Page 37 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)

Phoenix

I stay awake to watch her sleep.

Not in some possessive, poetic way. Not like the creeps from those old books she probably hates.

I stay because I don’t trust the night anymore.

She shifts under my hoodie, curled up on the far edge of the bed like she thinks she’s still taking up too much space. One hand clutches the fabric near her chest like it anchors her here, like she might drift into the dark again if she lets go.

I sit on the floor, back against the wall with my legs stretched out, trying to pretend the ache in my ribs is just from the hardwood.

It’s not.

It’s from watching someone fall apart so quietly that you almost miss it.

We thought we were saving her—playing heroes, building shields. But she was already bleeding when we showed up. She just got real good at hiding the stains.

I glance at the bag in the corner. Notes tucked inside. The pony. The signature.

“A.”

Gray’s jaw was steel when he found them. Mine cracked.

And yet she still looked us in the eye and said “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t know she talks in her sleep. Not words, just small sounds. The kind people make when they’re trying not to drown.

I want to wake her, to tell her it’s okay now.

But I won’t.

Not yet.

Because sometimes, staying up all night is the only way to prove that someone else is still watching the shadows, still guarding the cracks.

Still here.

By morning, I’m running on fumes and caffeine I don’t drink, still propped against the wall like I belong there. My back is wrecked, my legs are numb, my brain’s playing static.

If it costs me a hundred more nights like this? I’ll pay it without blinking.

Rowyn stirs, slow and uncertain, like someone surfacing from deep water. Her fingers curl tighter around the sheet, dragging it up over her chest like armor she’s only just remembered she needs.

She blinks at me, still half-asleep, still raw.

“Hey,” I say softly. Voice hoarse from too much silence.

She blinks again. “You’re... still up?”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Didn’t want the shadows getting any ideas.”

A faint laugh catches in her throat, like she doesn’t trust herself to smile.

She doesn’t ask why, she doesn’t have to. She just studies me for a moment longer, eyes soft, cautious.

Then she whispers, “You didn’t have to do that.”

I brush her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

“Didn’t have to protect you?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I’m not weak.”

I let out a soft breath, trying not to sound annoyed.

“I’m not calling you weak, Rowyn. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve been holding all this in. The notes, the pony, all of it,” I murmur quietly, not wanting to wake Gray. I like this one on one talk with her, not that it wouldn’t be any less significant with him awake.

“You found them?” She freezes, and I can see her pulse fluttering like wings in her throat.

“Now you think I’m that helpless little girl from all those years ago that still needs protection, and I hate it. I’m not that fragile, Nix. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to take care of you, Rowyn. We want to.”

She doesn’t flinch under my touch, but her eyes flick toward the closed door like the rest of the world might come rushing in if we’re too loud, or too honest.

Her voice is barely there. “Then why do you look at me like I’m made of glass?”

I swallow. “Because glass can cut, and you’ve been bleeding in silence since the day we met.”

Rowyn presses her lips together. She hates compliments, hates being seen, but I think she hates not being believed even more.

“I didn’t want you to see that part of me,” she admits, her voice almost ashamed. “The part that’s scared, that still checks every shadow for something I told myself was over.”

I reach for her hand. Not to hold it, just to touch. A promise. An anchor.

“I’ve seen all of you, Row,” I say. “The fighter. The runner. The one who still shakes in her sleep.”

I pause.

“And I stayed.”

That gets her. Her eyes flicker, wet and hot and furious.

Not with me.

With everything.

She doesn’t say anything else.

She doesn’t need to.

Her hand closes around mine like a lifeline she didn’t ask for, but maybe doesn’t want to let go of either.

Gray stirs awake next to her, stretching his arms over his head, then unconsciously reaches for Rowyn. He rubs her back, making soft circles, causing her to melt into his touch.

She doesn’t resist.

Doesn’t even flinch.

Just folds closer into the contact like her body’s been waiting for it, even in sleep.

His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his hair a tangled mess, but his hand moves with instinct. Gentle. Familiar. His fingers trace slow, absent circles between her shoulder blades like it’s a rhythm his body never forgot.

He blinks fully into consciousness then, like he’s just realized what, or rather who, he’s touching. But instead of pulling away he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder through the cotton of my hoodie.

“Mm,” she murmurs.

Gray leans over, breath skimming her ear. “Nothing’s going to touch you again,” he says, low and certain. “Not while we’re breathing.”

Rowyn turns her head, barely enough to catch his eyes.

“They want to haunt you, Row? Let them. We’ll be the ghosts they regret summoning.”

Gray meets my eyes, something unspoken passing between us like the crackle before a storm.

Then softly, almost like a vow—

“We’ll burn the whole damn world before we let anyone take you from it.”

I watch from the foot of the bed, barely breathing. The air feels different now, softer maybe, or just thick with things none of us know how to name yet.

My chest tightens.

Not with jealousy.

With the kind of aching clarity that comes when you realize you’re not afraid of falling anymore.

I already did.