Page 72 of Redeeming Melodies

People. Not person. Definitely not thinking about a certain sheriff making pancakes in my kitchen.

"People?" Zayn had that look - the one that said he was seeing more than I was saying. "This about that small town I keep hearing whispers about?"

Fuck. "Oakwood Grove." Might as well own it. "It's different there. Real. No bullshit, no cameras, just..."

"Just?"

"Just people who give a damn." My voice caught, remembering Jake's quiet strength, the way he saw right through my walls. "Tommy's different there too. Happier. Like he can finally breathe."

Zayn set down his tablet, really looking at me now. "And you? You breathing better there too?"

The question hit deeper than he probably meant it to. Was I? Between Jake's kiss and Tommy's tears and everything else spinning out of control, breathing felt complicated right then.

"Working on it." I managed a smile that probably looked as shaky as it felt. "House needs a lot of work though. Wiring's shot, plumbing's ancient, and don't even get me started on the kitchen appliances."

"Good thing you know someone who does this for a living then." He picked up his tablet again, all business now. "When can I see it? Need to get measurements, check the bones of the place before we start tearing shit apart."

"You'd come out there?" Something warm unfurled in my chest. "It's not exactly around the corner."

"Please." He grinned, the same cocky smile that used to intimidate opponents in the ring. "Like I'm gonna let you fuck up your first real home with some small town contractor who thinks beige is a personality trait."

We spent the next hour going through ideas - open floor plans and natural light, built-in storage that actually made sense, a kitchen island big enough for homework and science projects and maybe morning coffee with someone who made everything feel possible.

"What about this space?" Zayn showed me a rough sketch of the living room. "Thinking we knock out this wall, create some flow between inside and out. Really bring that ocean view in."

"Tommy would love that." The words came automatic now, everything filtered through how it would feel to my kid. "He's got this thing about watching the waves. Says they tell stories if you listen right."

"Smart kid." Zayn's voice went soft. "Gets that from you, you know. That way of seeing magic in ordinary shit."

"Yeah, well." My throat felt tight. "Just want to give him somewhere that magic feels normal, you know? Somewhere he doesn't have to pretend or measure every word or-"

Or be like me, always running from something I couldn't name.

"We'll make it happen." Zayn started gathering his stuff. "I can be there next week, start the real planning. Meantime, send me photos of everything. And I mean everything - even the shit you think doesn't matter. Devil's in the details."

Standing to leave, something caught my eye - a photo on his wall I hadn't noticed before. Zayn in the ring, mid-punch, everything about his stance saying victory was inevitable.

"Miss it?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"The fighting?" He touched his bad shoulder absently. "Sometimes. But you know what I figured out? Sometimes the best wins come from knowing when to change direction."

His eyes met mine, heavy with meaning. "Sometimes you gotta let go of one dream to grab onto something better."

The drive back to Oakwood Grove felt different this time. Less like running away, more like running toward something. Tommy's last text sat in my pocket like a promise - "Love you dad. Tell Sheriff Jake I said hi."

FACING CONSEQUENCES

The quiet hit first. No kid footsteps thundering down stairs, no coffee maker humming because someone else woke up early, no life filling up spaces that used to feel just fine empty.

My house felt wrong now. Too big, too hollow, like someone came in and scooped out all the warmth while I slept. Tommy's door stood open. The bed was made military neat, probably Elliot trying to erase their presence. But he missed stuff - a comic book under the pillow, a baseball card on the desk, little pieces of proof that they were real. That I hadn't imagined having a family for a few precious days.

Family. They weren't yours to keep. He reminded himself.

The kitchen was worse. Still smelled like yesterday's pancakes, still had that stupid dinosaur mug Tommy claimed as his sitting in the dish rack. I should have put it away, shoved it in a cabinet with all the other things I didn't need anymore. Instead, I found myself washing it by hand, careful like it was something precious.

What the fuck was I thinking last night?

The kiss played on repeat in my head - the wine making everything soft around the edges, stars watching like they knewsomething I didn't, Elliot's lips warm and real against mine until suddenly they weren't. Until he pulled back with that look in his eyes, half wanting, half terrified.

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