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We haven’t talked about this. It’s one of those things we shoved into a box and refused to discuss. We marched on, ignoring the pain. It looks like we won’t be doing that anymore.

“I’m not Noor,” Ci breathes. “I wouldn’t⁠—”

“Because you think her cutting was weak?” I ask, sitting up. “Is that why you hated her so much?”

While we’re here, we may as well rip off all the scabs on our rotting, festering wounds, huh?

“She could have been me,” Ci confesses, standing and beating his chest. “Noor was alone, and didn’t fucking have anyone! I at least had you.”

We’re all on our feet now, and I can’t help myself. I shove him.

“Am I supposed to apologize for my friendship?” I snort. “We can’t change her past or ours, Ci.”

“Can I hate myself for it?” he asks. “Every day, I listen to her voice and wonder why she ended up without friends. Why were we so special?”

“Some people are just lucky,” Draven says, cuffing the back of Ci’s neck and pulling him into his arms. I can hear Ciaran’s gasping breath as he sobs, and I rub my chest. God, this fucking hurts. We’ve talked about a lot, worked through things with Dr. Storm, and Ci even asked if a lobotomy was on the table. Thankfully, it is not. “Besides, Noor has a psychotic family willing to mutilate and murder for her, remember?”

“One who pretends she’s dead so she can live,” I whisper. “I hate that you broke her, but I started it all. There were no set boundaries when I told you my dad was pissed she was in Santa Barbara. I didn’t expect to like her so much when we decided to ruin her, Ci.”

I join the group hug, feeling a burning sensation behind my eyes. There’s no room for fighting between us. We’re going to have a difficult enough time as it is rejoining Noor’s life. We caught one last glimpse of her before we went into Dr. Storm’s boot camp. Nox sent it to us as if hoping to ask if she was really worth it, and she was walking beside a tattooed man next to our son.

She looked…happy. I don’t want to fuck with that. I really don’t, but I can’t live without her anymore. It’s been almost seven years, and the idea of living another one without her while she’s alive is crippling. We’re different men than we were when she knew us.

I know we are, but we need to show her that. I want her to know the gentler man who holds Ciaran when he’s having a bad day, or the one who knows exactly what kind of dark chocolate Draven likes when he needs to satisfy a craving. These are the things born from knowing each other for so long, but I miss seeing Noor’s lips twitch when she has a secret or is being a brat.

I don’t know anyone else who can go toe to toe with us and get us to bend. I want that to happen through jokes we make while we make a meal together or seeing her eyes darken as she makes me work for her orgasm.

I want the good moments and the ones when she needs us to be soft and sweet for her. I need a few solid minutes to beg for a chance, and then the ability not to fuck it up.

So yes. Noor is absolutely worth digging into the things we refuse to talk about. The childhood traumas, the sociopathic tendencies we embraced through prep school to control others and play with their emotions, and now learning that people aren’t things we should break.

I feel like these are building blocks others learn in elementary school, but my father wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type, and the lesson plans taught in schools were no match for his teachings at home.

My best friends and I have more than hockey in common. We gravitated toward each other and then refused to let our parents separate us. It was really that simple.

“Do we need to have a chat?”

Ciaran huffs out a laugh as Dr. Storm’s voice comes over the speaker, and I wonder if our doctor does other kinds of conditioning in these rooms. Sensory deprivation would work well here. The doors lock upon entering the room, and while we have one of the few rooms with a connected bathroom, there are some with the bare minimum that do not.

“I think we may,” I say, my voice cracking. The door unlocks loudly and I sigh as I pat Ci’s back. My nose finds its way into the crook of his neck as it usually does, and he still smells like warm vanilla.

We’ve been using the hospital’s toiletries and two-ply toilet paper, but the shit is still oozing out of his veins. Ci’s natural scent has become Noor’s and I’m not sure if it’s the universe’s way of fucking with us, or a sign.

There will be an orderly waiting outside when we open the door in our hospital issued navy blue shirts and pajama pants to take us to Dr. Storm for a late night therapy session and hopefully we can work through this.

Tonight could have ended in tears or something more violent. Four months ago, we would have come to blows and hateful comments. We always forgive each other, but we can’t spew our bullshit at Noor.

Even though on the outside, we’re the same handsome bastards we always have been, I know we’ve changed. The idea is that we’ll be able to tackle the shit life throws at us when we take the elevator up to rejoin the world once we’re done with our stay at the hospital. None of us will reach for a bottle of alcohol, use words to cut people, or even tell someone to bless their sweet little heart.

Well, maybe I can keep the Californian version of polite sarcasm.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and count to ten to ground myself. None of this is easy, but change isn’t fucking supposed to be.

We have a couple more weeks here, and then hockey season will begin.

We need to be ready. Everything is about to change.

NOOR