Page 35

35

RYKER

T he doorbell chimes, and my shoulders tense. I check the security camera on my phone—Jenna stands on our doorstep, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, clutching a bottle of wine.

Fucking perfect.

“She’s here,” I call to Kira, who’s arranging flowers at the dining table.

The look Kira gives me—half warning, half pleading—makes me force a smile. For her, I’ll try. For her, I’d do anything.

I still see flashes of Kira from three nights ago—her face illuminated by the screen of my phone as she looked at her uncle’s lifeless face. The way her body trembled against mine as the reality set in. She whispered “thank you” against my lips before kissing me with raw emotion. Christ, I’ve never been so in love in my entire life.

My Kira. My beautiful, complicated, savage Kira.

But now Jenna threatens our bubble. She’s been suspicious since Kira returned, asking too many questions.

I open the door, standing tall in the frame, blocking Jenna’s view into our home. My home. Our territory.

“Jenna.” I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Jen!” Kira appears, wrapping her arms around Jenna in a hug that makes my stomach clench. I don’t like how Kira melts into the embrace; her body relaxes in a way it should only do with me.

They pull apart, and Jenna’s gaze meets mine over Kira’s shoulder. Something passes between us—knowledge, challenge, a silent war declaration. She knows I’m not what I pretend to be. And I know she’d take Kira away if given half a chance.

“Come in, come in.” Kira ushers her friend inside, touching my arm as they pass.

I close the door, my fingers lingering on the lock. One turn, and I could secure us, lock Jenna in the basement, keep the outside world at bay, and keep Kira safe with me where she belongs.

But I know Kira wouldn’t allow it, so I leave it unlocked.

I watch Jenna like a hawk as she moves through our space, touching things, examining photos, and invading our sanctuary. Whenever she whispers something to Kira that makes her laugh, my jaw tightens. Kira’s laughter belongs to me now.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Kira calls from the kitchen. "Ryker, can you pour the wine?"

I move to the task, calculating exactly how much wine would be needed to drug Jenna if necessary. Old habits.

“So,” Jenna’s voice cuts through my thoughts as she leans against the counter. “You two met at GamerCon?”

The lie we’ve constructed sits ready on my tongue. “Yes.”

“Kira hasn’t stopped talking about you,” Jenna says, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s like she’s under a spell.”

I smile. “Is that so bad?”

“Depends on who cast it.”

Dinner progresses with forced pleasantries. I observe how Jenna watches Kira’s mannerisms, noting changes and cataloging differences. She’s protective—not unlike me, just without my methods.

Halfway through the meal, Kira excuses herself to the bathroom. The moment she’s gone, the pretense drops.

“I know there’s something off about all this,” Jenna says quietly. “Kira doesn’t just disappear for days, then come back different.”

“Different how?” I’m genuinely curious about her assessment.

“Lighter somehow. But also more anchored.” Jenna looks down at her plate. “She used to float through life, never really belonging anywhere. Now she seems...”

“Found,” I finish.

She nods reluctantly. “Yes.”

When Kira returns, I notice how Jenna touches her arm—not possessively like I would, but with genuine affection. She asks about Kira’s anxiety, remembers her medication schedule, and mentions inside jokes from their shared past.

Something unexpected shifts in me. Jenna knows parts of Kira I don’t—childhood memories, embarrassing stories, years of friendship. And she’s stood by Kira through it all, protecting her in ways I never considered.

Perhaps we’re not so different after all. We both want what’s best for Kira. We just define “best” differently.

“So you’re into coding too?” I ask, genuinely surprised when Jenna mentions her job at a tech startup. “What languages?”

“Python mostly, but I dabble in Java and a bit of C++,” she answers, her initial stiffness melting slightly. “I’m working on a side project—an app that lets gamers connect based on skill level rather than just game preference.”

I lean forward. “That’s actually brilliant. Most platforms match based on games, but skill disparity ruins the experience.”

Jenna blinks. “Exactly! Kira’s been my guinea pig for testing. She’s always getting matched with amateurs who can’t keep up.”

“Tell me about it,” I laugh. “I mean, I had the same problem until we matched online.”

A strange moment passes when we both realize we’re bonding over our shared knowledge of Kira. The territorial beast inside me quiets, replaced by something unexpected—respect.

“More wine?” I refill Jenna’s glass without waiting for the answer. She doesn’t protest.

As dinner progresses, we discover more common ground—our shared contempt for pay-to-win games, our preference for strategy over button-mashing, even a similar taste in crime documentaries. With each revelation, the tension in the room decreases.

“I still can’t believe you prefer PlayStation over PC,” Jenna teases. “That’s practically sacrilege in our friend group.”

“The controller feels superior,” I defend, enjoying the casual debate. “Though I’ve got a custom PC setup that would make you drool.”

“I might have to see that,” she concedes.

I glance at Kira, who’s looking at us with bright eyes and a smile of pure happiness without the edge that usually colors our interactions. This smile is different—it’s the smile of someone witnessing two worlds they love collide successfully.

Under the table, I find Kira’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. She squeezes back, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

“You know,” Jenna says, leaning back in her chair, “you’re not exactly what I expected, Ryker.”

“Is that good or bad?” I ask, still holding Kira’s hand.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replies with a slight smile that tells me she’s already decided—and it’s not entirely against me.