Page 16 of Falling for Mr. Wrong (The Rules We Break #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Damien

D amien’s phone buzzes on the counter, the name Ronnie flashing across the screen.

He wipes the sawdust from his hands and answers, his voice already shifting into the easy cadence he reserves for his friend. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

A beat later, he’s grabbing his jacket. “Yeah, hang on. Signal’s better out back.”

I watch him push through the back door, his voice fading into the yard.

The kitchen is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the rhythmic tick of the old wall clock. I turn back to the cabinet fronts I’ve been sanding, my hands moving on autopilot, trying not to think too hard about last night… or this morning.

The floorboards creak behind me.

I glance up, expecting Damien — but it’s not him.

Colton Lawson is standing in the doorway, framed by sunlight, grinning like he just walked into a surprise party.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, like it hasn’t been years since we’ve been in a room together. Like we didn’t end things with more silence than words.

I straighten, my pulse jumping. “Colton.”

He looks around the kitchen, his gaze lingering on the stripped cabinets, the half-finished trim work, the scattered tools. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

“This is where the work is,” I say evenly, though my fingers tighten on the sandpaper.

“Right,” he says slowly, stepping inside. “Work.”

There’s an edge under the word, subtle enough that anyone else might miss it. But I hear it.

Colton’s smile is easy, practiced — the same one that used to make my seventeen-year-old self melt. Now it just makes me wary.

“Mind if I steal you for a minute?” he asks, already nodding toward the front door. “Just to catch up.”

I hesitate, glancing toward the back where Damien’s voice is still faintly audible through the screen door. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Won’t take long,” he says, and it’s not really a question.

I set down the sandpaper and follow him out to the porch. The late-morning air is crisp, tinged with salt from the ocean. Across the street, my mom’s house sits quiet. For a second, I wish I were there instead of here.

Colton leans against the railing, arms crossed. “So… you and my brother, huh?”

I keep my voice neutral. “We’re… seeing each other.”

His eyes narrow just slightly. “Seeing each other. That’s one way to put it.”

I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know Damien,” he says, leaning in a little. “Better than anyone. And I know you think you do, too — but you don’t. Not really.”

My pulse spikes, but I keep my tone even. “I think I can make up my own mind about who I trust.”

He tilts his head, smiling without warmth. “Then do yourself a favor. Ask him about the night Aaron died. Ask him why he really left town and didn’t look back.”

The words land like a stone in my stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”

Colton’s smile softens just enough to make it feel like a performance. “Because you were important to me once. And I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

Before I can respond, the back door slams, and Damien’s voice carries into the house.

The front door creaks open, and I turn just in time to see Damien step inside, his gaze zeroing in on me and Colton like he’s walked into the middle of a crime scene.

“What’s going on?” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it that makes the hair on my arms rise.

Colton doesn’t even flinch. He pushes off the railing, casual as ever. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

Damien’s eyes flick to me briefly, then back to his brother. “She doesn’t need your brand of catching up.”

“Easy,” Colton says, holding his hands up like Damien’s overreacting. “I was just saying hi.”

“Right,” Damien says flatly. “Because you’ve always been so neighborly.”

Colton’s smile tightens. “Still holding grudges, huh? Some things never change.”

“And some things do,” Damien shoots back. “Like who I let talk to the people I care about.”

The word care hangs between us, heavier than it should be.

Colton glances at me, that faint smirk back in place, like he’s won something I don’t understand yet. “Well, I should get going. Big weekend ahead. Don’t work too hard.”

He strolls past Damien without another word, and the door clicks shut behind him.

Damien doesn’t move until the sound of Colton’s car fades down the street. Even then, his jaw is still tight, his eyes fixed on the door like he’s willing it to stay shut.

I step back inside first, the creak of the floorboards sounding too loud in the quiet kitchen. He follows a second later, brushing past me to drop his tool belt on the counter.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to apologize for your brother,” I say, even though my pulse is still thrumming from the conversation Colton cornered me into.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, sharper this time. “He’s got a way of… messing with people. I should’ve been here.”

I glance at him, weighing my words. I could tell him. I could tell him that Colton brought up Aaron — that he told me to ask why Damien really left after my brother died.

But the way Damien’s shoulders are set, the way his mouth flattens into a line, tells me he’s not in a place to talk about it.

So I just nod. “He didn’t do anything I couldn’t handle.”

His gaze flicks to mine, like he doesn’t quite believe me but isn’t going to push. “Still… I don’t like him talking to you.”

I pick up the sandpaper again, more to have something to do than because I’m ready to work. “Then let’s get this done so he has less reason to drop by.”

Damien studies me for a moment, something unspoken passing between us, before he grabs his hammer and heads toward the half-finished trim.