Novels by Choleric_vee

Peter felt it before he confessed to it.Not the attraction, that had been there longer than he cared to track, woven quietly into shared silences, into the way conversations lingered after their original purpose dissolved. It had slipped in unseen, cloaked as respect. As relief. As ease.What changed was that it trailed him when he went away.He stayed in his car long after the engine ought to have been running, the keys still warm in his hand. The clock on the dashboard emitted a soft glow. Down the street the street had merged its late-afternoon beat, traffic in the distance, a dog barking two houses down, the low hum of life carrying on.The light on the porch behind him was reflected faintly in the windshield.Stephanie’s house.That is now too familiar.He exhaled slowly and leaned forward, letting his forehead rest on the steering wheel. The leather was cool. Solid. Grounding.Nothing grandiose or rash. None of them were moments big enough to make a noise. They do it in snips a

“Call it a day?”Stephanie didn’t even blink. Her pen lifted momentarily and hesitated before making another mark in the margin. “No.” is the answer.Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The faint scrape of wood on tile seemed louder than it ought to be in the silent kitchen. He glanced at his watch, frowned a little, then flipped it over on the table and slid it a bit further away from him.“Okay.” Fine.She pushed another file in his direction without meeting his gaze. “This one’s disorganized.”Peter opened it, flipped through the first few pages, and then stopped at the third. “I can deal with the mess.”She exhaled softly. “You say that now.”He flicked his eyes across faster, his lips were tightly pressed. “You’re right. I take back everything I said in your favour.”The corner of her mouth twitched. She didn’t really smile but something relaxed her shoulders.The kitchen clock ticked.Once.Twice.Loud enough for them to hear now that the house was silent.Bryan and Ty

Chapter 8 Tyler didn’t announce himself. He stood at the end of the hall with his book under his arm and peered into the kitchen without going in. Stephanie was seated at the table, her sleeves rolled up, and the tip of her pen racing across a yellow notepad. Peter was sitting across from her, had taken off his jacket, and loosened his tie, and was resting his hands on the table. He was not reclining. He wasn’t spreading out. He took up only as much room as needed. Tyler observed that. Peter was speaking in a low voice. Stephanie did not interrupt. That too Tyler noted. Bryan was standing just inside the living room door, paused in the narrow space between entering and belonging,feigning to straighten a pile of magazines. Perry was sprawled on the floor, and his back pressed against the edge of the couch. A book lay open in his hands, occasionally turning the page, pretending to read but definitely not reading. Tyler did not move. Peter stopped talking in the middle of a se

The phone rang once. “Good morning,” the lawyer said. “Or is still night there?” Catalina didn’t respond right away. She rested against the balcony railing, her bare feet pressed against the cool stone, the city lights twinkling below her like something living and compliant. “You’re awake,” he added. “I didn’t get any sleep." “That’s usually when you call.” She smiled faintly and lifted her glass, the ice chiming softly. “That’s not casual, you know my patterns.” A pause. She imagined him sitting straighter, glasses pushed up his nose, pen moving already. “You wanted an update.” “I want certainty.” “About?” “Is he still exposed?” The word lingered between them. Catalina made her drink swirl slowly in a circle as she watched the liquid catching the light. She waited. She always did. "Silence makes people honest." “Yes,” he said finally. “Peter didn't lock things down properly after the crash. There are vulnerabilities.” Her lips curved. “That’s generous

Stephanie slammed the kettle down more than was needed.It wasn’t rage. It was nerves. The subdued sort. It slithered unnoticed beneath the surface in such orderly, intentional atmospheres as this.She looked at the clock again.Six forty-two.He was late.Not late-late. Just enough late to make you aware of it.She arranged the mugs once more. Three were already lined up on the counter – unconsciously, automatically – and she frowned at them before they sat them farther back.“This is no social call,” she whispered to herself.The kettle clicked off.She poured the water in a leisurely fashion, following the steam as it ascended, regulating her breathing by it.The doorbell rang.She froze.Then exhaled once, sharp, and wiped her hands on the dish towel before moving toward the door.When she opened it, Peter was standing right there.“Sorry,” he said at once. “Traffic got jammed up on Maple. I should’ve anticipated that.” She placed the mug she had just filled on the table, steam

Perry crouched behind the wall of the hallway, knees pressed tightly against his chest, listening to the house breathing around him. The refrigerator was humming in the kitchen. The clock above the doorway ticked with a steady patience. Somewhere down the hall, their mother shuffled from room to room, her soft, yet deliberate footsteps were those of a person who held too many minds and not quite ready to share them. Perry said quietly, “This only works if we don’t act weird.” Bryan leaned on the opposite wall, arms crossed at the very tip of his biceps, his eyes gleaming as if he had too much energy in the room. “Define weird.” Perry gave him a look. “You know exactly what I mean.” Bryan tilted his head, thinking. “I genuinely don’t have a clue.” Perry exhaled through his nose. “Stop staring. Stop congregating. Stop suddenly taking an interest in Mom’s work life. And don’t pose questions that begin with "do you like..." Bryan winced. “And that rules out curiosity.