Mark’s call came at 9:47 p.m., right when the silence in the house had started to feel like a hand on the back of her neck.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Client dinner ran long. They’re flying me out to Austin first thing. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Just… hang tight, okay?”

The apology was polished. Rehearsed. The same soft, distracted tone he used every time the trip stretched. Claire sat on the edge of the bed in the same robe she’d worn for Jax, still smelling faintly of the kitchen and the wet heat she’d left on the floorboards under the sink.

“I’m lonely,” she said. The...