Chapter 1

Brad Brent didn’t look up from his tablet when his wife sighed for the third time in ten minutes. The screen’s glow reflected off his greasy forehead as he scrolled through baseball stats—numbers more predictable than his marriage. Across from him, Ginny swiped listlessly through her downloaded movies, tapping one before pausing halfway through the thumbnail. Something about the couple kissing made her thumb twitch. She flicked it away.

Beside them, Jerry’s deep chuckle rumbled through the terminal seating—the kind of laugh that made strangers glance over. Molly had her legs draped over his lap, her sandal dangling precariously off her toes. She grinned up at him, twisting a lock of his auburn hair around her finger. “Admit it,” she teased, voice low. “You only keep me around because I make you look taller.” Jerry smirked, thumb brushing her ankle. “Nah. It’s ‘cause you’re the only one who laughs at my shitty jokes.” Their banter was effortless, a private rhythm honed by years of stolen moments.

Ginny pretended not to watch. The way Jerry’s hand lingered on Molly’s calf, the way Molly’s eyes crinkled when she laughed—it was like watching a romance movie she’d never gotten to star in. A pang twisted behind her ribs, but she smothered it with a sip of lukewarm airport coffee. Happy for them. She was happy for them.

Molly’s gaze flicked to Ginny—just for a heartbeat—before returning to Jerry. She traced idle circles on his knee, her mind already weaving plans sharper than the terminal’s fluorescent lights.

Brad groaned as he heaved himself up, his tablet clattering into his bag like an afterthought. “Gonna grab a burger,” he muttered, not bothering to glance at Ginny. The vinyl seat creaked in relief as his bulk finally unstuck itself, his gut leading the way toward the food court like a compass pointing due grease. Ginny’s lips pressed into a thin line. Predictable. Always fucking predictable. The tears pricking her eyes weren’t about the burger. They were about the way he’d shrugged into his jacket without asking if she wanted anything—without even looking at her.

Jerry stretched, his muscles flexing under his thin t-shirt. “Mind if we ditch the bags with you, Mom?” His voice was warm, tinged with that easy charm that made strangers smile. “Molls wants to ‘stretch her legs,’ which means she’ll drag me to every overpriced souvenir stand in a two-mile radius.” Molly pinched his side, grinning. “Liar. I just know you’ll whine if you don’t get to ‘inspect the local architecture’”—she air-quoted—”which is code for staring at bikinis.”

Ginny’s laugh came out softer than she intended. “Go on,” she said, waving them off. “I’ll guard the fort.” She watched them disappear into the crowd, Jerry’s broad frame bending down to hear something Molly murmured, their laughter tangled together. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to be wanted like that—to have someone’s attention like a flame, unwavering. Then she blinked, reaching for her coffee again. It was cold. Just like everything else.

Meanwhile, Molly dragged Jerry past a kiosk selling neon swimsuits, her fingers laced with his. “That one,” she said, nodding toward a woman in a sheer cover-up, the outline of her hips unmistakable. “Her ass is like a Renaissance painting. You like that, don’t you?” Jerry squeezed her hand, rolling his eyes. “Nice try. You’re the only masterpiece I’m interested in.” Molly smirked, stepping closer so her breath tickled his ear. “Liar. I saw you staring at Mom’s legs at the pool yesterday.” His grip tightened—just enough for her to feel the shift in his pulse. “Don’t,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just that low, rough edge he got when she pressed the right buttons. “Your mom is lovely for an older woman - yes, she’s a MILF, okay - but I only have eyes for you.”

Molly traced his collarbone with her thumb. “Relax. I’m bisexual, remember? I’ve got needs your baseball bat between your legs can’t always satisfy.” She let her voice dip, teasing. “Unless you’ve secretly got a cloning machine hidden in those gym shorts.” Jerry groaned, half exasperation, half something darker. “You’re insane.” But his gaze flicked back toward the terminal, just for a second. Molly filed that away, like a card up her sleeve.