Sienna

I could barely breathe when we stepped inside.

The house smelled faintly of lavender and rain — calm and homely — but my pulse was still racing from the disaster that just happened in the car.

I had called Jaxon babe. In front of our parents.

The word kept replaying in my head like a broken record. Every time I tried to convince myself they hadn’t heard it clearly, Mom’s knowing smile told me otherwise.

We kicked off our shoes by the door, the soft sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway. Dad locked up, humming some random tune like he was trying not to laugh. Jaxon brushed past...