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    AJ POV **

    I watch as my message goes through to her, and then two ticks pop up to confirm it’s been delivered.

    Three dots appear, indicating she’s typing, but then they’re gone, only to return a few secondster, and eventually nothinges through.

    She’s hesitating in answering me, and that’s a good thing. She should hesitate.

    La’s always been able to look at someone and innately know what lies at their core. She would then treat them the same way they would eventually treat her, and walk away before the chaos ensued. She doesn’t do it to be cruel, but to survive. Because if she ever istopped /isurrounding herself with barbed wire and sharp edges, someone might get close enough to hurt her again.

    I know the type of person she is because I am the type of person she is. Being bounced from one foster home to another like a pinball taught me from a young age not to expect people to care if it didn’t benefit them, and that people more often than not don’t stick around if they don’t have a vested interest in what you can mean to their personal betterment.

    The difference between us, though, is that she hides behind fire and sarcasm, and I hide behind silence and introspection.

    She thinks I don’t know her. At least, not really. I’m just another quiet guy with pretty eyes and a mysterious aura. And I’m the one who lingers in doorways and says too little, sometimes toote.

    But I’ve been watching her since the day I bumped into her on campus after so many years.

    Not in the creepy, stalker sort of way, but because I can’t help it. Because she’s my gravity, and I have no say in anchoring myself to her. Not that I would change anything about the pull she has on

    me, even if I could.

    Xavier got home earlier after dropping her off at Beantree, and told us the whole shitty story. And I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when she quietly blew up at her mom in that kitchen today.

    She was always going to break eventually, not like ss that shatters and is irreparable afterwards, but like thunder that crashes down after a tumultuous buildup of emotions that needed an outlet.

    And now? Now, everyone’s looking at the storm’s aftermath, which is La Kincaid.

    But I saw the cracks forming long before today’s pinnacle. It was in how she brushes offpliments with sarcasm and how her voice changes when she talks about her mom. Not to mention how she stiffens when someone offers her help, like she’s waiting to hear the price for their

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    Chapter 85: AJ & Hunter POV

    And most importantly, it’s in how she doesn’t ask for anything, iever/ii, /ifrom anyone.

    It makes me wonder how long she’s been surviving off emotional scraps from those who were supposed to care about her, like her mother, and maybe even her father when he was still alive.

    How long has she been swallowing her own screams to keep the peace? To not make a scene? To not draw attention to herself?

    Herst message to me sits on my screen: iAnd /iiwhat /iiif /iiI /iidon’t/ii? /i

    Take off her armor, that is.

    I would never ask her to, because I know how vital that armor is to her at the moment. I told her I’d wait and that I’d find my own way beneath it. And I will. No matter how long or what it takes.

    And not in the romantic, puppy–eyed way other men will woo their girl. It’ll be in a way that proves to her that it’s not about getting her to be my girl but about me making myself a permanent part of

    her life.

    **

    Hunter POV **

    The kitchen is dim, and the only light on is the one over the stove. The hum of the fridge is the only real sound, except for my breathing, as I sit at the kitchen ind with my head in my hands.

    I’m nursing a bottle of water like it might douse the inferno that’s been raging in my chest since Xavier told us what happened earlier.

    He didn’t give many details–because it’s her story to tell, after all—but I didn’t need them.

    I knew the crux of the matter, and that’s all that’s important: La and her mother had another fight about thetter trying to control the former, and even a bombshell about a fiancé.

    And then my girl handled it, like she always has and always will. She put Allison in her ce by drawing a line in the sand, without flinching or lowering her moral standards.

    My only unease about the whole ordeal was that I wasn’t there, and I hate that I wasn’t.

    I would’ve stood behind her, beside her, hell, in front of her, if I had to, if it meant she didn’t have

    to go through today alone.

    Because I love her. God, do I fucking love her.

    And I said it. And she said it back, too. And I believed her.

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    In my book, that means being there and protecting her with everything in me, whether against a foe, her mother, or sometimes even herself.

    Footsteps pad into the kitchen, indicating that Cade is home. His shirt is rumpled, and his hair tousled. He looks like someone who’s just walked a long stretch of emotional ground. Not broken per se, just contemtive.

    “You just getting in?” I ask solemnly.

    He nods as he grabs a ss and fills it at the sink. After a sip, he says, “Beantree rante, and she stayed behind to help close up.”

    Of course, my girl did.

    “She okay?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m fishing but failing miserably, because I need to know desperately.

    He nods again, but slower this time, before answering, “Yeah. She’s quiet and tired, but…not lost, if

    that makes sense.”

    He pauses, nces at me, and then, with hopefulness in his tone, continues, “She smiled.”

    I breathe that in for a second, my shoulders rxing somewhat. Because if our girl can still smile,

    she’ll eventually be okay.

    As he rests his hand on the counter, he adds, “Not her usual ‘I’m fine‘ smile that she uses to cate those who don’t know her. A real one. It didn’tst long, but it was there. And it was as beautiful as

    ever.”

    I nod, releasing more of my pent–up tension at his words of hope.

    “I think she’s still carrying everything that happened, not just today, but up until now,” he says, softer now, “She’s just holding it differently tonight after whatever happened today with her mom.”

    I run a hand down my face before confessing to him, “I hate that I wasn’t there.”

    Cade doesn’t respond immediately, but eventually adds, “She knows you wanted to be. We all did.”

    1 nce at him, and he offers me a small smile that’s steady and honest.

    We don’t pretend that this situation isn’tplicated. We also don’t pretend we’re not both in love with her. But there’s no jealousy or rivalry here–just two guys who both want the same girl to be okay.

    “She’s strong,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean she wants to be alone.”

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    I exhale a long and heavy breath, before finally saying, “She’s not. Not really. Even when she thinks

    she is.”

    Cade nods in confirmation, and then turns to leave but pauses in the doorway, “Night, Hunter.”

    “Night,” I say as he disappears around the corner into the hallway.

    I sit there a little longer after he’s gone. Just me, the fridge’s hum, and the shadow of a girl who keeps breaking but builds herself back up almost immediately.

    And all I can think is: Next time? I want to be there.

    Not to fix her, and not to carry her broken pieces. Only to be the one who stands beside her while she decides what and who is worth keeping.

    Because the part that kills me is knowing she’s spent years surviving on scraps, holding herself together with silence while the people who should’ve protected her walked away.

    She’ll probably never ask for help. Not outright, at least, and not with words. And if by some miracle

    she does, it’ll be out of desperation.

    . But if she ever looks at me like she might need someone, she won’t have to say my name, or even a

    single word. I’ll already be on my way.

    And the next time the world tries to break her again, I’ll be standing in its way, fighting for my girl’s

    survival so she doesn’t have to anymore.

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