Page 67 of Push My Buttons
"Shit!" Jace's voice carries from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of a pan being dropped in the sink.
Theo and I exchange amused glances as we enter. Jace stands at the sink, running water over what appears to be the charred remains of... something. Smoke rises in wisps around him, and the windows are already open despite the autumn chill.
"Let me guess," Theo says, setting down the bag of Thai food we picked up on the way. "Another successful culinary experiment?"
Jace shoots him a glare, but there's no real heat behind it. "I was trying to make that chicken dish Wren likes." He turns to me, his expression softening. "The one with the lemon and herbs. ."
My heart melts a little at the gesture. I cross to him and press a kiss to his cheek, then sign,"Thank you for trying."
"Emphasis on 'trying,'" Theo adds, already unpacking the takeout containers. "Good thing we came prepared."
"I love that you tried."I sign, before smoothing Jace's furrowed brow with my fingertips.
Jace captures my hand and presses a kiss to my palm, the gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "Next time I'll just stick to pasta."
"Or cereal," Theo suggests, arranging plates on the counter. "You're surprisingly competent with cereal."
I laugh softly as Jace flips Theo off, the easy banter between them still making me marvel. They shouldn't work—the analytical programmer and the charismatic marketing executive—but somehow they've found balance. For me. With me.
As Theo sets the table and Jace rinses the charred remains of his cooking attempt, I feel a strange lightness in my chest. It's been six weeks of them protecting me, caring for me, loving me in their different ways. Of feeling safe for the first time in over a year.
I watch them move around each other in the kitchen—Theo grabbing utensils while deliberately bumping Jace's shoulder, Jace retaliating by flicking water at him. Their playful antagonism has become something else now, something warmer.
"All I'm saying," Theo continues, dodging another water flick, "is that there are these amazing inventions called cooking classes. You might have heard of them?"
"And all I'm saying," Jace counters, drying his hands on a towel, "is that you're a smug asshole who couldn't make toast without burning it."
"I'll have you know I make excellent toast. It's one of my many talents."
"Name another talent. Just one."
Their bickering washes over me like a comfortable blanket. I lean against the counter, content to simply observe them, these two men who've rearranged their lives to keep me safe.
The word rises in my throat without conscious thought, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me where Dr. Levine's exercises have been working their magic.
"Love."
It emerges as barely more than a whisper, raspy and uncertain, but unmistakably there.
The plate Theo is holding crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces. He stands frozen, staring at me with wide eyes. Jace has gone completely still, the dish towel hanging limply from his hand.
"Did you just—" Theo begins, his voice choked.
I touch my throat, as surprised as they are by the word that escaped me. Not "home" like I practiced, but something much more vulnerable. Much more true.
Chapter 25
Jace
"Love."
The word hangs in the air, impossibly fragile yet powerful enough to stop time. My brain processes it in fragments—the slight rasp in her voice, the way her lips formed the shape, the vulnerability in her eyes as she realizes what she's done.
Wren spoke. After twenty months of silence, she found her voice—and the first word she chose was "love."
I can't move. Can't breathe. My fingers tap rhythmically against my thigh—three, two, three—as I try to process the overwhelming surge of emotion. The dish towel dangles forgotten from my other hand.
Theo recovers first, stepping carefully around the shattered plate to reach her. "You spoke," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Wren, you actually spoke."
