Chapter 3: Secrets in the Family Home

“Ava Bennett.”

My voice came out a little higher than I intended. I tried to steady myself, meeting her gaze.

“Which school are you in? What year? What do you like to do?”

“School of Languages, sophomore. I’m into concerts.”

I added, “Mostly indie stuff. Sometimes jazz nights at The Blue Room downtown.” I hoped the extra detail made me sound more believable.

She nodded. “Same year as Tyler. That’s good.”

She made a note on a sticky pad, her expression unreadable. I wondered if she was checking off some mental list.

She continued, “Is Tyler easygoing? Is he good to you? Has he ever treated you badly?”

The question threw me. I blinked, then shook my head quickly, hands up in protest.

I didn’t know why she was suddenly asking this and quickly waved my hands. “He’s really good to me. Our relationship is pretty steady.”

I forced a laugh. “He even brings me coffee sometimes before class.”

Only then did she nod, satisfied. “Alright, then come over to my house for dinner tonight. You’ll get to meet your boyfriend.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that I almost missed it. My brain stuttered, trying to process.

I looked up at her in shock.

My mouth fell open. “Wait, what? Tonight?”

She gave me a knowing look, a little smile at the corner of her mouth. “What are you afraid of? If you don’t come, he’ll fail the class.”

She was teasing, but there was a firmness in her tone that said she wasn’t really joking. I swallowed hard, realizing I had no choice.

Determined to be a responsible sub, I braced myself and agreed.

I nodded, trying to look brave. “Of course, ma’am—uh, Professor. I’d be happy to.”

Because Tyler’s mom kept asking me questions, I didn’t have a chance to warn him in advance.

She kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way to her car, peppering me with questions about school and music and whether I liked dogs. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I didn’t dare check it.

When we got to her house, she held my hand as we walked in.

Her grip was warm and firm, like she’d known me forever. The house was cozy, with a little welcome mat and the faint smell of something baking. Family photos lined the hallway.

Everything online said she was super strict, but after spending the afternoon with her, she was actually really kind.

She offered me a glass of lemonade and let me choose the music for the living room speakers. Her laugh was easy, and she told me stories about Tyler as a kid.

She said gently, “Our Tyler has a lot of bad habits. You have to be patient with him. If he ever does anything wrong, just tell me.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Seriously, he leaves his socks everywhere. And don’t get me started on the empty Gatorade bottles.”

I thought, how would I even know about his bad habits? But I still nodded. “Okay, professor.”

I added, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

She clicked her tongue and gave me a playful look. “Why are you calling me ‘professor’? Call me ‘Aunt Linda.’”

She patted my hand, as if to say, You’re family now. I managed a shy smile and repeated, “Okay, Aunt Linda.”

Once inside, she took me to look at the photo wall in the living room.

The wall was covered in frames—some crooked, some perfectly straight. There were baby pictures, family vacations, and a few action shots from basketball games. It felt warm and lived-in, the kind of place where memories piled up.

That’s when I saw a photo of Tyler McAllister.

He looked familiar. After thinking for a while, I realized why.

He had that easy confidence you only see in athletes—broad shoulders, messy hair, a quick, lopsided grin. It clicked suddenly, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

I’d seen him on the basketball court before, but I hadn’t known his name right then.

I remembered the squeak of sneakers on polished wood, the echo of the crowd cheering. He’d always stood out, even from the bleachers.

Back then, my roommate liked a guy on the basketball team and would drag me along to watch their games.

She’d bring snacks—chips, gummy bears, sometimes even homemade brownies—and we’d sit in the middle row, pretending to study but really just watching the players run drills.

One time, we played the Computer Science department’s team and lost badly.

The score was brutal, but my roommate just laughed it off, already plotting which player she’d DM on Instagram after the game.

Just as we were about to leave the gym, a basketball flew toward my roommate and me from across the court.

It came out of nowhere, bouncing once before rolling right to our feet. My roommate squealed, almost dropping her phone.

He was standing right behind us right then.

His shadow fell over us, tall and solid. He didn’t even look winded.

He was really tall. He reached over my head and caught the ball easily.

His fingers brushed my hair as he grabbed it, and for a second, I felt tiny.

He smiled at us and asked gently, “Did I scare you?”