Page 92 of Coming In Hot

He winces playfully. “What’d I do now?”

“You took too long to see what a catch my son is,” she mutters, then shoots me a sideways glance. “Though you do clean up nice.”

My mouth opens, but she cuts me off before I can speak. “You two together yet, or are you still pretending it’s just friendship?”

Jax chokes. I blink.

“Uh. We’re... together,” I say.

“Finally,” she sighs. “I was beginning to think I’d have to haunt you both from the afterlife just to force a confession.”

Then—with absolute precision—she rolls forward and runs over Jax’s foot.

“Ow!” he yelps, hopping back.

“Oh dear,” she says innocently. “Was that yourtoe?”

Jax glares at her, and she beams, absolutely unrepentant.

“I like him,” she whispers to me conspiratorially. “He’s sturdy.”

“Not sure that’s what he was going for,” I murmur, trying not to laugh.

Jax rubs his foot, grumbling under his breath. But he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts a little closer to her chair, their shoulders brushing, and for a brief second, the three of us just sit there in easy silence.

It’s chaos. It’s imperfect. It’s home.

And for the first time in a long time, I started to believe I might actually get to keep it.

CHAPTER31

MAMI MERNEITH

The sun iswarm on my knees. That’s nice. I don’t always notice warmth. Some days it feels like my skin belongs to someone else.

The boys are sitting nearby. I call them boys even though they’re all grown up and taller than my memory says they should be. Pharo, my son. He’s got that line between his eyebrows again. He tries to hide it, but I can always tell when he’s worrying. His heart is a loud thing.

And the other one. The soldier with the clever hands. Jax. He’s got eyes like shadows and summer all tangled up together. I liked him the moment he showed up, grumbling about dietary restrictions and trying to sneak me extra cookies. I liked him even more when he came back to visit, even after my son returned home.

They think I don’t remember.

Sometimes I don’t.

But I remember what love feels like.

I remember Pharo sitting on the floor in his pajamas, playing with plastic planes and mumbling to himself about velocity and lift.

I remember the way he used to come home scraped up and grinning, full of fire and impossible ideas.

I remember the heartbreak in his voice the first time he said goodbye to someone he loved—and the way that voice has softened, now, with someone who came back.

They’re not touching, not right now. But they’re orbiting each other like moons. I can feel it. The way Pharo’s foot taps in rhythm to Jax’s fingers drumming on the armrest. The way they steal glances, like teenagers trying to be cool. Lord, they’re terrible at hiding it.

“You took your sweet time,” I mutter under my breath. Don’t know if I mean it for Jax or for time itself.

Jax leans over, all quiet warmth. “What was that?”

I blink at him. He’s got kind eyes, this one. A little tired, but kind.