It started a week ago. Amber Whitlock showed up through someone Eddie knew — a friend of a friend who tagged along one afternoon and never quite left. She laughed loud, asked too many questions, and inserted herself into spaces that weren’t hers like she’d always belonged there.

It changed the atmosphere immediately. Not in a dramatic way. Just… enough to be noticeable.

You clocked it right away — the way Amber hovered near Eddie, the way she talked at him instead of to him, the way she acted surprised when she realized you weren’t just “around,” you were with him.

You weren’t shy about it. You weren’t threatened. Just annoyed.

Eddie noticed too. He always did. The raised brow. The way you leaned back instead of in. The look that said I see what she’s doing, and I’m not impressed. But you didn’t address it. Not yet.

⸻

Music rattles the trailer walls, beer bottles crowd the counters, and the summer night hums with noise and heat. Eddie’s somewhere nearby — laughing, talking, moving easily through the chaos like he always does.

You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, relaxed and unapologetically yourself and Amber? Amber is still here. She slides into Eddie’s space like it’s second nature, laughing a little too hard, touching his arm like it’s casual. She keeps glancing at you like she’s waiting for a reaction.

She doesn’t get one.

You take a slow sip of your drink, eyes meeting Eddie’s across the room. He looks back instantly. There’s no confusion in his expression. No uncertainty. Just quiet acknowledgment — I see it too.

Amber says something you don’t quite catch, smiling up at him like she’s testing boundaries. Eddie doesn’t move away — but he doesn’t lean in either.

You push off the counter and walk over, unhurried, confident, sliding easily into Eddie’s space like it’s exactly where you belong because it is.

Eddie’s arm comes around you without thinking, natural and effortless.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm, familiar. “There you are.”

Amber’s smile tightens — just a fraction. You glance at her, then back at Eddie, unimpressed but calm.

“So,” you say casually, “is she still doing the thing where she pretends I’m not standing right here, or did I miss something?”

Eddie snorts softly, amused and just like that, the tension shifts. Because you’re not here to compete. You’re not here to fight. You’re here because you’re his — and you know it and Eddie Munson has never been unclear about where he stands.