CH 45: The only way forward

Three weeks had slipped away since Mike showed up at her door with groceries and a wounded heart—and since Jake finally did too, standing in still silence on her porch, determined not to walk away a second time. In that span, life didn’t pause. It folded itself around their fragile new reality: shared days, long entangled nights, meals cooked by three sets of hands and conversations that teetered between garden-variety affection and dangerous closeness. They had fallen into a rhythm that carried them forward —but none of them knew what, exactly, to call it.

Until today.

Renee stood in the living room, coffee mug pressed between her fingers. The steam curled over the rim, warming the skin of her hands but doing little to chase away the tension that tight‑roped her chest. On one side of the room, Jake lounged on the couch, arms folded, watchful and uncertain. On the other, Mike sat forward on the armchair, elbows braced on his knees, gaze soft but scrutinizing—as if he already knew what she was about to say, even if he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, voice quiet yet steady. She took a deliberate breath. “And I’ve realized something... something I probably should’ve admitted a long time ago.” The men listened. No interruption, just attentive stillness. “I can’t choose.” Her breath caught, words trembling in the charged hush. "I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But I can't. I love both of you—differently, completely, and fully. I don’t want to lie to myself or either of you." Mike released a held breath. His shoulders unfurled. Jake looked down, then nodded once. A beat passed. Renee almost inhaled it.

“And the only way this works,” she pressed on, “is if we agree: I’m not choosing. Because—I need you both.” Silence filled the room. Not hostile—a heavy hush, pregnant with possibility. Jake was the first to break it. “So… you want both of us. Together.” “Yes.” Renee’s voice was firm as she met his gaze.
Mike nodded, turning to Jake. “Then maybe the fighting ends. Maybe we figure out how to make this work—for all of us.” Jake set his jaw. “We're already halfway there. Another step won’t hurt.” Her heartbeat slowed as hope washed in. No more tug-of-war. No more ultimatums. Just something strange, new, hopeful. She let out a long exhalation, finally allowing her face to soften into a smile. She didn’t have to lose him. She was starting to get everything she loved.

A laugh bubbled up then—a signal of survival. Jake leaned back, cracking the tension. “So… who gets to sleep in the bed tonight?” The aroma of fresh coffee cut the emotional fog so sharply it felt electric. “Might as well be honest from the start,” she said, heat flickering across her neck. “One bed, one night—shared. No pressure, no expectations.” Jake tilted his head, half‑smile teasing. “Same bed?” Mike leaned forward slowly, legs stretching out. "You can." His voice was low, warm. "I’ve got work early. I’ll head home tonight." Renee’s brow creased. “You’re really leaving?” He nodded, soft but decisive. “Yeah. Meetings. Didn’t bring a change of clothes for… this.” He swept a hand around the room. “Unless you want both of us to stay.” She watched him, then shrugged lightly, the smile returning. “Why not both?” she said. “If we’re doing this, let’s be honest. One bed—shared.”

Mike stood, slipping on his shoes. “It’s just sleep. We’ll survive.” “Speak for yourself,” she quipped.
Jake laughed, meeting her gaze. “Well then, I guess I’m staying. Hope you don’t snore.”
“Only when I’m satisfied,” Mike called from the doorway, grinning. They shared a soft, awkward laugh—unnatural, but beautiful in its vulnerability. For a moment, it felt like maybe it could work. Mike slipped out to freshen up and grab dinner. They could hear the door close behind him. Renee’s breath hitched as the air shifted again—suddenly heavy, unfamiliar. Jake slid closer, knee brushing hers. “You sure about this?” His voice was quieter now. “I want this,” she responded. “It’s messy—probably more for you and Mike than it is for me. I keep thinking... I’m the one asking you two to live on the edge.” Jake pressed his lips together, his gaze drifting to the window. “It’s not judgment. It’s about knowing I’m enough—even knowing I’m only part.”

She reached for his hand. “You’ve always been whole.” He closed his fingers around hers. For a while, silence settled again—warmer, more intimate. The sky outside deepened: violet and rose bleeding over the trees. Jake leaned forward, pulling her close. His arm curved around her. She felt his fingers lift her chin, resting softly there. His breath came close to hers. He kissed her—slow, tender, full of hope and uncertainty. Breath hitched, skin tingled. She held on. He pulled back. “This isn’t simple. But it’s… real.” Her pulse raced. A soft moan escaped her as he kissed her again, more urgent, hands sliding beneath her shirt to brush her bare skin. She tilted into him, fingers finding his hair, lips ajusting to match his kiss.

He whispered, “Tell me to stop.” Her heart pounded. She didn’t. The air around them crackled: heat, longing, a promise. Barely breathing, she reached for him. “Jake…” she murmured. Another kiss.
Suddenly, the front door opened—it was too soon. Mike’s voice drifted in: “I guess I took too long, huh?”
They froze. Jake’s hands slowed. Renee’s pulse slapped at her temples. He didn’t move. Mike emerged on the porch, duffel bag dangling from his shoulder, eyes dark, quiet. Renee held her breath. Jake rose slowly, stepping aside. Mike looked at each of them—two men, one woman, a moment pregnant with possibility and danger. Everything changed. Tension spiraled through the house, and Renee felt herself caught between decisions she hadn’t expected to make. Her eyes stung. Her lips trembled. Tension tightened. Jake’s shoulder brushed hers. Mike’s chest rose and fell.And in that charged moment, nothing felt certain anymore. But everything was about to begin.
The silence that followed Mike’s return stretched long and taut, like a string pulled tight between them. Jake stepped back, subtly tucking in his shirt, while Renee smoothed her hair, heart thudding hard in her chest. No one mentioned what had almost happened. They didn’t need to.

Mike placed the duffel bag down and walked into the kitchen, setting groceries on the counter without a word. Jake joined him, helping unpack, while Renee grabbed a few blankets and moved toward the stairs. Upstairs, the air was quieter, calmer—but only on the surface. She laid out extra pillows, her fingers shaking slightly. The bed suddenly felt too small and too large at once. She could hear Jake’s laughter downstairs, low and tense. Then Mike’s softer voice, answering. When they finally joined her, the room dimmed. Jake pulled off his hoodie, tossing it to the chair, while Mike hesitated at the edge of the bed, watching her with careful eyes. “So… how are we doing this?” Jake asked, half teasing. Renee looked between them. They all slipped beneath the covers—close, but not touching. No one spoke.
And yet, the question lingered between them: What happens when the lights go out?