---
Chapter Two: Not My Home, Yet
The smell of pancakes woke me before sunlight touched my curtains.
At first, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the slanted ceiling, the cardboard boxes stacked near the closet, and the chipped white desk that hadn't been mine a week ago.
Braxton.
Right.
I sat up, the sheets twisted around my legs. For a second, I just sat there, listening to the soft thuds of feet downstairs and the muffled sound of a cartoon playing too loud on the living room TV.
Then I heard it—
"Dalyyyyyyynn!"
A high-pitched voice followed by rapid, pounding footsteps up the stairs.
Before I could brace myself, my door flew open and a tiny human missile launched into my bed.
"Lila!" I gasped, half-laughing, half-groaning as her seven-year-old limbs wrapped around my waist.
"Mom said to wake you up for pancakes," she announced proudly. "I did it the fastest."
"You win," I said, patting her wild curls.
"Where's your makeup bag? I wanna put glitter on your eyes again."
"That's not happening."
She pouted dramatically, already rolling off the bed and into my boxes.
"Lila," I warned, climbing out of bed and grabbing her wrist gently. "Breakfast first. Glitter disasters second."
She giggled and ran ahead, her socks sliding on the wooden floor.
---
By the time I made it to the kitchen, the room was warm with the smell of syrup and family noise.
Mark stood by the stove flipping pancakes, wearing an apron that said Kiss the Cook even though no one ever did.
My mom had one hand on her coffee mug and the other combing through my little brother Liam's hair with zero success. He was five and had a mop of curls that refused to obey any comb.
"Morning," Mom said over her shoulder. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah," I lied.
Mark turned and gave me his usual polite smile. "You like bananas in your pancakes?"
"Sure," I said, even though I didn't.
I took a seat at the end of the table while Lila climbed into the chair beside me and started babbling about a dream she had where a giraffe gave her math homework. Liam was making a syrup lake on his plate, completely ignoring the food.
It was loud.
It was messy.
It was… not bad.
Just not mine.
---
As everyone chatted around me, I stirred my juice with my straw, my mind somewhere else—somewhere outside, down the street, near a car and two pairs of eyes that still haunted me.
Jason's smirk.
Alex's quiet gaze.
It was dumb. I didn't even know them.
But somehow, they felt like the beginning of something.
Or the undoing of everything.
"Dalynn," Mark said, pulling me back. "I was thinking we could drive you past the college today. Show you the campus, meet some people?"
"Oh. Um… maybe later," I said. "I thought I'd walk around town. Get a feel for it."
He nodded, but I saw it in his eyes—another wall she's not letting me through.
And maybe that was true.
He wasn't my dad.
He never yelled. Never raised his voice. He made dinner, mowed the lawn, paid the bills. But he wasn't my dad. And he never would be.
I gave him a soft smile anyway. "Thanks though."
---
Later, as I rinsed my plate in the sink, I glanced out the window.
The sun was rising over Braxton, warm light stretching across quiet streets.
And standing across the road—like a mirage—was Jason.
Alone this time.
Leaning against a light post, hoodie pulled over his head, cigarette tucked between his lips.
Just watching.
Just waiting.
I froze.
He didn't wave.
Didn't smile.
But he knew I saw him.
And then he turned—and walked away.
Leaving only smoke and silence behind.
--
Chapter Two (continued): A Place at the Table
After breakfast, I lingered in the kitchen, wiping down a counter that didn't need cleaning just to avoid being alone upstairs again.
Mark was still at the table, sipping his coffee with the paper folded in his hands like he wasn't really reading it.
Mom was gathering plates, her movements tired but graceful, like she'd done this a thousand mornings before.
"Dalynn," Mark said gently.
I turned. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
I hesitated, hand still on the rag. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"You sure? You've been... kind of quiet since we got here. Well—quieter than usual."
I offered a half-smile. "That's just my personality."
Mom gave me a look over her shoulder—the kind that meant don't do that.
I dropped the rag and leaned against the fridge, arms folded. "I'm just adjusting."
"We know it's a lot," Mark said. "I know I'm not your dad. I'm not trying to be."
He paused. I glanced up and caught the flicker of something real in his eyes.
"I just want you to know this is your home too. Not a replacement. Not a reset. Just... somewhere you're allowed to be yourself."
That hit harder than I expected.
I looked at Mom. Her eyes were glossy, her mouth trembling like she wanted to say something but didn't know how to.
"I know it's not easy," she finally said. "You didn't ask for this. But you're here. And you're not alone."
I swallowed hard, a knot tightening in my chest. "I don't blame you," I said, my voice quiet. "For leaving him. I get it now."
Mom looked like she was trying not to cry.
Mark reached across the table and rested a hand on hers. She took it without looking away from me.
"But I think…" I took a breath, and my voice cracked. "I think part of me is still waiting for everything to fall apart again."
Silence.
Honest, raw, heavy silence.
Then Mark spoke, voice low but steady. "That's fair. But I'll tell you this, Dalynn—nothing here is perfect. We'll fight. We'll mess up. But we won't leave you behind. You're not a guest in this family."
Something about that cracked something open inside me.
I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak.
Mark stood, gave my shoulder a light squeeze, and left to check on the kids, giving us space.
Mom came around the counter and hugged me tight.
And I let her.
Just for a second.
Because I wanted to believe it was true.
That maybe, just maybe, this place could hold me without breaking me.
---
**Chapter Two (continued):
Their Side of the Story**
Jason
She looked like trouble.
Not the kind you run from—the kind you wait for, even if you know it's gonna burn.
I hadn't stopped thinking about her since last night. Something about the way she stood there, shoulders tense, voice soft like maybe she hadn't used it in a while. And those eyes... wide, curious, a little lost.
Not like the girls here.
Not like anyone I'd met before.
I watched her from across the street that morning—hood up, smoke curling between my lips, pretending I wasn't waiting for her to come to the window.
But I knew she would.
And when she did…
Yeah. I felt it again.
That stupid pull in my chest.
I turned before she could see the rest of it on my face.
Because if she was smart, she'd stay away from me.
Because if I was smart, I wouldn't want her as badly as I already did.
---
Alex
Jason didn't say a word when he got in the car.
He just slammed the door, lit another cigarette, and stared out the window like it had wronged him.
"You saw her again, didn't you?" I asked.
He shrugged.
I watched the smoke drift toward the cracked glass. "She's different."
Jason snorted. "Yeah. She's too soft for this town. Too sweet. She won't last long."
I frowned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
He turned to me, something sharp flashing in his eyes. "It is. People here chew up girls like her."
I didn't answer. Because maybe he was right. But maybe he was just trying to convince himself.
The truth was...
I couldn't stop thinking about her either.
The way she blushed when she spoke. The way her voice shook a little like she wasn't used to being noticed.
She wasn't just pretty. She was real.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Because Jason and I—we'd made a silent pact a long time ago:
No girl comes between us.
But Dalynn?
She'd already cracked the surface.
And we both knew it.
---
---
Jason
"You felt it too, right?" I said, eyes still on the road.
Alex didn't look surprised by the question. "Yeah."
"I mean, it wasn't just me. She's not like the others."
"No," he said. "She's not."
We sat in silence for a beat. That heavy kind of silence that carries unspoken thoughts.
I flicked my cigarette out the window and turned toward him. "What if we didn't make her choose?"
Alex raised a brow.
"I'm serious," I said. "You and me—we've always been tight. We've shared everything."
He smirked. "You're comparing her to a video game or a stolen bottle of whiskey?"
I smiled too, but only for a second. "I'm not saying she's a thing. I'm saying she's... ours. Or could be."
Alex was quiet. Then he nodded.
"She deserves more than either of us can give alone," he said. "But maybe together... maybe she'll feel safe enough to let go."
---
Alex
It was crazy.
But it didn't feel wrong.
I'd seen the way Jason looked at her. And the way she looked at him—like she couldn't decide if he scared her or pulled her in. I'd seen it too, in her glance at me—curious, open, trusting.
She hadn't been claimed yet by this town's poison.
We could protect her from that.
Maybe even from herself.
"Then we take it slow," I said. "We don't push. We earn her."
Jason smirked, tapping the steering wheel. "You always did like playing the long game."
"Not this time," I said, eyes focused on the street. "This time... I want to win with you."