The Arrangement

Chapter 31

Paul's bedroom was alive with noise — fast fingers on controllers, digital explosions, and the sharp rhythm of trash talk that only brothers could perfect. John leaned against the arm of the couch, one hand braced on the back cushion, the other cupping a mug that had long gone cold. He wasn't really drinking anymore; he was watching. Coaching, cheering.

"C'mon, Jay Jay, stay on him, stay on him!" he shouted, leaning forward, invested like it was game seven of the World Series. "Don't let him corner you — yeah, that's it, move left!"

But the inevitable happened. Paul's character dealt the final blow, and the screen went black before flaring into victory colors. Paul sprang up from the carpet with a whoop.

"Yes! Sudden death, baby!"

Jay Jay dropped his controller with dramatic flair. "Rematch. Right now."

John couldn't hold back a laugh, his chest shaking with the simple joy of being around his boys. "Hey, take the loss like a champ first, buddy. Then we'll see if Paul's willing to defend his crown."

"I'll defend it," Paul said quickly, already basking in glory.

John soaked it in. The noise, the competitiveness, the way the boys filled the house with energy that was uniquely theirs. He couldn't imagine losing this — splitting time, trading weekends like currency, watching them grow up through scheduled windows. He had friends who did that, who talked about holidays like bargaining chips in a divorce settlement. Not him. He'd stick and stay, whatever it took.

A glance at the clock pulled him back. It was past lunchtime already. Abe would be waiting.

"Alright, gentlemen," he said, setting the mug down. "Game's gotta pause. Your old man has somewhere to be."

"Aw, Dad." Jay Jay slumped.

John crouched between them, ruffling Paul's hair while pulling Jay Jay into a one-armed hug. "I'll be back later. You two keep the tournament going, keep it clean, and don't burn the house down."

"Who's gonna ref?" Paul asked, a sly grin spreading.

"You two figure that out," John said, pulling them both in for one last hug, harder this time. He carried their warmth with him as he stepped into the hallway, where the light softened and the house fell quieter. In the hush, his thoughts drifted — as they always did when he had a moment to himself — to Marlena.

Their recent afternoon in the secret Airbnb across town, tucked away like something he couldn't quite admit belonged to him. The space had grown memorable, its corners and walls infused with her presence and the pleasure-filled murmurs of her voice. Shit. He was that guy now — the one with a double life. A man who told himself his situation was different, justified. She wasn't his mistress. She was his truth, the thing he couldn't quit, no matter how the world might label it.

Would he tell Abe? Over cocktails, with Abe watching him in that steady way of his, asking questions that cut deeper than they seemed? He doubted it. Confessions like that had a way of breaking the air open, and John wasn't sure he was ready for the fallout.

The kitchen was brightened by the afternoon sun. Hilary was perched on a stool, phone to her ear. The moment John stepped in, she ended the call, almost too fast. His neck prickled.

"Everything alright?" His tone was casual, but the question carried weight.

"Mm-hm." She placed the phone face down and smiled. Too easy.

He'd learned to pay attention to that ease. Hilary had secrets, ones she tucked away behind practiced expressions. The burner phone he'd found still sat in his mind like an unanswered riddle. He hadn't pushed yet. Not because he didn't want the truth, but because with Hilary, choosing the wrong moment was like stepping into quicksand. Pick your battles — that was the only way to survive the constant sidesteps, the evasions.