Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen

But still, I felt Gavin’s eyes. Like he was waiting. Watching. And that weight was harder to ignore than Eben’s arm had ever been.

Eben’s arm was warm and heavy over my shoulders, the way it always was, but there was something different this time. His laugh didn’t ring the same. The curve of his smile felt sharper, deliberate, like he wanted someone else—maybe Gavin—to notice.

I forced myself to laugh, soft and airy, but it caught in my throat. It didn’t land.

The air in the kitchen thickened. I didn’t have to look to know Gavin’s eyes were on me—I could feel them. Like heat pressing into the back of my neck, steady and unrelenting.

That unfinished conversation we’d left upstairs hummed between us like static. His voice, his words, the way he almost kissed me—all of it knotted tight inside my chest.

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat stayed.

And even as I tried to brush off Eben’s teasing, to treat it like the harmless game it had always been, I couldn’t shake the way it suddenly felt different. Too close. Too loud. Too intentional.

And with Gavin just feet away, watching, it was impossible to pretend I didn’t feel torn open by both of them—the deliberate weight of Eben’s arm and the silent intensity of Gavin’s gaze.

Josh shoved the fridge shut with his hip, a bag of chips already half open in his hands. “Alright, cease fire, everyone. Movie night. Nobody touches the remote but me.”

Eben groaned. “That’s dictatorship, not democracy.”

“Democracy got us Shrek 3 last time,” Josh shot back, tossing chips at him. “You’re welcome.”

The room loosened with laughter, but my chest still felt tight. I caught Gavin’s reflection in the black glass of the TV as Josh fiddled with the remote—shoulders rigid, jaw set, his gaze fixed somewhere that wasn’t the screen.

He hadn’t said a word since we came downstairs. Not when Eben leaned into me. Not when I’d pulled away. Not even now, as Josh and Eben bickered like always.

The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled taut.

And maybe that was why I did what I did—I dropped onto the couch, choosing the far end where Gavin would have to decide if he wanted the seat beside me. A silent challenge. A way of saying, I’m not running.

Josh flopped into the middle cushion, Eben sprawled across the floor with a bowl of popcorn like he owned the place. The movie started, noise filling the space.

And then, finally, Gavin moved. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself into the cushion at my side.

Not close enough to touch. But close enough that my whole body went tense with awareness.

Josh scrolled endlessly through the streaming menus, muttering to himself about ratings and runtimes. “Nope. Too long. Nope. Seen it. Nope. Ari cried at that one—”

“Josh,” I warned, narrowing my eyes.

“Fine, fine. Don’t rush art.”

I let out a small breath and leaned, casual but deliberate, into Gavin’s side. The fabric of his hoodie brushed my arm, and without thinking, I sank a little closer. His warmth was grounding, like I’d finally found a place to rest after the storm of the night.

He didn’t move—not away, not closer—just steady, solid, letting me be there. That was Gavin’s way.

And yet, as much as I wanted to lose myself in that steadiness, my eyes betrayed me. They slid across the room, to where Eben lounged on the rug, half-reclined with a smirk as if the floor itself belonged to him. Same easy posture, same offhand charm. But underneath it, something had shifted. Subtle, sharp, like he was watching me more than the screen, waiting for something.

It unsettled me.

I tried to tell myself it was just Eben being Eben—that teasing, bold streak he’d carried his whole life—but the memory of his expression when he’d caught Gavin and me earlier tugged at the back of my mind. The same boy who laughed everything off now seemed…deliberate. Too deliberate.

I pressed a little more into Gavin’s side, as if by instinct. His presence had always been my anchor. Even when I didn’t have all the answers about him—about what he might still be hiding—it was him I gravitated toward. Always him.

But I couldn’t shake the prickle running down my spine as Eben’s eyes flicked my way again.

\[Gavin\]

Ari’s shoulder brushed mine, light at first, then settling like it was the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. If I did, I wasn’t sure if I’d pull her in closer or lose the fragile calm we’d managed to stitch together tonight.

She fit there, though. Perfectly.

Josh’s voice filled the room, rambling on about movie options, but I barely heard him. What I noticed instead was the shift in Ari—the way her body leaned warm into me while her eyes… weren’t on me.

They flicked toward Eben. Quick, but not quick enough for me to miss.

Eben, sprawled out like he owned the space, shot her a grin that felt sharper than usual, less casual. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it wasn’t the same brand of teasing I’d grown up with. And Ari… she didn’t laugh. She didn’t roll her eyes or push him off like she usually did. She just sat there, pressed to me, too still.

A knot twisted low in my stomach.

I wanted to move—wanted to slide my arm around her, stake some kind of unspoken claim that she was here, with me. But another part of me held back. If I pulled her closer, it might feel like I didn’t trust her. If I stayed still, it might look like I didn’t care.

So I stayed exactly where I was. Unmoving. Watching. Wondering what the hell I’d just seen.

I kept my gaze fixed on the flicker of the TV, but every nerve in me was tuned to Ari—the way she leaned just enough to stay close, but her eyes had gone distant, unfocused. She looked like she was miles away, not here pressed against my side.

The knot in my chest pulled tighter.

It wasn’t just Eben’s grin anymore—it was Ari herself. The way her lips pressed into a line, her brows pinched faintly, like she was caught in some thought she didn’t want me to see.

And maybe that’s what tore at me most. I’d laid everything bare to her tonight—my home, my family’s chaos, my feelings I’d carried for years—and yet here she was, slipping somewhere I couldn’t follow.

The thought I didn’t want came anyway, sharp and unwelcome.

What if something already happened?

No. I’d notice. I would’ve seen it. Known it. But the more I told myself that, the less I believed it. Eben had always been bold, reckless, and Ari… she’d always been soft where he pushed. Easy to laugh off his nonsense. But tonight it felt different, and I couldn’t place when, or how, or even if it was real—only that it clawed at me.

And as she sat there, lost in thought, I couldn’t

decide if I should reach for her, pull her back to me… or if I was already too late.