The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

"Fourth boundary," Mom said, pulling Sloane’s attention back to the conversation with the gentle authority of someone accustomed to managing multiple moving parts simultaneously. "Physical intimacy happens when everyone involved consents. That means checking in before anything escalates. It means respecting when someone says no. And it means never assuming that what worked yesterday will work today."

Lukas was nodding along like he’d heard this lecture before, his expression serious in a way that suggested he understood the weight behind every word. Maybe he had heard it already. Maybe Mom had already given him the full rundown during their two weeks of secret hookups, laying out expectations and boundaries while Sloane remained oblivious in her own house.

The thought made Sloane’s teeth grind together hard enough to make her jaw ache.

"Fifth," Mom continued, apparently on a roll now, her voice taking on the rhythm of someone who had mentally rehearsed this entire conversation, "we don’t use Lukas as a mediator when issues arise between you and me. If we have a problem, we handle it directly. He’s not a referee."

"Agreed," Sloane said immediately, because the alternative sounded like a nightmare for everyone involved. The last thing any of them needed was to turn him into some kind of emotional Switzerland, caught between competing loyalties and forced to navigate conflicts he hadn’t created.

"And sixth..." Mom paused. The sharp, assessing line of her mouth eased. Her gaze, which had been pinning me in place, lost its edge. For a moment, she just looked tired. "We remember that we all care about each other. This isn’t about winning or losing, sugar. It’s about finding a way to preserve something valuable instead of destroying it because we’re too stubborn to try."

The room went quiet, silence settling over them with the weight of everything that had been said and everything that remained unspoken. The afternoon light had shifted while they talked, casting longer shadows across the hardwood floors and painting the walls in shades of gold that made the whole scene feel surreal.

Sloane stared at her hands, watching her fingers uncurl from their death grip on the armchair with fascination, as if they belonged to someone else entirely. Her pulse hammered in her throat with a rhythm that felt too fast, too loud, too obvious. Every logical part of her brain was screaming that this was a terrible idea, that normal people didn’t do things like this, that she should stand up and walk out of this room before the situation got any more complicated than it already was.

But the louder voice in her head kept pointing out uncomfortable truths. She’d already lost her virginity to Lukas yesterday, given him something she could never take back or share with anyone else first. She’d woken up this morning still feeling him inside her, still tasting him on her tongue, her body carrying the memory of what they’d done in ways that would probably never fully fade. When he’d kissed her in the kitchen earlier, she’d melted like she always did, like she always would, like some pathetic girl who couldn’t keep her head straight around a boy she’d been living with for nine years.

And that same voice reminded her that her mother had been sleeping with him for two weeks already. That if Sloane walked away now, Mom would probably keep doing exactly that, their relationship continuing in whatever private space they’d carved out while she pretended not to know. That the only way Sloane could guarantee she wouldn’t lose Lukas completely was to agree to this insane arrangement and hope it didn’t blow up in all their faces.

The silence stretched until it felt fragile enough to shatter.

"I have conditions," Sloane heard herself say. The words were out before she’d fully decided to speak them.

Mom’s eyebrows rose slightly, interest sharpening her expression. "I’m listening."

"If this happens... if we actually do this..." Sloane took a breath and forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes. "You don’t get to use your age or your experience to make me feel like I’m less important. I know you’ve been with him longer. I know you probably know things about him that I don’t. But that doesn’t mean you get to act like I’m just some kid who doesn’t understand what’s happening here."

"Agreed," Mom said without hesitation, the response coming fast enough to suggest she’d anticipated this particular concern.

"And if he hurts me again..." Sloane’s voice dropped lower, something dangerous creeping into her tone that she’d inherited from her mother but had never used quite this deliberately. "If he lies, or hides things, or makes me feel like I’m second place again... I’m done. Completely. No second chances."

Lukas flinched at that, his whole body jerking slightly as if the words had physically hit him, but he nodded with grim determination. "Understood."

"Good." Sloane turned her attention to him fully, pinning him with a look that she hoped conveyed exactly how serious she was, how much weight these words carried. "Because I meant what I said earlier. I’ll detonate your body from the inside if you make me regret this."

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if the situation weren’t so tense, a ghost of humor that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I believe you."

"You should."

Mom cleared her throat delicately, drawing their attention back to her with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to managing difficult negotiations. "So. Are we all in agreement? We try this, we follow the boundaries we’ve established, and we adjust as we go?"

Sloane looked at Lukas again, really looked at him this time instead of just glancing. He looked back at her with those amber eyes that had been haunting her since she was eight years old, watching him arrive at their door with nothing but a suitcase and more grief than any kid should carry. Eyes that had seen her grow up, had watched her manifest her Aspect and learn to control it, had been there for every triumph and embarrassment and moment of vulnerability she’d experienced in the past nine years.

She’d spent nearly half her life watching him become part of their household. Part of her daily routine. Part of her future plans, whether she’d admitted it to herself or not. Part of her.

And now she was supposed to share him with her own mother because the alternative was losing him completely, watching him slip away into whatever relationship they’d built while she remained oblivious.