11. Fractures

Jordan

I pushed the front door open as quietly as I could, the hinges giving that familiar little creak that always sounded louder at night. The hallway light was off, but the small lamp on the side table was still glowing, the kind of soft yellow that made everything look warmer than it really was. My watch said 1:03 a.m. 

Two hours. I’d spent two whole hours sitting across from Jagger in that empty rooftop bar, talking about nothing and everything, and somehow the time just slipped away. I still couldn’t believe I’d called him like that, late at night, half expecting him to ignore it or sound annoyed. But he hadn’t. He’d just said my name like it was normal.

The house was quiet at first until a soft laughter, Ashley’s laugh. Low and breathy, the way she used to laugh when we were first married and everything felt easy. It was coming from down the hall—Billy’s room. The door was cracked just enough for the sound to leak out, followed by his deeper murmur, something I couldn’t make out. My stomach twisted, but not the way it would have in my past. Back then it would have hurt like someone was punching me in the chest. Now it just felt… expected. Like seeing rain after checking the weather app. I already knew it was coming.

I didn’t stop, or bother to barge in like some dramatic fool in a movie. There was no point. I knew what they were doing in there. I’d suspected them in my past for months—hell, I brushed it off as being unnecessarily insecure, Billy wouldn't do that to me, he’s my only brother… Tch! What a fool I really was. Confronting them right now would only make them more careful, more sneaky. I needed them sloppy. I needed them to think I was still blind.

So I kept walking, shoes off now so my steps didn’t echo on the hardwood. Past the living room where Chris’s toys were still scattered on the rug from earlier. And then I reached my bedroom door, and caught sight of the little figure in front of me.

Chris was curled up on the floor right in front of my door, his little Spider-Man pajamas bunched up around his knees, one arm tucked under his head like a pillow, the other clutching the stuffed shark he refused to sleep without. His dark hair was messy, sticking up in the back the way it always did when he tossed around. He must have dragged his blanket with him because it was half under him, half trailing across the hallway like a cape.

My heart dropped so hard I actually felt it hit my ribs.

He always slept with Ashley. Always. If she wasn’t in her bed, he’d toddle down the hall to mine, pushing the door open with both hands and climbing in without asking. But tonight… tonight she wasn’t there for him. She was giggling in Billy’s room at one in the morning while her three-year-old son woke up alone and scared and decided the safest place was outside Daddy’s door.

I crouched down slowly, trying not to make any noise. The floor was cold under my knees. Up close, I could see the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, little shiny lines that caught the hallway light. He’d cried himself back to sleep. My throat got tight. I swallowed hard and reached for him.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, sliding one arm under his shoulders, the other under his knees. He was heavier than I expected—kids always feel heavier when they’re asleep. He stirred just enough to mumble something that sounded like “Mommy,” then his eyes fluttered open halfway.

“Daddy?” His voice was thick, small, still half in dreamland.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, lifting him carefully against my chest. His head dropped right onto my shoulder like it belonged there. “Go back to sleep, okay? Daddy’s got you.”

He sighed, this tiny, shaky sound, and his arms came up around my neck. One small hand fisted in my shirt collar. “Missed you,” he mumbled.

“I know,” I said, rubbing slow circles on his back. “I’m here now.”

I carried him inside my room, kicking the door shut behind me with my foot. The room was dark except for the nightlight plugged into the wall—the little blue moon one he liked because it made stars on the ceiling. I laid him down on my bed, pulling the covers up over him. He rolled onto his side immediately, tucking the shark under his chin. I sat on the edge of the mattress for a minute, just watching him breathe. His chest rose and fell, slow and even again.

I waited until I was sure he was really out, then stood up and headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind me. I turned on the light and winced at how bright it was. My reflection looked tired—eyes shadowed, hair a mess from running my hands through it too many times tonight. I stripped off my shirt, tossed it in the hamper, and turned on the shower.

The water came hot fast. I stepped under it and let it pound against my shoulders, trying to wash away the tightness that had settled there. Steam filled the room, fogging the mirror. I closed my eyes and leaned one hand against the tile wall.

And my mind went right back to Jagger.

Watching him sitting across from me at that bar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the city lights behind him making his hazel eyes catch gold every time he turned his head. The way he’d leaned back in his chair, relaxed but still watching me like he was actually listening. 

And then that stupid comment he’d made when I asked why the bar was empty.

“I rented the entire place.”

I’d laughed too. It had felt strange coming out of my mouth, like a muscle I hadn’t used in forever.

Under the shower spray, I smiled again just remembering it. The sound of his chuckle, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. For a couple of hours tonight, sitting there with him, the weight on my chest had lifted. Like I could breathe without every inhale feeling like work.

I turned my face up into the water, letting it run over my closed eyes.

Why did it feel like that with him?

I barely knew the man. We’d met because I was drunk and pathetic at a bar. Then again because I needed a lawyer who wouldn’t lose. And now… now I was calling him at midnight because the house felt like it was closing in and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

I shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel. The mirror was completely fogged now. I wiped a circle with my hand and looked at myself again. Wet hair dripping down my neck. Shoulders tense even after the hot water. Eyes still tired, but maybe not as dead as they’d been a few weeks ago.

I pulled on sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, then went back into the bedroom. Chris hadn’t moved. He was still curled on his side, shark tucked close, breathing soft and steady. I climbed in beside him, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. The sheets were cool on my legs. I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling where the nightlight threw faint blue stars across the plaster.

I thought about Ashley and Billy again. The way they thought I didn’t know. The way they were comfortable enough to do it right here, under the same roof as my son.

My fingers curled into the sheet, something made my throat close up.

Fear.

What if I messed this up?

What if I couldn’t get Chris away from them in time? What if the divorce dragged on too long, what if Ashley won custody because of the hotel setup, what if Billy found a way to slip me another pill, what if—

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Stop.

I turned onto my side, facing Chris. His little face was soft in sleep, mouth slightly open, one hand still gripping the shark’s fin. I reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear me. “I promise.”