"That's very zen of you," Asher observes.
"I have depths," Zay replies dryly.
"Apparently." But Asher's lips quirk slightly.
I look around the table at all of them—Xavier with his walls coming down, Zay with his intensity and understanding, Asher with his careful control starting to crack. And I realize that despite everything, despite the complications and the impossibility of it all, this feels right.
"Okay," I say. "We figure it out together."
Xavier pulls me closer, kisses my temple. "Together," he echoes.
And for the first time in weeks, the weight on my chest lifts slightly.
Not completely—I'm still carrying secrets that could destroy everything. Still haunted by memories I can't quite trust. Still terrified of what happens when the truth comes out.
But for now, in this moment, with the morning light streaming through the windows and the people I love surrounding me?—
For now, I let myself believe it might be okay.
12
VALENTINA
"Meeting. Now. Kitchen."
Xavier's voice cuts through the safe house at nine in the morning, leaving no room for argument. I'm barely dressed—still in sleep shorts and one of his oversized t-shirts, hair a tangled mess from sleep, coffee not even started brewing yet. But the tone of his voice makes it clear this isn't optional, isn't a request.
I find him already at the kitchen table in his wheelchair, positioned at the head like it's the clubhouse instead of our temporary refuge. Like he's holding court. Zay leans against the counter with studied casualness, coffee mug in hand, looking curious but not concerned. Asher sits across from Xavier, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable as always—that blank mask he wears when he's cataloging information.
The tension from our hallway confrontation days ago still hangs between Asher and me like smoke that won't dissipate. Heavy. Suffocating. He looks at me now with those cold, assessing eyes—the ones that see too much, that catalog every lie I've told,every deflection I've made. I look away first, unable to hold his gaze, sliding into the empty chair beside him.
"What's this about?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level and failing slightly. My heart is already picking up speed, sensing something significant is about to happen.
Xavier's fingers drum once against the armrest—that nervous tic that only appears when he's about to say something he's been rehearsing. "I've made a decision. About us. About how this—" he gestures vaguely between all of us, encompassing the complicated web we've woven, "—is going to work."
My stomach drops like I've been pushed off a cliff. "Xavier?—"
"Let me finish." His voice is firm but not unkind. Not angry. He looks at Zay first, then Asher, then finally settles on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I'm ready to share. Officially. No more dancing around it, no more pretending it's not happening, no more lying to ourselves about what this is."
The words hang in the air like a held breath. Zay straightens slightly, surprise flickering across his normally controlled face. Asher's expression doesn't change but I catch the minute tension in his shoulders, the way his arms tighten fractionally across his chest.
"You're sure?" Zay asks carefully, setting his coffee mug down on the counter with deliberate care. "Because yesterday you said you needed time. That you weren't ready."
"I did. I thought about it. All night, actually." Xavier's eyes find mine and hold them captive. "Didn't sleep. Just lay there thinking. And I decided that losing her completely is worse than sharing her. So yeah. I'm sure."
"Just like that?" There's skepticism in Zay's voice, disbelief threading through the words. "You just woke up and decided you're cool with this? With all of it?"
"No. She convinced me." Xavier's lips quirk slightly, almost a smile but darker. "Practically begged me, actually. Said she could take care of all three of us. That she needed all three of us. That she wanted to try." He leans back in his wheelchair, eyes glinting with something that looks like challenge, like heat, like a dare. "Let's see if she can do it."
The words send heat flooding through me—instant, visceral, pooling low in my belly. Because I hear what he's not saying out loud—that this isn't just about feelings or relationships or navigating complicated emotions. This is a test. A proving ground. A chance to back up my words with actions.
"That's—" Zay starts, voice rougher than usual.
"Hot as fuck?" Xavier finishes for him. "Yeah. I know."
I can feel all three sets of eyes on me now, the weight of their attention like physical touch. Zay with his intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness, that makes me hyperconscious of every breath. Xavier with his dark heat that promises things I simultaneously crave and fear, that makes my pulse race. And Asher?—
Asher's eyes are the most dangerous. Because underneath that cold, analytical assessment, I can see heat. Real, burning heat that he's keeping carefully controlled behind walls of discipline and logic. Despite everything, despite the lies and the distance and the wall I've built between us, he still wants me. I can see it in the dilation of his pupils, in the tension in his jaw, in theway his hands are gripping his own biceps like he's physically restraining himself.