Page 62 of Fractured Faceoff

“Thanks,” I murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness.

He paid for the figurine and handed it to me as we left the shop. We walked back to his truck in comfortable silence, each lost in our thoughts.

Jared’s truck was as reliable as ever, its familiar scent of leather and something uniquely him filling my senses as I climbed into the passenger seat. He started the engine, and we pulled out of the museum’s parking lot, heading toward Kash and Ava’s barbeque in the suburbs.

The drive stretched out before us—a long road lined with trees that seemed to blur into one continuous green expanse. Jared turned on some music, low enough that it didn’t intrude on our thoughts but loud enough to fill the silence.

“Thanks for taking me,” I murmured after a while, glancing down at the glass swan cradled in my hands.

“I figure you needed something soothing before tonight,” he replied softly without taking his eyes off the road.

I let his words wash over me, feeling an unexpectedwarmth spread through my chest. The tension that had been coiling inside me all week seemed to ease slightly as I watched the scenery pass by outside the window.

We didn’t talk much for the rest of the drive; sometimes words weren’t necessary. Just being there with Jared—sharing this moment of quiet companionship—felt like enough. As we neared our destination, I stole another glance at him, grateful for his presence in ways I couldn’t quite put into words yet.

The suburbs came into view slowly—tidy houses with manicured lawns and picket fences—signaling that we were almost there. My grip tightened around the swan as I braced myself for whatever awaited us at Kash and Ava’s barbeque.

“How are you holding up?” I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

“What do you mean?” Jared’s brow furrowed as he glanced at me, confusion evident in his eyes.

“This can’t be easy for you,” I said, watching him closely. “Being here, doing this. It’s a lot to handle.”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You make it easy.”

“You know,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “you don’t always have to beon, right? At least, not with me. I get that you’re the Southern Serpent and it’s part of your schtick, but... you don’t have to put on something for me, Jared.”

His expression softened for a moment before he forced a smile. “Is that your way of saying you like me better when I’m off the clock?”

I rolled my eyes. I didn't understand it, but I wished he trusted me. “Something like that,” I replied, trying tokeep my tone light.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I’ll try to remember that next time we’re out causing trouble.”

We pulled up to Kash and Ava’s house, the familiar sight of their pristine lawn and white picket fence coming into view. My heart sank a little at the thought of having to put on our act again.

As Jared parked the truck and turned off the engine, I almost regretted that we had to be here. The morning had been surprisingly enjoyable—almost like... but it wasn’t real.

I had to remember that.

“Ready?” Jared asked, looking over at me with an encouraging smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said with a sigh.

We got out of the truck and headed toward the house, side by side.

We walked around the side of the house, gravel crunching beneath our feet. Jared reached the side gate first and pushed it open with a casual familiarity. I followed him into the backyard, a mix of nerves and anticipation churning in my stomach.

The backyard buzzed with activity. String lights hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the scene. A handful of guests mingled around, holding plates piled high with barbeque fare. The smell of grilled meat wafted through the air, mingling with laughter and the low hum of conversation.

I spotted Kash near the grill, flipping burgers with an ease that suggested he did this often. Ava stood beside him, her arm draped casually over his shoulder as she chatted with another couple. They looked every bit the perfect pair, and a pang of envy shot through me before I could push it aside.

Jared nudged me gently, his eyes flicking toward a group gathered near the patio. “There’s Hazel,” he said softly.

Hazel Crowder was hard to miss. She stood slightly apart from the main group, her posture confident yet relaxed. She had Jared’s sharp features but carried herself with a grace that was all her own. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that was both striking and approachable. Dressed in casual jeans and a fitted blouse, she looked effortlessly put together.

I hadn’t seen her in years, but she seemed unchanged—still radiating that same fierce independence and ambition I remembered from our brief encounters at Jared’s family gatherings.

Hazel glanced up as we approached, her eyes narrowing slightly before recognition dawned. “Isla Sawyer,” she greeted me with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

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