my imagination, and I hated that he was witnessing this at all—­whatever this was.

“Parker, honey, can you go to your room so I can talk to Coen?”

Coen shot me a look like he didn’t understand why I would want to talk, and Parker moved in front of me and tilted his head back to better see me.

“But he’s mad at you,” he said softly.

I put a smile on my face for him and ran my hand through his hair. “No, he’s not, but I do need to talk to him. Just adults, so can you go to your room until I come get you? You can take my iPad and play your games on there,” I added when he didn’t look like he would budge.

“Okay!” Running over to grab my iPad from off the couch, he took off for his room and shut the door.

“Co—­”

“Why’d you do that?” he asked gruffly.

“Send him to his room? You’re acting weird, and he could tell. I want to figure out what’s going on and fix it, and I don’t want him around for that.”

He put his hands out to the side. “There’s nothing to fix, Reagan.”

“Even Parker thought you were mad at me, and you’ve only been here for three minutes. So something happened that you aren’t telling me, or you are mad at me. Either way, we’re going to talk it out, or argue it out like we always do, and I don’t want Parker to see that. So tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned into his hands as he ran them down his face. “Nothing is going on.”

“I just saw you thirty minutes ago, Coen, and you were fine.”

“And I’m still fine!”

“No, you’re not!”

He laughed, but it was coated with irritation, and shook his head. “Whatever.” Grabbing his keys out of his pocket, he turned and began walking toward the door. “I’m not dealing with this tonight.”

“What—­you’re not dealing with what tonight? You’re upset, and I want to know why!”

“This, your constant nagging. Jesus Christ.” He turned to face me. “I barely get in the door and you’re already on me trying to figure out if something’s wrong.”

My jaw dropped. “At your studio, you were the one who hinted at staying tonight, then when Parker asks you, you tell him you don’t know and sound like that is the absolute last thing you want to do.”

“I’m sorry for not wanting to spend the night, Reagan. I’m sorry I don’t want to take Parker to school tomorrow. Sometimes I need a night and a morning to myself. I’m not your husband, he’s not my fucking child. It is not my job to take care of you!”

I stumbled back a ­couple steps and shook my head back and forth. “What?” Hearing a sound off to my right, I turned and saw Parker standing in the hall. “Room,” I choked out, and watched until he disappeared.

“I need space. I need to step back so I can just think.” His tone had dropped the angry edge, and was now replaced with a heavy exhaustion. “Our entire relationship has moved so fast, and I just—­I don’t know. But I need time.”

My heart dropped, and I couldn’t move—­couldn’t respond. This wasn’t happening. My lips parted, but only a short, agonized cry left me. As if someone had dropped a weight on my chest.

“I’m sorry, Reagan,” he said quickly as he turned and walked out the door.

I stood there for countless minutes staring at the door as I tried to compose myself. I wouldn’t cry. I refused to cry. I’d been protecting us for years from men, and this was why. Because of this possibility. Because Parker had fallen in love with him just as much as I had, like I’d known would happen. Because he ran, just like I’d known he would.

Locking my jaw when it began quivering, I curled my hands into fists. I would. Not. Cry.

He was no better than Austin. If he didn’t want us, then it was his loss. We didn’t need him, we were fine alone.

Alone after experiencing life with Coen seemed impossible, and that one word had me falling to the floor as a strained sob burst from my chest.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone and tapped on the screen a few times before putting it to my ear. My body shook relentlessly as I tried to hold back the sobs, and they just pushed through harder.

“Hey, Ray.”

“Kee-­Keegan,” I choked out.

“What’s wrong?” he shouted.

“I need y-­you . . . here. I need you here.”

I heard shuffling and keys. “Are you at your apartment? I’m coming, what happened?”

Strained cries were all that left me for long moments. “Yes, just please.”

“I’m coming.”

Putting the phone on the ground, I wrapped my arms around my waist, as if it could somehow hold me together. It didn’t. It felt like I was breaking, and I didn’t know how to even begin to pick up all those pieces of me—­of us.

“Mom?”

I looked quickly to the right into Parker’s wide eyes, and tried so hard to stop the tears. But seeing him only made it worse. My heartache for my son was only just beginning, and it was worse than anything I had begun to feel for myself.

“Did Coen go back to his house?”

When I couldn’t speak, I just nodded, and Parker seemed to accept that and sat on the floor next to me.

“He’ll come back,” he said softly.

If I could have stopped the crying to take care of my son right then, I still wouldn’t have been able to respond to that. Because even if Coen tried to come back, I wasn’t sure I would let him.

Coen—­November 1, 2010

MY PHONE RANG for the fifth time in a row, and as I reached down to shut it off, I caught sight of Saco’s name, and answered.

“Hel—­”

“You just left them? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, cutting me off.

“Christ, did Hudson call you?”

“Yeah, he did. And, Steele, he’s fucking pissed and coming after you.”

I groaned and tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I’d been driving around for hours. Not knowing or caring where I was going . . . just going in circles. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from him.”

“I don’t understand, we just talked like, six hours ago. You told me you wanted to adopt Parker. Fuck, Steele, you told me you wanted to marry her!”

“I know, I—­”

“How can something like that change so drastically in just hours?”

“I freaked, okay? I was thinking about all of it, and I—­it just scared the shit out of me. You were right, I went from not wanting anything steady to wanting to get married and adopt a six-­year-­old in less than three months. Who does that? I just. Fucking. Freaked.”

“But I wasn’t trying to get you to leave them! I was trying to get you to not rush into a marriage! You could have called me and talked to me about it before just up and leaving her with no warning.”

I kept talking like he hadn’t spoken. “I started doubting everything. Doubting my ability to be his dad, doubting my wanting to even be a dad. Doubting if Reagan actually loves me, or if she just loves me for her son.”

“Are you fucking blind? I’ve never even seen the two of you together except in pictures, and I know that’s not true. Hudson told me she never let anyone in before you. Over six years of avoiding ­people, and you’re the one who breaks through that . . . and all of a sudden you think she doesn’t love you?”

“Shit, no. I don’t know! I told you, it just all came at me at once and I freaked. Don’t fucking judge me. Your cunt of a wife refused to let you see her or your kid, and you jumped through hoops to be able to see him. Dropped your career, bought a house, did everything she demanded of you . . . and at the time, you couldn’t have even been positive he was your damn kid!”

“Don’t fucking spin this around onto me. I’m not the one who just ditched Reagan and Parker! With my situation, I manned up and took responsibility. You’re starting to see all the responsibility that comes with being with them, and you left.”

“I’m not putting it on you, I’m trying to tell you. You handled it your way, even though we all thought you were fucking insane. Now I’m handling this my way. Just because we chose to handle situations differently doesn’t mean you can chew me out for this shit.”

He huffed and started laughing, but his tone wasn’t amused. “You can’t begin to compare what I did and what you just did. I knocked my girlfriend up. I wasn’t about to let her go through that alone, no matter what was going on between us. You willingly went into a relationship with Reagan knowing she had a son and trust issues. Then when it started getting serious and you had a moment of panic, you left. Totally. Different.”

Of course they were different. I just needed something . . . anything to try and justify what I’d just done.

“What happened to ‘I will never quit,’ huh?”

My brow furrowed when I realized what he was saying. It was from part of the Soldier’s Creed.

“So you’re saying,” I began, my voice dark, “that no matter what relationship I got into, if I broke up with the girl, you’d use that shit against me? Question me as a man and soldier? Fuck. You. Saco.”

“No, and you know I’m not. From what you and Hudson have said, and what I’ve seen . . . I know this isn’t just a relationship for you. This is your future, and you’re being a bitch because you had a moment where you let your fears and insecurities get to you. Do you think I don’t have days where I’m terrified that I’m gonna fuck up? That Tate could have a better dad than me? Just because I worry, doesn’t mean I’m going to leave my son.”

“Parker isn’t my son.”

“Wow. Coming from the guy who not even a week ago claimed Parker as his son without a second thought. Hudson told me about that too, asshole.” There was a beat of silence before Saco sighed. “He’s not your blood, but that’s your son. From the way you said that, I know you don’t even believe the shit you’re saying.”

I didn’t, and I wanted to die for even letting the thought cross my mind.

I’d spent that night, and the next day, in my studio trying to edit. Trying to do anything to get my mind off Reagan and Parker. Nothing was helping. I’d been the one to get scared and leave them. I’d been the one to call it off before any of us could get more invested. But now I felt hollow.

I couldn’t go back to my place without seeing them there, and here, in the studio, flashes of Reagan and I together were hitting me hard.

I hadn’t slept for more than thirty minutes last night before I’d woken in a panic, completely drenched in sweat. And this time, it hadn’t been flashbacks of my time in the army. There hadn’t been a flashback, nightmare, or dream . . . just the sense that I’d physically lost both Parker and Reagan and couldn’t find them.

Hudson was calling me every few hours to yell at me, and though I’d grabbed my phone to call Reagan over a dozen times, I hadn’t gone through with it and she’d never tried to get ahold of me.

My phone rang, and I grabbed for it quickly. Disappointment and regret poured through me when I saw Saco’s name instead of Reagan’s. My thumb hovered over the red button before I gave in and hit the green.

“Hello?” Nothing came from the other side. “Saco, you there?”

A pained cry sounded, and I looked at the screen on my phone to confirm it was Saco, before I tried talking to him again.

“You there? What’s wrong?”

Silence greeted me for long seconds, and just as I started to say something again, his strangled voice came over the line. “He’s gone.”

“What? Who’s gone?” Panic filled me thinking about Parker. But I tried to calm myself, knowing Hudson or Reagan would have been the one to call me about that.

“He’s gone—­it’s all my fault—­he’s gone.”

“What happened, Saco, who’s gone?”

“Tate,” he finally choked out.

When he didn’t say anything else, and all that met me was hard sobs, I asked, “She took him from you? How can she do that?”

“No!” he yelled, and a groan that didn’t even sound human left him. “I killed him. I killed him—­it’s my fault—­Tate’s dead. Oh God, he’s dead! I killed my son!”

I almost dropped the phone as I struggled to find my couch to sit down. This had to be some sick, twisted joke because of last night.

Right?

“Fuck!” he roared until more sobs choked off his words.

Wrong.

“What happened?” I finally managed to ask.

“I was driving, and he died. I don’t—­I don’t—­why couldn’t it have been me?” he yelled, and somehow, I knew he wasn’t asking me that question. “This can’t be happening, he needs to be okay, I’ll do anything. Anything, you hear me? God damn it! Take me instead!”

“Brody, no. No, I’m so sorry. God, when did this happen?” I asked when he’d been quiet a few minutes.

“Early this morning,” he groaned. “Olivia sent me to the store, she said she just wanted some quiet time so I took Tate with me. It was icy, so fucking icy, so I was being careful. We were stopped at a red light, and the guy—­the guy behind me couldn’t stop.” Brody didn’t say anything else for a minute as more cries filled the phone. “It pushed us out into the intersection and we got hit hard. I couldn’t stop the car from spinning—­I swear to God I tried! I tried so damn hard! It just wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop us. We hit a median, but another car that had been trying to avoid us swerved into us. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an ambulance, and Tate—­he was—­fuck! This isn’t real, Steele! Tell me this isn’t fucking real! Tell me he’s still alive.”

“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t force anything else out. I couldn’t believe this was happening to him, I didn’t know what to say to help him. I was in shock and thinking the same thing. That this couldn’t be real. But the pain in his voice . . . you couldn’t fake that.

I listened to him break down harder than he had the entire conversation, and tears filled my own eyes when he continued to scream his son’s name over and over again. His son, who he’d fought so hard to be able to see, who wasn’t even a year old, who was taken way too soon.

My chest ached for my friend, and my body screamed at me to get Parker and hug him tight. To keep him safe from anything that could possibly happen to him.

I knew then that I’d made the wrong decision. That I’d been quick to act on the first insecurity that popped up—­all because of some other guy’s experience—­and had possibly ruined everything. I needed Reagan and Parker. They were my family . . . my peace.

“Don’t let them go,” Saco said minutes later, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“My son is gone, St—­” he broke off with a cry. “I can’t get him back. You can . . . don’t let them go.”

“Brody, what can I do? I’ll get on the first flight to Oregon, I swear. But what can I do?”

“Just don’t let yours go. Promise me.”

“I’m not. I can’t let them go.” I grabbed a shirt and threw it on over my head before searching for my wallet and keys. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get Hudson, and we’ll be out there as soon as we can, all right? I’ll call you when I know details.”

“He can’t be gone,” he whispered.

Knowing there was nothing I could say, and that he needed someone now, I kept him on the phone as I left for Hudson’s apartment, and continued to listen to him cry until he told me his brother had just shown up and ended the call. Hudson hated me right now, but I knew I’d fucked up and was prepared to do anything to make it right again. But right now I was fighting with myself over whom to go to first. Reagan, or Saco. I needed to see her just as much as I needed to get to Oregon.

Like Saco last night, all that was going through my head was the definition of the warrior ethos from The Soldier’s Creed. “I will never quit,” is followed immediately by, “I will never leave a fallen comrade.” Those words went much deeper than the obvious, and right now, Saco was struggling. We needed to be there for him.

Pulling up outside Hudson’s building, I kept my car running and ran up the stairs to his apartment. I started banging on the door immediately, and didn’t stop until it opened.

I tried to dodge the flying fist too late and stumbled back as my hand went to my jaw.

“What do you want, you piece of shit?” he growled, and the look on his face was clear. He wanted to murder me.

“I know you’re pissed, I know. I’ll talk to you about that, but right now we need to buy tickets and get to Oregon.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and his anger faded to confusion as his head jerked back. “Oregon? What—­why?”

“Saco didn’t call you?”

Hudson stepped back and let me in, and I ran over to the kitchen table where his laptop was open and sat down. Goddamn, my jaw fucking hurt.

“I talked to him yesterday . . . what the fuck are you doing? I don’t want you in here, and I sure as shit don’t want you on my damn laptop. You ruined my little sister.”

I slammed my hand down on the table and stood back up. “I know that, Hudson. I. Fucking. Know. I made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday, but right now Saco needs us. He got in a wreck this morning with his son. Dude, Tate died. Saco’s so fucked up right now.”

“Shit,” he whispered, and pressed his fists onto the table, dropping his head. “You’re lying, right?”

“I wish I was.”

Straightening, he ran his hands over his face, and stood there staring at nothing for a few minutes before responding. “All right. Get us the first flight out of here, do you want my card?”

“No, I got it.”

“I’m gonna pack and call Erica, she’s at work right now.” He’d turned to head to his room, and turned right back around with a finger pointed at me. “This doesn’t change shit between us, you get me?”

I didn’t respond. I knew this wouldn’t change anything, and there was no point in responding to him. No matter what I said right now, we would end up fighting about it . . . and this wasn’t the time.