Page 85 of Beautiful When He Breaks

A man used his authority to hurt people and trusted that the institution around him would protect him by default.

“The school already has people looking into it,” Killian continues, “Quietly for now, because if it leaks too soon, they start scrambling to protect liability instead of students. There’s documentation. Screenshots. Timelines. Enough corroboration that Blackthorne can’t bury it without creating a much bigger problem for themselves.”

Ryan sits down next to Thorn and lets out a harsh laugh that sounds close to breaking. “Blackthorne burying shit? No way,” he says and rolls his eyes.

“It’s why I didn’t start this by trusting the school to grow a conscience,” Killian adds.

There’s something almost savage in the satisfaction that runs through me at that. Not enough to feel good—nothing about this feels good. But enough to make me sit a little straighter because Julian is not standing in this alone anymore. Blakely’s fate is no longer floating in some vague, hopeful maybe.

Ryan leans forward, and when he speaks this time, his voice is rough in a different way. “So, what happens?”

Killian doesn’t blink. “He’ll be gone by the end of the season.”

Ryan looks between Killian and Julian and then says, “By the end of the season? Why not now?”

“Because institutions protect themselves first,” Damon says before Killian can.

Killian nods once. “Exactly. Blackthorne wants this airtight. They want enough that when he goes, he stays gone. They want no room for appeal, no room for spin, no room for him painting himself as the victim of some vendetta or misunderstanding. If he gets tipped too early, he starts shredding things. Pressuring people. Running. They’re not giving him that chance. This way he gets nailed cleanly. Permanently. No quiet transfer. No coaching somewhere else next year. No access to another group of students.”

Ryan looks sick with rage. “So, we’re just supposed to act normal while he keeps walking around campus?”

“No,” Luca says. “We’re supposed to keep Julian the fuck away from him while Killian finishes the job.”

Ryan’s gaze swings back to Julian. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s no accusation in it, just hurt. That almost makes it worse.

Julian answers honestly. “Because you play for him, and I was embarrassed.”

Ryan swears in Spanish under his breath, fast and vicious, and drags a hand over the back of his neck. “I would’ve believed you,” he says after a second, and he sounds angry enough that I know he means every word. “I’m pissed you thought I wouldn’t.”

Julian lets out a short breath. “I know.”

That feels like enough of an apology to count.

Liam shifts Nate higher on his lap without even seeming to notice he’s doing it, his eyes still on Julian. “What do you need from us?”

That question opens something in the room all over again. Because that’s the real thing, isn’t it? Not just who knows or who’s furious. What does support actually look like once the story is out and the first shockwave has worn off?

Julian is quiet for a beat. Then he says, “I needed you to know. That’s the first thing.”

His voice stays steady, but I can feel the effort in it now. He’s running out of steam; I can see it. The confession itself already cost him. The reactions are costing him more because being witnessed at all is hard when the thing you’re showing was built out of shame.

Julian sat beside me and told the truth to all of them, and not one person recoiled or looked at him as if he were dirtied by what happened. Not one person treated this as a weakness, a shame, or some ugly secret that should’ve stayed hidden for convenience.

My parents would never understand how holy that feels.

“And for the record,” Killian says, and all our attention snaps to him again. “This isn’t a one-time fucking deal. If any of you assholes have problems you know I can sort out with the King name and influence, you come to me first. I don’t care what it is. There’s nothing I love more than spending my father’s money on shit he would turn a blind eye to.”

A surprised laugh moves through the room, quiet but genuine, breaking some of the weight that has settled over all of us. Even Killian smirks, though he immediately looks annoyed that he accidentally said something comforting.

I cover Julian’s hand where it rests on the couch between us. The contact is small, but his fingers tighten under mine almost immediately. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t need to. The pressure says enough.

I look at him again and realize just how tired he is. His eyes are shadowed. His shoulders have dropped, but only because the force holding them up finally eased. He looks relieved and wrung dry in equal measure.

“You good?” I ask quietly.

It’s a stupid question. Of course he’s not good, not really. But he knows what I mean anyway.