Page 521 of End Game

“No. Today I nap.”

“Best decision you've made all week.”

I elbow him weakly.

My head finds his shoulder again.

For a minute, I think the conversation is over.

Then Clay's face comes back to me.

Still part in uniform.

Gift-shop dragon tucked under one arm because apparently grown firefighters panic-buy stuffed animals when their little sisters end up in the ICU.

He'd sat beside me for almost two hours, made exactly one joke about my hospital hair, and promised not to call Mom and Dad.

“Clay asked about my parents.”

Griffin's hand stills. “What did you tell him?”

“That I wasn't ready for him to call them.”

Nobody challenges it.

“He promised he wouldn't.”

Dex picks at a loose thread in one of the blankets. “But?”

I swallow. “But he warned us about this.”

Hidden things don't stay hidden.

At the time, it had sounded like older-brother wisdom I could safely ignore.

Now I picture a different hospital bed.

Micah unconscious.

Dex.

Ronan.

Someone's mother walking into a waiting room while I stand there trying to explain why I need to be let through a locked door.

My stomach drops. “What if it hadn't been me?”

Every face turns toward me. “What if one of you couldn't explain who we are?”

Micah's hand tightens slightly on my shoulder.

No one answers.

They don't need to.

“We keep doing this in pieces,” I say. “Roommates when it's easy. Friends when that's easier. Partners when we know whoever we're talking to isn't going to make it weird.”

Ronan nods slowly. “Legal documents solve part of that.”