Page 465 of End Game

More people who know how she takes her coffee and what her blood sugar does when she's sick and which jokes make her laugh when she's trying not to.

More people who would get out of bed at three in the morning if she needed them.

More people she loves.

And somehow none of that changes the fact that, when the room goes quiet, and her body is exhausted, she settles against my chest without either of us thinking about it.

Not because this is the only place she belongs.

I don't need that anymore.

It's one of the places she belongs.

Ronan looks around at the mess. “We should probably clean this up.”

Nobody moves.

Dex raises one finger. “Counterproposal.”

Ronan sighs. “No.”

“You don't even know what it is.”

“I know you.”

“Ten-minute couch coma.”

Micah is already halfway there. “Seconded.”

Cami raises one hand approximately three inches from my thigh. “Third.”

I kiss her temple. “Fourth.”

Ronan studies the four of us long enough that I can almost see him calculating whether he could force exhausted naked adults to clean anything.

Eventually his shoulders settle back into the couch. “Ten minutes.”

Dex points at him triumphantly. “Democracy.”

“This is not democracy.”

“It is now.”

Cami laughs quietly against my chest.

I tighten my arms around her.

Five people on one couch should not work.

Neither should most of what we've done over the last year.

Maybe that's why I've spent so much time expecting some perfect structure to reveal itself—some set of rules that would explain exactly how all of us are supposed to fit together without hurting each other.

Tonight there wasn't one.

Nobody ran the room. Nobody kept score. Nobody made sure every person got the same thing.

We just knew each other well enough to pay attention.