Page 9 of Ruthless God

“Lose something,” I joke as I bump my hip into his.

“I’m still not talking to you.”

“And yet, you are.”

He glares at me, so I stick out my tongue.

“Very mature.”

“I’m being as mature as you, but that’s fine. That’s what we do, Harv.”

He makes a face. “You know I hate being called that.”

“You know I hate fighting with you.”

He closes the door to the fridge and spins so he’s facing me.

“If you’d stop stripping, then we’d be fine.”

“Would we?” I wait a beat. “Does Tad know you’re sick?”

“No, and I’m not going to tell him. Want to know why? Because it’s my business. Not his. Not yours.”

“Wrong. You are family, Harvey, which means your problems are my problems.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion. We don’t even know how bad this is.”

“Because you don’t want to go to the doctor to find out!” I shake my head. “I get it. You don’t have insurance and I’m sure you’re freaking out over how much this has already cost you.”

His eyes widen. “Did you go through my stuff?”

“No, but you just proved my point. Remember, I know you better than anyone.”

He says nothing, which pisses me off.

“Harvey—”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going?”

He continues to ignore me and walks away. A moment later, the front door slams.

“Ugh,” I mutter.

Since there’s nothing I can do about the Harvey dilemma, I focus on what I can control. Feeding myself. I throw together a sandwich, not bothering to make it fancy, and head back to my room, determination settling in as I dive back into my notes. I’m so close to finishing my degree in cybersecurity, but right now it feels like a lifetime away.

Time drifts by in a steady rhythm of reading, highlighting, and memorizing, until a soft whimper crackles through the baby monitor. Raquel’s awake.

Pushing my books aside, I head to her room, where she blinks up at me, sleepy and warm, her tiny fists rubbing at her eyes.

“Hey, baby girl,” I murmur, scooping her up with practiced ease.

Her weight in my arms is grounding, a gentle contrast to the chaos of everything else. I change her diaper, humming softly,then settle back into my chair with her nestled against my chest, a bottle in hand. She drinks quietly, her little fingers curling around mine. The exhaustion of the past few days melts away in moments like this—simple, calm, real.

I’m still snuggling with her when the front door swings open. Footsteps, then Lili’s voice cuts through the apartment. “I’m home!”

“We’re in my room.”

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