Shadows swim above me. Unfamiliar angles. Wrong ceiling.
I blink rapidly, heart stuttering as reality reorganizes itself around me. Jake's room. Jake's bed. The evening light has shifted, painting everything in deeper gold.
A silhouette sharpens above me—broad shoulders, familiar stance.
"Hey." Jake's voice is soft. Careful. "You okay?"
I push myself up too quickly, and the room tilts before settling. "I must have fallen asleep." The words come out rough, embarrassed. "How long was I out?"
"Hour or two." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "Found you here when I came to check on things."
Heat floods my cheeks. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy and Paige were in the hallway. I ducked in here to avoid interrupting their... moment."
A small smile tugs at his mouth, warming his features in ways that make my chest ache. "Could have left afterward. Once the coast was clear."
"I could have." I smooth down my shirt, buying time. "Your bed is better than mine."
The words hang between us. Loaded with implications I didn't entirely intend.
"Better how?" Jake pushes off the doorframe, taking a step closer. "Because of the mattress? Or because of the memories?"
Images flood through me without permission. His body over mine. Inside me. The way he whispered my name like a prayer in the dark. Heat that had nothing to do with Texas summers.
I stand quickly, putting distance between us. "I was tired. It was convenient. Don't read too much into it."
"Wasn't reading anything." But his eyes say otherwise.
"Is there dinner?" The deflection sounds obvious even to my own ears. "I'm starving."
Jake's expression shifts—disappointment bleeding into something more practical. "That's actually why I came looking for you. Tommy grabbed takeout from town. Everyone's in the kitchen."
"Great." I move past him toward the door, close enough to catch his scent. Cedar. Leather. Something that makes me want to turn back. "Lead the way."
The kitchen buzzes with activity when we arrive. Tommy and Paige stand at the counter, arranging containers of food with an efficiency that suggests they've found their rhythm together. Their shoulders brush occasionally. Their smiles come easy.
Violet sits at the table, examining her fingernails like they've personally offended her.
"Finally." She looks up as we enter, her voice carrying theatrical exhaustion. "I've been suffering alone for hours."
"We were right here." Tommy doesn't look up from the containers.
"Emotionally suffering." Violet waves her hand dismissively. "After Adison abandoned me in the stables, I had to finish washing that enormous horse by myself. Do you have any idea what that did to my manicure?"
I take a seat across from her, grateful for the table between us. "The horse survived?"
"Barely. I barely survived." She holds up her hands, displaying nails that look perfectly fine to me. "Three broke. Three. And my arms are so sore I can hardly lift them."
Paige sets a container of fried rice in front of Violet, her expression gentle. "You did really well, though. Jake said the horse looked great when you finished."
"I don't want encouragement." Violet's pout intensifies. "I want sympathy. And possibly a spa day."
The smell of the food hits me—soy sauce and ginger and something fried. My stomach clenches in warning. I reach for a container of plain rice, forcing myself to take small bites despite the rebellion building in my throat.
You will eat this, I tell myself. You will keep it down. You will not make a scene.
The rice tastes like cardboard. I chew mechanically.
Violet's attention shifts to Jake as he takes his seat at the head of the table. Her posture changes—subtle but unmistakable. The helpless maiden returning.
"You know, I actually didn't mind the horse work that much." Her voice drops to something softer. More intimate. "Once I figured out the rhythm. I think I have natural talent."
Jake reaches for the container of orange chicken without looking at her. "That so?"
"Definitely." Violet leans forward, elbows on the table. "Which is why I was thinking—would you teach me to ride? Properly, I mean. Not just washing them."
Jake's eyebrows rise. "Someone with your background never learned at those exclusive Manhattan clubs?"
The question carries genuine surprise. Violet's cheeks flush slightly, and for a moment she looks almost vulnerable.
"I was scared of horses as a child." Her voice loses some of its practiced smoothness. "A pony bit me at a birthday party when I was six. I've avoided them ever since."
"Until now." Jake's tone is neutral. Assessing.
"Until now." Violet's smile returns, sugary and determined. "But I'm ready to face my fears. With the right teacher, of course."
She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing his arm. The same gesture from the stables. The same calculated touch.
Jake pulls back, reaching for his water glass. "I suppose we could fit in a lesson."
"Really?" Violet's face lights up. Victory gleaming behind her eyes. "Tomorrow morning?"
"If the schedule allows." He doesn't sound enthusiastic.
"I'll ride with you." The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them. "Tomorrow. For the lesson."
Violet's expression darkens instantly. The transformation is almost impressive—delight curdling into something bitter in half a heartbeat.
"I'm sure you have work to do." Her voice carries an edge now. "Important CEO things."
"My schedule is flexible." I hold her gaze without flinching. "And I could use the practice."
Across the table, Jake's eyes find mine. Gratitude flickers there—warm and unmistakable. Something loosens in my chest at the sight of it.
"Sounds like a plan." His voice carries weight meant only for me. "We'll all go together."
Violet stabs her chopsticks into her fried rice with more force than necessary. Tommy and Paige exchange a look that suggests they've noticed the tension but are too smart to comment on it.
I force another bite of rice past my rebellious stomach. Small victories.
The kitchen door opens.
Sarah steps inside, and my body registers the wrongness before my mind catches up. She stands in the doorway alone. No familiar shape at her heels. No wagging tail announcing Bear's presence. No soft padding of paws across the floor.
Just Sarah. Just silence where there should be something warm and alive.
My chest tightens with sudden dread—sharp and cold and impossible to explain away as hormones or exhaustion or anything rational at all.
Something is wrong.