Page 519 of End Game

Ronan nods. “Jeremiah and I have discussed it.”

Griffin gives him an unsurprised look. “Of course you have.”

Ronan does not appear insulted.

Griffin looks back at me. “I don't think we make decisions about anything today. But I think we should probably talk to a lawyer.”

The word “lawyer” makes the whole room feel heavier.

Micah's arm drops from the couch and rests along my shoulders.

“If something happens to me,” Griffin says, “you're automatically the person they go to. If something happens to you, that's me.”

His hand tightens slightly around mine.

“Clay is there too. But them?” He looks at the other three.

Nobody finishes the sentence for a second.

Then Ronan does. “We are people she has to give the hospital permission to speak to.”

The words land harder than they should.

Because technically, he's right.

Because two nights ago he was the person sitting in the ambulance with me.

He was the one who found me.

He was the one who answered questions when I couldn't.

“Ronan.”

His gaze comes to me. “I am not angry with Griffin.”

“I know.”

“I want that distinction clear.”

Griffin nods. “It is.”

Ronan presses his palms together between his knees. “I still don't want a primary partnership. I do not want joint bank accounts. I don't need marriage to prove permanence.”

Dex lifts his head. “Thank God. Planning that wedding would be a nightmare.”

Micah elbows him without looking.

Ronan continues as if no one spoke. “But I do not want a form somewhere to reduce me to your roommate because you aren't awake to correct it.”

The back of my throat burns.

There it is.

Not hierarchy.

Not jealousy.

Fear.