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“I keep expecting to see the cuts across my body,” I murmur, staring at myself intently and ignoring the bruises littering my skin. I don’t know why that thought keeps hitting me, but I’m waiting for them to appear anyway. “There’s still a part of me that doesn’t believe he’s gone. I thought after watching what she did to him, that it would…”

“Create some form of closure?” he suggests when I can’t seem to finish.

“Maybe? But it hasn’t. His presence still lingers. I’m still waiting for the shoe to drop. To wake up to this all being just a dream and I’m still with him, living the nightmare.”

Noah’s warmth leaves my back, and he steps in front of me, obscuring my view in the mirror. My eyes trail from his bare chest up to his face, then get caught in his beautifully green gaze.

Tingles erupt over my skin at how gentle his touch is when he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “This is definitely not a dream, or if it is, then I’m dreaming too. But I promise you, whether we’re in a dream or about to wake up to a nightmare, I’ll be here with you.”

I manage a shaky inhale at his sweetly worded declaration. The rest of the emotions I want to confess catch thickly in my throat as they battle to emerge.

There’s just so much I’m feeling right now. I offer him a teary smile and nod.

Noah takes my free hand and leads me into the shower. His back hits the spray so it doesn’t directly wash over me. The water streams down his arms and slowly filters onto me, covering the parts of my body he slowly glides his hands over. He lathers up his hands with shower gel and washes me with so much care and patience that I have to blink away the tears.

A throat clears, and I squint through the glass shower door.

“I…Would it be okay if I join you?” Bry requests, and the unsure stutter has me certain he’s blushing awkwardly too.

I look at Noah, wanting to gauge his wishes. I might be in a relationship with each of them, but to each other, they’re close friends, or in their case, adopted brothers.

“I think we’re all fighting the need to be close to you.” Noah shrugs with a small smile.

“Of course,” I respond to Bry.

A second later, he’s undressed and stepping in behind me. With it being a walk-in shower, there’s just enough space to fit the three of us, if a little tight.

“Bry, can we switch places so I can do her hair?” Noah asks.

Bry’s hands land on my hips, and he carefully helps me shuffle out of the way so they can swap. Bry’s hair gets plastered to his face under the shower spray, and he steps in as close as he can without his chest brushing against my arm.

Startling blue eyes rove over my face, the colour brighter in the small space.

“Are you okay?” I ask, noting the red rimming them.

His pale, strawberry blonde brows rise high on his forehead at my question. “You’re asking if I’m okay?”

“Yes? Can I not worry about you?” I query. My head tips back as Noah massages the suds into my scalp. He really is exceptionally good at this.

“I’ve been worrying about you,” he tells me. His finger presses between my brows, then he slides it down my nose and gently boops the tip.

A very wet finger that also flicks water into my eyes, and I startle.

“Sorry.” He winces, watching me blink through the droplets coating my lashes.

“It’s okay.” I chuckle softly.

“Can we trade places? Or are you okay with rinsing Rosy’s hair?” Noah asks Bry over my shoulder.

On socked feet, I pad across Nate’s room to the bed. I’m too exhausted to stay upright any longer.

After Bry and Noah gently finished washing my hair between them, I’d been carefully dressed in one of Noah’s shirts, that almost goes up over my arm, along with a pair of sleep shorts. Then they dried my hair.

Max is already sprawled across the bed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and he flicks back the sheets in invitation. Climbing onto the mattress, I shuffle up on my knees, then wedge myself into the pillows next to him. I sigh, enjoying the softness of the cushions and bed.

Nate stomps through the door, a pile of bedding under one arm and Moshi cradled in the other. His gaze zeros in on us.

“No,” he retorts, then nods at the bundle in his grip. “This is your bed.”