Page 82

“Yes, choose you. Those boys have chosen you, whether you see it or not.”
"So, build your tribe, love. Blood relations or not, it's the bonds we forge that make us whole." Her conviction resonates, stirring something deep within me.
I sit with that thought, rolling it around like a smooth pebble in my hand. Could I really fashion a new family from the shards of my past? From the men whose very existence complicates my life in ways I never imagined?
She squeezes my fingers gently. “Don’t let your pride keep you from happiness, Skylar. Sometimes, all it takes is reaching back.” I press my lips together, the lump in my throat making it impossible to answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’m reaching for them—or running away.
We don’t talk much after that. We just sit and watch her favorite game show until she drifts into a restful slumber, and I find myself alone with the weight of her words.
I stand, my body stiff from hours spent crouched on the edge of a paper-thin mattress, and move to the window. The city sprawls beneath me as dusk settles like a blanket over the skyline. Families are reuniting after long days, their lives intertwined in a thousand small, unspoken ways. A pang of longing stabs through me; an ache for something I've only just allowed myself to acknowledge.
It's more than desire that connects me to Theo, Austin, and Cohen. It's laughter shared in the darkest hours, hands held without hesitation, and silent understandings that scream louder than any words ever could. They've become my sanctuary, the eye of every storm I've weathered since we collided in a twist of fate.
A family.
The realization hits me hard, fast—a comet streaking across my personal night sky. Despite the guilt that gnaws at me, the fear that they're too good to be true, there's no denying the space they've carved in my life. They offer belonging, a place where I'm wanted, not for the Deveraux name or any semblance of wealth, but for the fractured, spitfire soul that is entirely mine.
With a sigh, I press my forehead to the cool glass. Birdie's words echo, a mantra that seeps into the cracks of my self-built fortress.Create your own family.
Night presses on, and eventually, I slip away from the window, back to Birdie's side. Her steady breathing tells me she won’twake anytime soon. With visiting hours coming to an end, I’ll have to leave without a proper goodbye. I scribble a note for her to read when she wakes and head back to the mansion.
I don’t sleep much that night.
I toss and turn, my mind racing with Birdie’s words, every thought a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. It’s like trying to untangle a knot I didn’t know I tied, each thread representing something I’ve spent years pretending didn’t matter.
Family. People. Relationships. The idea that I could need anyone—that I could let someone close enough to matter. It all feels...wrong. But why does it feel so wrong? Why do I feel like I'm suffocating at the thought of needing someone, even when part of me knows I’ve been doing exactly that?
The silence in the house is heavy, the kind of quiet that makes me feel like I’m the only one awake in the world. I stare at the ceiling, fighting against the suffocating pull of uncertainty. Why did I let Birdie get under my skin? Why did I let myself start believing in something I know could tear me apart?
I groan, burying my face in the pillow, but nothing helps. I’m stuck in this loop of wanting to connect and pushing away, afraid of what will happen when I do.
By the time the sun starts creeping through the blinds, the exhaustion has settled deep into my bones. My eyes sting from lack of sleep, but all I want is clarity. Some kind of sign that tells me what to do. How do I make sense of all of this without letting myself get hurt?
But instead, there’s only more questions. More confusion.
And the nagging feeling that maybe…just maybe…it’s time to stop running from the people I care about.
I just wish I knew how to stop being afraid of what that might mean.
The distance I've been maintaining, the walls I've fortified around my heart, they have little to do with the men who've patiently chipped away at them. It's my own fear—of being loved, of not being enough—that's kept me at arm's length. I've been guarding myself against heartache, but in doing so, I've also shielded myself from the very thing I crave most: connection.
I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb the quiet. The floor creaks under my feet as I move across the room, my fingers grazing the edge of Theo’s sweatshirt that he left behind. I pull it over my head, the fabric soft and comforting, tinged with his scent—earthy and familiar.
I breathe it in deeply, and it settles something in my chest.
The house is still, the silence inviting rather than oppressive. I move through it with a sense of purpose, drawn toward the kitchen. I start the coffee, and fill a mug with the steaming liquid when it's ready. Then, wrapped in the warmth of the sweatshirt, I walk outside to the covered patio, the early morning dew glistening on the lawn.
I settle into one of the wicker chairs, cradling the mug between my hands as I watch the sun finish its ascent, the light spilling over the horizon in shades of pink and gold. The world feels alive, as if it’s waking up with me. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I might be ready to do the same.
I trace the veins on the back of my hand, paths that lead to an uncertain heart. Love isn't a battlefield; it's a garden, and I've been starving mine of light.
I’ve spent years tiptoeing around my own heart, believing vulnerability was synonymous with weakness. But here, in this small kitchen, with the sun rising just for me, I see the liefor what it is. Love isn't about losing myself; it's about finding myself and us, together.
A laugh escapes me, unexpected and bright. They’ve shown me what a family can be—not bound by blood or obligation, but by choice. By the sheer force of wanting to weather every storm side by side.
Austin and Cohen might be brothers by blood, but Theo is found family. And…I could be too if I just let it happen. Their trust, their patience—it's not something to fear or run from. It’s a gift, a foundation upon which to build a life I've never allowed myself to imagine.
I set the empty mug in the sink, its hollow clink a punctuation mark at the end of an old chapter. The time has come to choose the future I want—unscripted, uncertain, and utterly mine. My chest swells with a courage I didn't know I had, and my heart beats a steady rhythm of newfound determination.