All Chapters of In-Love with More than One: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

HARRISONThe thing about building a life from nothing is that you learn how fast it can all be taken away.I’ve never had a trust fund. Never had a safety net. I didn’t get to start this game on second base while everyone clapped for me like I hit a double. I built everything I have with bare hands and bad hours, working weekends when my friends were still sleeping off hangovers.And because of that—because of how hard I had to fight to get here—I’ve always known how fragile it all is. Which is why I should be scared right now.Scratch that—I am scared.Because everything feels like it’s teetering. The company. The board. Parker. Her most of all.I throw another jab into the bag hanging in the corner of the cabin’s gym, my fist connecting with the worn leather in a solid thunk. Sweat rolls down my chest, soaking through the waistband of my shorts. I’m shirtless, barefoot, and panting, but I don’t stop. Can’t.This is the only thing that keeps the noise quiet.My body is sore from the

PARKERComing home feels like walking straight into a tangle of soft noise and sharp guilt.Lyra’s squeal is the first thing I hear. Then the thump-thump-thump of her socked feet slapping against the wood floor before she crashes into me full-speed and wraps both arms around my waist like she’s trying to fuse us back together. “Mommy! You’re home!”I drop my duffel by the door, kneel, and hug her tightly, her little face smashed into my sweater, her curls catching under my chin.“Hey, baby,” I breathe into her hair. “I missed you.”She pulls back and squints at me, accusing. “Grandma made me eat vegetables.”“God forbid.”“Green ones. With flecks.”“Flecks?”“I dunno. She said it was healthy.” She makes a face I suspect she’ll master by the time she’s a teenager. Part eye roll, part yuck mouth.I laugh and ruffle her hair. “You survived.”“Nuh-uh. Ask Levi.”I look up in time to see my son emerge from behind the couch like a ninja. His pajamas are inside out. He’s holding a cheese sti

JACKThe coffee’s hotter than usual this morning. I don’t ask why. Harrison always makes it strong, but when it’s bordering on nuclear, it usually means he didn’t sleep—or he’s thinking too hard and needed something to burn the thoughts off.For me, the first burn of the morning is the only kind I trust anymore. Wakes me up better than alarms or news alerts. Better than guilt, even.He hands me a mug without a word and sinks into the chair across from my desk, stretching out like he owns the place. One ankle propped on his knee, mug in one hand, the other resting on the armrest like a man waiting for the next fire.I take a sip and almost cough. “You trying to kill me?”“You’re awake now, aren’t you?”“Barely.”“Then it’s working.”It’s early. The kind of early where the hallways outside are still quiet, where the sky over the city’s still gray and gold instead of full sun, and where everything feels a little more honest before the day dresses itself in PR and politics.We don’t usual

GAVIN I call my mother the way I fire people. Politely. Firmly. Without offering options. “Thursday morning, ten sharp,” I say. “At my office.” Vivian Thatcher doesn’t ask why. She never has to. She says she’ll be there with the sort of clipped elegance that carries undertones of disapproval and barely concealed curiosity. Perfect. I arrive twenty minutes early on Thursday and spend exactly ten of those staring at the glass wall that looks out over the executive floor, waiting for her. When she arrives, she doesn’t stop at reception. She doesn’t greet the staff. She doesn’t look at the client decks being assembled on the table for this afternoon’s donor pre-meet. She simply walks in, her heels sharp on the hardwood, coat draped over one arm, sunglasses still on despite the fact that we’re fifty feet from any natural light. And I watch her pass Parker’s desk. Parker’s head is d

HARRISONShe’s quieter than usual.Not in the “focused on work” way either. I know that version of Parker. She hunches a little when she’s deep in a spreadsheet, furrows her brow when she’s double-checking something. But this? This is different.She’s stiff. Eyes a little too blank when she looks up from her desk.I stand in my doorway with a coffee in one hand and no real plan. I’ve been in meetings all morning, and all I wanted after was caffeine and ten minutes of quiet. But then I passed her desk, and now quiet feels wrong.I take one more sip, then walk over. She doesn’t see me until I’m close. “Hey.”She blinks, then gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Morning.”“You’ve said fifteen words today. Want to make it twenty?”That gets me a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—but it fades too fast. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just catching up.”“That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Office,” I say, tilting my head.She hesitates. “Harrison, really, I⁠—”“Parker.”She exh