Page 86 of Bitter Truths

His whole body shudders against me.

“Missed you so fucking much.” The words are muffled against the fabric of my hoodie. “You have no goddamn idea. Not knowing if you were okay, if you were eating, if someone was hurting you...”

He’s shaking. This huge, dangerous man is trembling in my arms like he’s coming apart at the seams.

There’s such sincere honesty in his voice it makes me feel like I’m going to break into pieces.

“I know.” I continue softly threading my fingers through his dark, messy hair. “I missed you too. All of you.”

The memory of this morning with Weller crashes into me. His palm against my cheek. The way his arms wrapped around me like I was vital.

They still think of me as theirs…

It’s painful to add up all the time we’ve missed being together. All the moments that should have been ours. All of the terrible things that have happened to them since I last saw them.

Tonight has drained me. The extent of Whitney’s abuse, witnessing Freddie break down… all of it. It’s too much to process all at once.

I need to hit something… or someone. Being cooped up in hospitals and penthouses is killing me slowly—I’m used to training every day, sparring, pushing my body to its limits. Finding clarity through physical exhaustion. Tomorrow I need a good workout.

Find my focus.

I have plans to make.

Rage simmers beneath my skin.

Whitney tried to make them unappealing, but she failed.

I still want them more than my next breath.

“Can we watch a movie?” I keep my voice gentle, soft. We’ve all had enough excitement for tonight. “Something mindless with explosions?”

They nod, understanding without explanation. Tristan queues up some action movie—all explosions and gunfights and absolutely no emotional depth. Perfect.

I settle back on the couch, and they position themselves within touching distance. Freddie and Owen claim spots on the floor in front of the couch, close enough that I can feel their body heat washing over me. Tristan takes one end of the couch, pulling my feet into his lap, his fingers already starting to trace lazy patterns around my ankles that make my breath catch.

And Weller... Weller settles underneath me, carefully lifting my head to rest in his lap. His fingers thread through my hair, gentle and soothing, massaging my scalp. My eyes flutter closed.

“This okay?”

It’s more than okay. It’s everything to feel their touches, breathe them in. The sensation of being surrounded by them is overwhelming.

I could get addicted to this.

The wine and emotional exhaustion are catching up with me. My eyelids feel heavy, my body relaxed despite everything we’ve discussed. The warmth radiating from them is better than any blanket.

As I drift toward sleep, I’m dimly aware of someone—Freddie, maybe—pulling a soft throw over my legs, and Weller shifting to slip a pillow under my head.

I know I am safe with them.

Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s doomed. Even if letting them back in is going to be the death of me.

18

FREDDIE

It’s three-thirty in the morning. The city glows beyond the windows, all neon and shadow.

Bianca sleeps curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The throw blanket twisted around her waist sometime during the night, exposing the long line of her spine. Her breathing comes deep and even, peaceful after hours of tossing.