Page 54 of Checks & Bonds

Freya

Isat on the edge of the couch, staring at the coffee table cluttered with scattered papers and remnants of half-hearted attempts to sort out my life. The silence of the house felt heavy, wrapping around me like a thick fog. Carmen was long gone, and I couldn’t sleep. A knock broke through, sharp and unexpected. I hesitated, biting my lip.

What if it was Henry?

But no. Henry wouldn't knock at his own house.

My heart raced. Who else could it be?

I pushed myself off the couch, my bare feet making soft sounds against the wooden floor as I approached the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw him—Jensen. His tousled blond hair framed a face that was too handsome for his own good, sharp jawline and striking green eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway.

My brow furrowed. What could he possibly want? Was this about Henry? Did Henry send him to check up on me? My stomach twisted at the thought.

I doubted it. I didn't know what the relationship was like between the two of them, but I'd wager it was contentious at best.

But why else would he be here?

With a resigned sigh, I opened the door.

“Freya,” Jensen said, his voice smooth and deep like honey poured over gravel. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound less curious than I felt.

“I heard things,” he replied, pushing off from the frame and stepping into my space with an easy confidence that made me acutely aware of how different he was from Henry. “Thought you might need someone to talk to.”

“Talk?” I scoffed lightly but stepped back to let him in. “What’s there to talk about?”

He took a moment before speaking again, his gaze sweeping across the disarray of my living room before landing on me again. “I know you’re going through a lot right now.”

“A lot?” My voice dripped with sarcasm as I folded my arms defensively. “What gave you that idea?"

I didn't mean to be petty. I wasn't trying to. But I couldn't help it. I hated it here. I hated Henry. I hated my parents for pushing this marriage, and I hated myself because it was hard to keep track of what I was actually feeling.

Jensen tilted his head slightly, studying me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. “Try me.”

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension as I considered my next words carefully, wondering if sharing would only complicate things further.

"You shouldn't be here," I said, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. "You should go."

"Do you want me to?" He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes," I replied, trying to muster as much conviction as I could. "I'm not going to get between you and Henry and whatever it is you two are fighting over."

Jensen seemed surprised, his eyebrows lifting slightly. He looked away, letting out a soft chuckle. "You know," he said, glancing back at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "a good hostess would offer me something to drink."

Before I could respond, he sauntered further into the house, his presence filling the room with an unsettling ease.

"I never claimed to be a good hostess," I retorted, my voice sharper than I intended. "And anyway, I'm positive Henry doesn't want you here. You need to leave before he comes back."

"He won't be back for a while," Jensen said knowingly, an air of certainty in his tone. "He's with Amber."

The words struck me like a slap, the sting of them reverberating through my chest. My face must have betrayed something because Jensen's expression softened just a fraction.

I hated that I actually cared.

"Don't look so surprised," he continued, almost casually. "It's not like you didn't know this was coming."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "And what exactly do you want from me, Jensen? Sympathy? A drink?"

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