By the time I got the boys inside, they were already half-asleep — curled under blankets, popcorn spilled everywhere. Jordan was passed out in the recliner, snoring softly. Normalcy should’ve grounded me but it didn’t. I tidied the room just to have something to do with my hands. But all I felt was him — in my head, in my pulse, under my skin.
I whispered under my breath, “You’re not his.” But it didn’t feel true. The sound of a startled inhale snapped me back. Jordan jerked upright, eyes wide, breathing uneven like he’d been ripped out of a nightmare.
“Hey,” I murmured. “Rough dream?”
He swallowed and shook his head. “No—sorry. I must’ve… I don’t know. Been more tired than I thought. I’m sorry the boys didn’t make it to bed. We were watching movies and they kept saying they weren’t rea
