Chapter 159: Hunter's POV

Saturday morning, I wake up to the sound of power tools.

For a moment, I'm disoriented—it's barely 8 AM, and we didn't get back from Layla's dad's house until after midnight. Then I remember: Cade texted the group chat at 6:30 AM with a single message.

Starting renovations today. Who's in?

Apparently, everyone.

I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, head downstairs. The living room's empty, but I can hear voices and laughter coming from outside.

In the driveway, Xavier's truck is loaded with paint cans, drop cloths, brushes, and what looks like an entire hardware store's worth of supplies. Layla's standing next to it in old overalls and a bandana, looking more alive than she has in weeks.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Cade calls from where he's organizing paint trays. "Thought you were gonna sleep all day."

"It's eight in the morning."

"Exactly. Half the day's gone."

I flip him off, but I'm smiling. "What's the plan?"

"Living room first," Layla says, consulting a list on her phone. "New paint—that soft gray we picked out yesterday. Then the kitchen backsplash. Then we tackle the master bedroom."

"That's a lot for one day."

"That's why we started early," Xavier says, appearing from the garage with more supplies. "I've created a schedule. If we work efficiently, we can finish the main spaces by tonight."

"Of course you made a schedule," AJ mutters, carrying a ladder. "Can't just wing it like normal people."

"Winging it leads to mistakes. Mistakes lead to delays. Delays lead to—"

"We get it," Layla interrupts, but she's grinning. "You're very organized. Thank you."

Xavier looks pleased.

"Alright," I say, grabbing a paint can. "Let's do this."

---

By noon, we've transformed the living room.

The old beige walls that Layla's mother chose—bland, safe, boring—are now a warm gray that makes the space feel both bigger and cozier. We've moved furniture, patched holes, and I'm currently up on a ladder doing the trim work around the windows.

"Left side's a little uneven," Xavier observes from below.

"I'm aware." I adjust my stroke. "Trim work is harder than it looks."

"Want me to do it?"

"No. I've got it."

Layla's in the kitchen with AJ, arguing about tile patterns. Cade's sprawled on the floor taking a break, scrolling through his phone.

"We should get a couch," he says suddenly.

"What?" Layla calls from the kitchen.

"A new couch. For in here." Cade gestures at the empty space where the old one used to be. "Something comfortable. Big enough for all of us."

"I don't know if—"

"I'm looking at options now. This one's perfect." He holds up his phone. "Sectional, super deep seats, comes in gray. It'll match the walls."

"Cade—"

"Already ordered it. Delivers Tuesday."

Layla appears in the doorway, hands on hips. "You can't just buy me furniture."

"Too late. Already did." He grins. "Consider it a housewarming gift."

"A two-thousand-dollar housewarming gift?"

"Actually, it was twenty-five hundred. But who's counting?"

She stares at him for a long moment. Then she crosses the room, bends down, and kisses him hard.

"Thank you," she says when she pulls back.

"Anytime." Cade's grinning like an idiot.

From my vantage point on the ladder, I catch Xavier's expression. He's watching them with something complicated on his face—happy for them, but also... wistful, maybe. Like he's still figuring out where he fits.

"Xavier," I call down. "Can you hand me that brush?"

He does, and I lower my voice. "You okay?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you're overthinking everything." I return to painting. "She loves you too, you know. All of us. Not just Cade."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because sometimes it seems like you forget."

Xavier's quiet for a moment. "It's not that I forget. It's that I don't know what to do with it. With... this." He gestures vaguely at the room, at all of us. "I've never had this before."

"None of us have. Not like this." I finish the trim, climb down. "But that's what makes it work. We're all figuring it out together."

"What if I mess it up?"

"Then we'll figure that out too." I clap him on the shoulder. "Stop catastrophizing and go help AJ with those tiles before he and Layla kill each other over grout colors."

Xavier actually smiles. "They have been arguing for twenty minutes."

"Exactly."

---

By late afternoon, we're all exhausted and covered in paint.

The kitchen backsplash is installed—white subway tiles that brighten the whole space. The living room is finished. We're taking a break before tackling the master bedroom, sprawled across the newly painted floor eating pizza that Cade ordered.

"This was a good idea," Layla says, leaning against AJ's shoulder. "Doing this all at once. Not dragging it out."

"Rip the band-aid off," AJ agrees. "Plus, this way you don't have to keep coming back to a half-finished project. It'll be done."

"Well, mostly done," Xavier corrects. "We still need to hang curtains, arrange furniture, bring in some decorative elements—"

"Xavier," Layla interrupts gently. "It's okay if it's not perfect."

"I know. I just want it to be... yours. Really yours."

"It already is." She looks around the transformed space. "Because you guys are here. That's what makes it mine."

Cade throws a wadded-up napkin at her. "That's disgustingly sentimental."

"Shut up. You bought me a couch."

"A very practical couch."

"That costs more than my car."

"Your car's a piece of shit."

"It runs!"

"Barely."

I watch them bicker, watch AJ referee with amused exasperation, watch Xavier slowly relax into the chaos. This is what family looks like, I think. Not the hallmark version. The real version. Messy and imperfect and somehow exactly right.

"Alright," I say, standing and brushing off pizza crumbs. "One more room. Who's ready?"

Collective groans, but everyone gets up.

---

The master bedroom is the hardest.

Not physically—the painting goes quickly now that we've got a rhythm. But emotionally. This was Layla's parents' room. The place where her father died.

She's been quiet since we started, focusing intently on her section of wall.

"What color did your dad like?" I ask, because sometimes talking helps.

"Blue," she says immediately. "Not navy. More like... sky blue. He said it reminded him of summer."

"We could do that. Paint it blue instead of gray."

She considers this. "Yeah. I'd like that."

So we make a hardware store run—Xavier and me, leaving the others to finish prep work. We grab three gallons of soft blue paint and some white trim paint.

When we get back, Layla's sitting on the floor, staring at the empty room.

"You okay?" I ask, setting down the paint.

"Yeah." She wipes her eyes quickly. "Just remembering. He used to read to me in here when I was little. Before Mom decided I was too old for bedtime stories."

"What did he read?"

"Everything. Dr. Seuss, Harry Potter, The Chronicles of Narnia. He did all the voices." A small smile. "He was terrible at them. But I loved it anyway."

"He sounds like he was a good dad."

"The best." She stands, takes a breath. "Okay. Let's make this room his. And mine."

We paint until the sun sets. Blue walls, white trim, carefully covering every trace of the beige that came before.

When we finally finish, stepping back to admire our work, Layla's crying.

But she's smiling too.

"It's perfect," she whispers. "He would've loved it."

---

That night, we order Chinese food and eat sitting on the floor of the newly painted living room, too tired to care about furniture.

"We should do this every weekend," Cade says through a mouthful of lo mein. "Find a room, fix it up."

"Please no," Xavier groans. "My everything hurts."

"You're out of shape."

"I ran five miles this morning before we started painting."

"Still out of shape."

Layla laughs—deep and genuine. The sound fills the empty room, bounces off the fresh walls.

"Thank you," she says, looking at each of us. "For today. For all of this. For helping me make this place mine again."

"Anytime," AJ says simply.

"Literally anytime," Cade adds. "I'm already planning the bathroom renovation."

"There's not going to be a bathroom renovation."

"Not with that attitude."

I catch Xavier's eye across the room. He's smiling—actually, genuinely smiling. Not his polite smile or his professional smile. The real one.

He fits, I realize. We all do.

In this house, in this moment, in this strange family we've built.

We all finally fit.