Chapter 380: The Only Time We Have

"What friend?"

The three of them said it at the same time.

The joy died instantly. One second earlier the call had been full of smiles, bouncing cameras, and overlapping questions about what time he would arrive. Now the screens were still, and the warmth on their faces was gone. Daisy stopped moving on the bed. Mia’s expression tightened. Debbie’s eyes went sharp and unreadable.

Even Gracie froze.

She had been quiet through most of the call, unsure where she stood, but the words hit her too. A friend. Coming home with him. Something ugly and immediate moved through her chest before she could stop it. She liked the way the other three reacted, the way none of them looked ready to make space for anyone new. It made her feel less alone in the sudden jealousy she had no right to show.

Lucas watched them.

They had not even asked if the friend was a man or a woman. The jealousy had already arrived fully formed. That part almost made him laugh. It was a woman, yes. But the speed of their reaction said more about them than about the details.

He let the silence sit.

Rushing would only make them push harder.

"She got pulled into the same trouble I was dealing with," he said. "Not from the side. Directly. When it turned bad, she stayed. Helped me handle it. Watched my back when I needed it."

Daisy’s brows drew together.

"That is why I was gone longer than I planned," Lucas went on. "And that is why I am not leaving her out there. The people involved are not finished. If I walk away from her now, I am handing them a target connected to me."

For a moment none of them spoke.

The jealousy was still there, but it had somewhere else to go. Trouble. Danger. A debt. Not some random girl he decided to bring home for fun.

Daisy was the first to ease. She nodded, still watching him closely. "Then... she can come."

Mia still looked tight around the mouth, but she nodded once. "If she helped you, fine. She comes under our roof. Our rules."

Debbie let out a short breath, the kind that sounded more like acceptance under pressure than pure welcome. "Alright. Bring her. Just do not let her act like she owns the place."

None of them sounded happy.

They just believed him enough to allow it. The way they said it almost made it sound like the house belonged to them first, and any guest entered on their terms.

Lucas stared at the screens, honestly confused.

He had not sweet-talked his way through it. He had not answered a long list of questions. He had not managed their emotions one by one. He had given them one practical reason, and they had aligned on their own.

Even with the system, women still did not make complete sense to him.

The harder he tried to predict them, the faster they moved somewhere he had not planned for.

Lucas ended the call with a quiet, almost automatic "Okay... I love you guys," the words still hanging in the air when he heard the soft pad of Rechelle’s footsteps in the hallway.

He wasn’t even sure the screen had gone fully black before she pushed the door open with her hip, a tray balanced carefully in both hands. The smell of toasted bread and warm eggs drifted in ahead of her.

"I’m done," she said, smiling like the last hour of waiting hadn’t bothered her at all.

On the tray sat two thick breakfast sandwiches~scrambled egg, melted cheddar, and crispy bacon pressed between buttered toast~and two tall glasses of cold orange juice. Lucas shifted over on the bed without a word. They ate sitting close, knees almost touching, the only sounds the soft crunch of toast and the quiet clink of glasses. Rechelle licked a bit of egg from her thumb and glanced at him once, like she was already measuring how much of him she still had to herself.

When the plates were empty, she stood and stretched, the hem of her shirt riding up just enough for him to notice. They gathered their things in easy silence, locked the small rental behind them, and stepped into the late afternoon heat.

The BMW waited in the driveway, black and quiet. Rechelle slid into the passenger seat without hesitation.

Lucas drove them away from the curb, the low hum of the engine filling the space between them. For a few blocks he almost let himself relax.

Then it hit him.

He still hadn’t told her that his house was already occupied~that other women were living there with him.

His hands tightened on the wheel. He already knew she wouldn’t be happy. At the racing track she had been quick to step between him and any girl who got too close, sharp and protective without ever needing to raise her voice. And Rechelle was about to walk through the door still believing she was the only one coming home with him.

A dull pressure started behind his eyes. He could wait until they arrived and let her see for herself, or he could tell her now and know the outcome while she still had the chance to change her mind. Better now. Cleaner.

He kept his eyes on the road.

"My place isn’t empty," he said, voice even. "Some of my friends are already living there. They’ll be around. I don’t know if that’ll feel comfortable for you."

Rechelle didn’t answer right away. From the corner of his eye he saw the small, private smile still resting on her mouth, the kind that made it look like she was already somewhere else~picturing the two of them alone behind a closed door. The silence stretched until the low hum of the engine felt louder than it should have. He glanced over, confused.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you." Her voice was soft, almost gentle. She shifted in the seat, turning toward him as far as the seatbelt would allow. "I’m comfortable."

Her hand left her lap. It settled lightly on his thigh, just above the knee, warm through the denim, and stayed there. She spoke slower now, each word measured, like she was giving him time to catch up.

"If there’s going to be other people around... then this might be the only time we have to ourselves."

Her fingers moved. Not hurried. Just a steady, deliberate slide higher along the inside of his thigh, the heat of her palm seeping through the fabric. Lucas’s grip on the wheel tightened. The road ahead stayed clear, but his attention narrowed to the slow path of her hand as it reached the top of his thigh and kept going, fingertips brushing the front of his jeans, tracing the shape of him underneath.