Chapter Forty One
For a few minutes, nobody spoke. Chloe stood there — stiff, vibrating — fists curled so tight her knuckles blanched white. Ryan sat rigid in his chair, bouncing his knee like he was trying to rattle his own skeleton loose. Evan hovered awkwardly beside him, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets like he might crawl inside them. Owen sighed. Loud. Tired. Real. He ran a hand over his face, dragging five years of regret down with it. “Chloe,” he said — softer this time. Not the cocky asshole from five minutes ago. Not the smug bastard from the supermarket. Something smaller. Something raw. “Come sit down, kid.” Chloe blinked, caught between punching him in the throat and collapsing into the nearest wall. But something in Owen’s voice — not pleading, not commanding, just the
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