Chapter 43 Chapter Forty Three

Chapter 43 Chapter Forty Three
Nat pov

Jeremy’s hands stopped mid-motion as he untangled a controller cord.
“Wait, what?” He dropped the controller like it burned him and leaned forward on the couch. “Back up. What happened?”
“Found the papers in his study.” I dropped onto his couch, snatching a throw pillow and squeezing it hard enough that the stuffing bunched under my fingers. “Petition for dissolution. That’s the fancy word for it, apparently.”
“That’s rough, man.” He ran a hand through his hair, all the game-night hype draining out of him. “How’s your mom taking it?”
“That’s the messed-up part.” I shook my head, staring at the ceiling. “She doesn’t know about it and meanwhile he’s over here playing husband of the year, cooking dinner, kissing her forehead, the whole fake-ass performance.”
“So… is he leaving her or trying to win her back? Those don’t exactly match up.”
“That’s exactly my point.” I hurled the pillow at his chest. He caught it with an overdramatic “oof,” clutching it like I had actually wounded him. “It doesn’t add up unless he’s trying to buy time. Make everything look normal while he figures out his next move.”
“What if he’s actually changed?” He asked it carefully, like he expected me to throw something heavier than a pillow this time.
“He’s not.” I said it flat, with no hesitation. “I’m one hundred percent sure. This is a man preparing for a war, not a man falling back in love.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but a knock cut him off, soft and unmistakably grandmotherly.
“Boys.” Mrs. Montgomery poked her head in, pearls swinging. “Nathaniel, dear, tell your father I said hello.”
“Will do, ma’am.” I forced a polite nod.
She smiled at us both like she hadn’t just delivered a small, coded reminder that she still expected results from whatever arrangement she and my dad had cooked up, then disappeared down the hall.
Jeremy waited until her footsteps faded before he stood, jerking his head toward the door.
“Come on.” 
He led me down to what he called his thinking room, which was really just a converted study with better soundproofing than the rest of the house, all dark wood and a single lamp.
“She’s stepping it up.” He dropped into the chair behind the desk, rubbing his face with both hands. “She wants your dad to sign some documents. Business stuff, I think, though she won’t tell me exactly what.”
“Documents for what?”
“No idea. But get this.” He leaned forward, voice dropping even though we were alone. “She asked if you could copy his signature.”
“She wants me to forge my dad’s signature?”
“Yep.” He huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. 
“Did you say yes?”
“I said I’d think about it, which in Grandmama speak means she’s already decided the answer is yes and is just waiting for me to catch up.” He rubbed his temples. “Honestly, between your dad and mine, I don’t know who’s scarier at this point. At least yours cooks.”
“Fuck off.” I laughed, sitting opposite him.
“I’m serious.” He shrugged, but there was something tired underneath the joke, something that told me this was wearing on him more than he let on most days.
“That’s insane.”
“Welcome to my life.” He spread his hands wide, and mocked graciously. “Has your dad given you an actual demand yet?”
“Not yet.” I slumped back, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve until it started to unravel. “But it’s coming. I can feel it.”
“So we wait.” He tapped his fingers against the desk, thinking out loud. “Once they both actually ask us for something concrete, that’s when we flip it. Feed them something twisted enough that it exposes what they’re actually doing.”
“And if it blows up in our faces?”
“Then we say we’re just two dumb teenagers who didn’t know any better.” He grinned, easy and a little reckless. “Works every time.”
“That’s your whole plan? Play dumb?”
“It’s a classic for a reason.” He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Nobody expects the golden boy quarterback and the heir to a business empire to actually scheme. We’re supposed to be too busy being perfect.”
“Terrifying, honestly, how well that works.”
“It’s the family curse. Might as well use it for something good for once.”
I actually laughed at that, something in my chest loosening for the first time in what felt like days.
“Deal.” I stuck my hand out, and he shook it like we were sealing something far more official than it probably was. “Once they both show their hand, we flip the table.”
“Flip the table.” He nodded solemnly. “I’m framing that and putting it on a plaque.”
I got home a couple hours later, the porch light was on, and the second I stepped through the door I heard music, drifting in from the parlour, something slow and a little cheesy, the kind of song that belonged in a movie where two people fall in love.
I found Mom and Dad slow dancing in the middle of the room, her head tucked against his shoulder, his hand splayed flat against her back. Emma sat curled in the armchair in the corner, clapping along off beat, delighted with herself, her sock feet swinging where they didn’t quite reach the floor.
“Nat!” Emma spotted me first, waving me over like I was missing the greatest show on earth. “Come watch.”
“I can see that.”
I tried to angle toward the stairs instead, some instinct telling me this scene wasn’t actually meant for me to witness up close, but Dad caught sight of me over Mom’s shoulder.
“Join us.” He said it easy, warm, spinning Mom gently under his arm like they hadn’t spent the last several months barely speaking. “Or at least come sit with your sister. ”
I hesitated in the doorway a second too long, weighing everything I knew against everything I was looking at, the folder in his desk drawer sitting heavy behind my eyes even as the music swelled toward some pleasing key change. Then I crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside Emma instead.
“Watch this.” Emma bounced in her seat as Mom laughed at something Dad whispered, the sound of it light and unguarded in a way I hadn’t heard in years, a laugh that used to be as normal as breathing before everything went quiet in this house.
Something in my chest actually warmed watching it, watching her laugh like that. I wanted to believe it. I wanted it so badly that for one full song, I almost let the warmth win out over everything else sitting cold in my stomach.
But underneath the warmth sat something colder, something that kept whispering that this whole scene had an expiration date stamped on it somewhere I just couldn’t see yet.
Emma leaned her head against my arm, humming along off key, completely unaware, and something about her small, trusting weight against my side made the whole thing feel unbearable in a way I hadn’t expected.
The song ended. Dad dipped Mom low, and she laughed again, breathless, swatting his chest before he pulled her back up, both of them grinning at each other like teenagers.
“Dad.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”