Page 135 of Unmanageable

But then, surprisingly, Noah lets go of the blankets and wraps his arms back around Cash’s broad back, giving him a firm, solid squeeze.

“Yeah,” Noah whispers. “The math doesn’t lie, man.”

Cash taps his back, letting him go with a quiet, grateful nod, and sinks back down.

The guys don’t treat him like a victim, and they don’t walk on eggshells, but there is a profound, heavy reverence in the way they quietly deposit the food and take up defensive positions around the perimeter of the room, guarding his grief without demanding answers.

At 3:45 AM, the double doors at the end of the hall hiss open again.

Callahan walks in first, wearing a sleeping shirt tucked into gray sweatpants, looking like he rolled out of bed and didn’t bother to check the mirror or his sanity. Ivy is right beside him, her hand tightly gripping his arm, her eyes wide with anxiety.

Behind them come Dean and Jenna, with Dean looking like he’s aged twenty years since we left Boston, holding six boxes of donuts and a gallon of coffee.

The moment Callahan crosses the threshold into the room, the entire atmosphere shifts.

His absolute best friend, the man who knew the timing of his glove hand and the exact cadence of his breathing on the ice, had kept this massive, agonizing secret locked away in the dark.

There is no anger in Callahan’s eyes, only a profound, shattering sorrow. He steps across the room, ignoring the boxes of cold takeout.

Cash stands up from his chair, his movements stiff and fragile, looking smaller than I have ever seen him.

When they meet in the center of the room, Callahan doesn’t hesitate. He reaches out, grabs Cash by the back of his neck, and pulls him into a crushing, fierce embrace. He locks his arms around Cash’s broad shoulders, burying his face against his shirt, holding onto his goalie with a quiet, terrifying intensity.

Cash collapses into the hold, his fingers burying into the fabric of Callahan’s jacket, his shoulders shaking as the weight of his hidden world finally breaks wide open.

It is a moment full of an unshakeable, devastating love, two brothers standing in the gap where secrets no longer matter.

While they hold each other, Ivy moves directly toward me. She doesn’t say a word; she just opens her arms and pulls me into a tight, quiet hug.

“You did good, Scottie,” she murmurs into my hair. “You brought him back.”

Before I can even exhale against her shoulder, Dean steps up beside us, his hand coming down firmly on my shoulder, a steady, protective weight. Jenna’s arms wrap around both Ivy and me from behind a second later.

It’s overwhelming.

We’ve been gone for two months—living in a tiny, isolated tin box where the only reality was the white line on the asphalt and the heat between Cash and me.

To be dropped straight back into the middle of them like this is dizzying.

On the other side of the bed, Cash’s mom is sitting in a vinyl armchair, looking fragile but deeply moved by the sudden influx of giant, heartbroken athletes. Callahan releases Cash, keeping a steady hand on his shoulder, and turns toward her.

His expression softens into something incredibly tender.

“I am so incredibly sorry for missing the wedding,” she whispers, her voice cracking with the weight of everything she has been managing alone in this hospital while they were celebrating.

Callahan drops to one knee beside her chair, completely disregarding the dirty floor, and shakes his head. He squeezes her hand with a practiced sort of care.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” he says softly. “Family comes first. We are here now.”

It is a ridiculous scene—a retired captain on his knees in a hospital, surrounded by cold lo mein and an offensive amount of Gatorade, comforting a mother while his best friend breaks down behind him.

When Callahan stands back up, Cash immediately sinks down into the space beside me.

He clings to me like a man drowning, his fingers wrapping into the fabric of my hoodie, his face buried deep in the crook of my neck. He refuses to let go, his entire body trembling against mine as he seeks whatever solid ground I can provide.

Across the room, the guys, Dean, and the girls glance over at us. They see the raw, desperate way he is holding onto me, the sheer vulnerability of a man who usually protects everyone else now needing to be held together.

But no one comments. No one makes a joke or points out the tears soaking into my shoulder. They simply look away, offering him the dignity of their silence while remaining an unbreakable perimeter around us.