Page 48 of Bitter When He Begs

“Like what?” Eli asks.

“He’s going to lie,” I say without hesitation. “He’s going to tell you he’s fine when he’s not. He’s going to snap at you, push you away, say shit he doesn’t mean. You’re going to hear him scream in the middle of the night. You’re going to hear him crying. You’re going to hear him beg for something to make the pain stop.”

Julian swallows hard. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “It’s not pretty. But he’s fighting. And if any of you give a damn about him, you’ll fight alongside him.”

Liam clears his throat. “What do we do if he relapses?”

“You don’t shame him for it,” I answer immediately. “You remind him that you’re still here. You don’t turn your back on him because he already does that to himself every time he thinks he fails.”

The room quiets again.

Ryan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So, what, we just act like everything’s fine?”

“No,” I say. “You act like you see him. Like you give a shit. Like you’re not going anywhere. He’ll try to push you away, but that’s not your cue to leave—it’s your cue to hold the fucking line.”

For a long moment, no one speaks. Then Eli finally mutters, “Fuck. I feel like an idiot. I should’ve known something was off.”

“You didn’t know what to look for,” I say softly. “But now you do. And you now need to have his back like he’s always had yours.”

They all nod, one by one. Silent promises in a room full of proud, stubborn athletes who don’t always know how to talk about their feelings but who show up when it counts.

Liam is the one who finally cuts through the quiet, stepping away from Killian with that deceptively casual swagger he always uses when his brain’s already three steps ahead. “I can get activated charcoal and set up a round of IV bags—saline, vitamins, fluids—whatever Luca needs to get through the worst of this.”

Killian’s brow lifts, arms folded across his chest. “You got a plug for that?”

Liam tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “I’ve got a contact in med who works at one of the rehab centers near campus. He’s discreet and used to working with pro athletes off the record. We don’t put it in writing, he doesn’t ask questions. He’ll be here in two hours if I make the call.”

Julian straightens a little from the arm of the couch. “And someone to actually stick him with a needle who isn’t going to traumatize him?”

Killian uncrosses his arms. “I know an RN. Trustworthy. Used to running fluids for athletes post-burnout and heat exhaustion. I’ll get in touch.”

“You serious?” Roman asks from beside me, brows drawn. “You guys are just… jumping in like this?”

“We’ve all been around this game long enough. Maybe not with Luca, but… this isn’t the first time I’ve watched someone burn out,” Killian says and a look passes between him and Roman. “I just never got the chance to help before.”

Thorn exhales slowly, setting down his coffee and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll chip in. Whatever he needs.”

Ryan nods. “Same.”

“Obviously,” Julian says. “He’d do it for any of us. Hell, he has done it for all of us.”

The weight in my chest lifts a little.Just a little.Enough that I can feel my lungs expand properly again.

Ryan lets out a sigh and looks up at the ceiling. “He’s gonna fight us on this.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’ll hate every second of it.”

“But deep down he’ll know,” Eli says. “He’ll know we’re in his corner.”

“And that’s all that matters.” Roman’s voice is calm and certain.

I look around the room again. Nine athletes who would rather tackle a linebacker than talk about emotions, all silently preparing to go to war for the most infuriating, prideful bastard they’ve ever loved like a brother. And it hits me—Luca Devereaux might’ve spent four years thinking he was alone, but he’s not. Not anymore.

Not with us in his corner.

I head back upstairs afterwards to give Luca the news. He hates it, of course, but he doesn’t fight me for long. Later that night, I find him fumbling with his keys by the front door, hoodie up, shaking so badly he can’t get the key into the lock.