And then, because my life is actually a goddamn joke— “Well, well, well,” Tate smirks from the doorway, sounding way too fucking pleased with himself. “Look at you, little brother.”

I am going to commit murder. Right after I figure out how the fuck to make this entire moment erase itself from existence. I can’t fucking move. Because if I so much as breathe wrong right now, Tate is going to see exactly how hard I already am, and I will never hear the end of it.

Haven is still sitting in my lap, still pressed against me, if I thought I was losing it before, I am completely done for now.

Tate takes a slow, easy step further into the room, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, expression unreadable except for the sharp gleam of amusement in his eyes. I swear to God, I can already feel him planning every single way he’s going to ruin my life after this. He leans against the doorway, tilting his head, taking his time looking between me and Haven like we’re an interesting puzzle he’s trying to figure out. Then, with a slow smirk, he lets his gaze settle on me and says the one thing that almost makes my soul leave my body. “Didn’t realize you had it in you.”

Heat punches through my chest, up my throat, straight into my face so fast I might actually be on fire, because he knows. He fucking knows. I feel Haven stiffen in my lap, her fingers tightening on my shoulders, and I already know she’s about to say something reckless, something that’s going to make this situation ten times worse, because she never lets Tate get the last word.

But I cannot handle that right now. I cannot handle any of this right now.

I swallow hard, dragging in a sharp breath, gritting my teeth so tight my jaw might actually snap. “Tate.”

I say his name like a warning, like a threat, like I am one second away from absolutely losing my shit if he doesn’t leave. But he just grins wider, like this is the best entertainment he’s had all week.

“Relax, little brother,” he murmurs, pushing off the doorway, stepping closer. “I’m just here to grab something.”

Haven’s head snaps toward him, her expression unreadable, her body still tense against mine. “Then grab it and go.”

Tate lifts a brow, clearly amused by the way she’s trying to act like she’s in control of this situation, like she’s not currently sitting in my lap, like she doesn’t already know exactly how much I am struggling right now.

But then, instead of making it worse, which I know for a fact he absolutely could—he just shrugs, and heads toward the kitchen.