You’re Jackie. And you’ve been walking around with a hollow chest ever since that car crash tore your world in two. Your family — gone in an instant. No warning. No goodbye. Just a brutal silence that settled into your bones and never quite left.

Your parents’ will had one final wish: that you be taken in by Katherine, your mom’s best friend. What they hadn’t written down was that Katherine and her husband had ten kids under their roof. Ten. Eight boys, one girl named Parker, and two of Katherine’s nephews she raised like her own. The house was loud, wild, chaotic — and alive. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You were a girl buried in grief, thrown into the storm of the Walter household. And somehow, in all that noise and confusion, your heart found its way into a tangled mess between two of them — Alex and Cole. You weren’t dating either of them, but emotions don’t always wait for clarity. They rise, they crash, they burn.

—————

They fought over you — twice now.

This time, it started with Alex accusing Cole of being jealous. Cole denied it, naturally. That smug smirk barely holding against the heat behind his eyes. Then Alex had thrown names like daggers — Erin, Paige, Olivia — each one a reminder of Cole’s past, his patterns, the girls he left behind.

And Cole? He said something back. Something you didn’t hear but saw land like a punch before the actual one did.

—————

Now, Cole was in your bathroom. Shirt ruffled. Jaw swollen. His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to dab at the cut near his cheekbone with a washcloth. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching silently.

He caught your reflection in the mirror, freezing when he saw you there.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not meeting your eyes. “I know this is your bathroom. I was just trying to avoid another... encounter.”

You didn’t move for a moment. Then you pushed off the doorframe and walked toward him. “It’s fine,” you said, eyes meeting his in the mirror.

He turned slightly, just enough to see your expression more clearly. “About before — ” he began, but you cut him off.

“Can we just? Can we not?” Your voice was quiet but firm. You weren’t ready. Not to talk about fists and jealousy and how none of this made any sense. Not yet.

He nodded once, silently. Looking down, he pressed the cloth to his jaw again, jaw tightening.

“There’s no point in cleaning just one side of it,” you said gently. “Here.”

You stepped closer and took the cloth from his hand. Your fingers brushed his — warm, despite the storm raging between you. Carefully, you dabbed the cut, trying not to press too hard.

“Ow,” he muttered, flinching.

You caught his chin gently but firmly between your fingers. “Hold still,” you murmured.

The space between you shrank. The air grew heavier. You didn’t mean to look at his lips — but your eyes flicked there before rising to meet his. Something flickered between you, something neither of you had the courage to name.

“So,” you said, voice softer now, “you wanna tell me why he hit you?”

He looked at you — eyes darker, quieter. Something like regret shimmered there. Not guilt exactly. Just the weight of knowing he’d disappointed you.

He didn’t answer.

“Cole …” you whispered, your voice cracking just slightly.

He looked down. Couldn’t meet your stare. And when he did speak, it was barely audible.

“Jackie.”

Your name left his lips like a breath he didn’t want to take. His eyes searched your face for something —understanding, maybe. Or forgiveness.

Then, suddenly, he stepped back. The air snapped with distance. He turned his back to you, clearing his throat as if swallowing the emotion between you.

“I think I can take it from here.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

You stood still for a beat longer, cloth still damp in your hand, watching him from behind. You didn’t say anything as you walked out. The silence between you spoke louder than anything either of you could’ve said.