Page 25 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

EVERLY

I’m sprawled across Molly’s bed, phone clutched to my ear, the sheets cool against my bare legs. The line clicks, the beep sounds, and before I can think better of it, I’m talking.

“Hi, it’s me again.” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to, a little breathless. “I had another appointment today. The doctor said the baby’s grown so much since last time. You wouldn’t believe it. There’s this tiny profile now—like a real little person. Our little person.”

I press my free hand over my stomach, the swell of it firmer every week.

“She—he—I don’t know. The doctor asked if I wanted to know the sex today.

For a second, I almost caved. I was so curious, Isaia.

But I said no. Because this…this feels like one of the only surprises life gives you where you can’t be disappointed either way.

Boy, girl—it doesn’t matter. It’s ours. And I want to wait. I want us to wait. Together.”

My throat tightens, the word together catching on the way out. I close my eyes, imagining his hand resting over mine, feeling the press of our baby beneath.

“I swear, it’s getting harder to zip up my dresses.

Molly keeps teasing me that I should just give up already and start living in her yoga pants.

” A laugh slips out. “But I like seeing the bump whenever I walk past the mirror. I keep thinking…if you were here, you’d love it.

You’d put your hands on me just to remind me I’m not imagining it.

You’d probably smirk and say something cocky.

You always do.” I smile, and silence stretches for a second, filled only by the hum of Molly’s old fan spinning lazily in the corner.

“It’s lonely, doing this without you.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard.

“I don’t even know whether you’re getting these messages or not.

I like to think you do, so I’ll keep on telling you everything.

Every flutter, every appointment, every stupid craving. Even if all you ever do is hit delete.”

The voicemail clicks off on its own, leaving me staring at the ceiling, phone heavy in my hand, heart even heavier in my chest.

“I miss you,” I murmur, then turn on my side. I’ve lost count of how many voicemails I’ve left him. Every time I feel the baby, I press call. Every time I bury a dress in the back of my closet because it no longer fits, I call.

Last night, Luna fell asleep with her head on my stomach, and it was such a perfect moment, I had to tell him about it.

After that very first voicemail, it became easier with every message I left.

Now, I’m constantly reaching for my phone, needing to share everything with him.

Everything’s become lighter somehow. The days, the nights, the moments I’m alone.

It still hurts. I still long for him, but he doesn’t seem that far away anymore.

I glance at Luna. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

She turns her head and whines.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

A knock on the front door rattles through the apartment. Luna lifts her head from where she’s curled against my legs. My pulse gives a stupid little jump before logic kicks in.

Probably one of Molly’s boyfriends. She’s been cycling through them lately—half-charming, half-useless, all terrible at listening when she tells them not to drop by uninvited.

I push myself upright, smoothing the fabric of my dress over my stomach, fingers lingering on the swell.

“It’s fine,” I murmur to Luna, who lets out a low whine anyway. “Probably some lovesick idiot with flowers.”

Another knock. Slower this time.

I pad across the living room, bare feet whispering over the rug, and tug the door open with a resigned breath. The speech is already on my tongue. Sorry, Molly’s not here. Try texting next time. But the words die before they’re born.

It’s not one of Molly’s boyfriends.

It’s Anthony.

He looks the same and not the same—hair neat, shirt rolled at the sleeves like he’s been dragging himself through a long day, eyes sharp but softer when they land on me.

“Hey,” he says quietly, almost tentative, clutching the cane in front of him.

“Hey.” The awkward moment has me placing both hands on my stomach, and his gaze follows.

“Wow. You’re showing.”

I shift my weight, palms still braced over the curve like a shield. “That tends to happen when you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah. I just—” His mouth tips, somewhere between a smile and a wince. “I didn’t think it’d hit me like this. Seeing you. It’s…real.”

The air stretches between us, full of things unsaid. He looks at me the way he always has—steady, protective—but now it feels different.

I clear my throat then lean against the door. “What are you doing here, Anthony?”

“I’m worried about you. You’re not answering any of my calls or texts. You’re not using the money I send you.”

“Keeping an eye on my accounts now, too? I’m pretty sure that’s against the law.”

“Stop. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what? Independent? Angry? Take your pick.”

“All I want to do is help you.”

“By going to my mother behind my back? Speaking to my doctors before I’ve even had the chance to? Checking my bank accounts? That’s not help, Anthony. That’s control.”

“No, it’s not.” His grip tightens on the cane, knuckles whitening. “It’s making sure you’re safe. Do you know how many nights I sit up, wondering if you’re eating, if you’re sleeping? You’re working double shifts at some cheap fucking coffeeshop to get by, Everly.”

“Anthony, stop!”

“Can I come in? Can we just sit calmly and talk this out?”

“No,” I snap then lick my lips, take a breath. “I just…” I place a palm on my forehead then find his gaze. “You have always been my best friend, and there will always be a bond between us that I’ll never have with anyone else, but—”

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“Because you betrayed me!”

“Betrayed you?” Confusion sets between his brows.

“You knew how I felt about controlling my own life. You were there for years, watched Michele and my mom take that from me. You saw what it did to me, and now,” I almost choke on a breath, “now I find out that that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time.

For God’s sake, Anthony. You knew I was living with Molly, where I work. Can’t you see what you’re doing?”

“But when he does it, you have no problem with it?”

“Because he wasn’t there when I cried myself to sleep at night,” I erupt, heart twisting.

“He wasn’t there to see what my stepdad and my own mother were doing to me.

He wasn't there for every mental breakdown I had, trying to build myself back up, recovering from the abusive manipulation of it all. He wasn’t there… you were!”

Anthony’s jaw works, his mouth dragging into a hard line as he wipes a hand across it. “At least I’ve never lied to you.”

The tears sting sharp, but my voice slices anyway. “At least he never pretended to be something he’s not.”

His shoulders drop, the fight in him leaking out. For the first time in so long, Anthony looks less like the soldier he’s trained himself to be and more like the boy who used to sneak into my room with Pop-Tarts when Michele was yelling.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Everly,” he says softly. “I never have. You’ve always been home to me.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re the one cutting me down?”

“I’m not.” His voice cracks. “I’m just trying to hold you together, even when you don’t see you’re falling apart.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t need you to hold me together?” I take a step closer. “That maybe all I need from you is to be my friend.”

“That’s what I’m trying to be.”

“Then give me space.”

“I’ve tried. It’s been weeks, months. I’ve tried to give you space, but then I heard your messages, how alone you sound, and I couldn’t—”

“What?” For a beat, I don’t understand. “What messages?”

His mouth works, like he’s searching for a way to take it back, but the guilt in his eyes says everything, and my blood runs cold.

“What…messages?”

“Everly, I—”

“Oh, my God.” My hand flies to my mouth, but it does nothing to hold in the sick rush that floods me. I stumble back a step, vision pricking at the edges like the world itself is trying to cave in. “The voicemails. You…” Fuck, I can’t breathe. “You tapped my phone?”

Anthony winces, like the word itself hits him. “Monitored. Not—Everly, it wasn’t like that. I just… I needed to know—”

“Jesus Christ.” My chest caves inward, ribs locking up, the air punching out of me so hard I press my palm against the doorframe just to stay upright.

His cane drops, the thud loud and final, like a gavel sounding the end of…something, and he reaches for me, but I jerk back.

“Fuck, Everly. Goddammit. You shut me out. I needed to know what was happening, what was going on with you.”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“I know.” He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes frantic, pleading.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I couldn’t stand it anymore—watching you destroy yourself over him, watching you pour everything into a man who doesn’t even pick up the goddamn phone.

You sounded so broken, Everly. And I—” His voice cracks. “I can’t stand hearing you like that.”

“Then stop listening!” My voice shreds on its way out. “Jesus, Anthony. My phone? That’s not protection. That’s not even control. It’s a fucking violation.”

His jaw tightens, but this time it’s not with anger—it’s with shame. He looks away, staring at the floor like maybe if he avoids my eyes long enough, he can undo the words.

“You’re right,” he says, quieter now. “You’re right. I crossed a line.”

The betrayal digs deeper the longer I look at him. With every breath, it morphs into something twisted, ugly, vile. “Those messages weren’t meant for you.”

“I know.”

“They weren’t meant for anyone but him.”

“He doesn’t. Deserve you.”

“It was mine!” I press a hand against my chest. “My moments. Our fucking moments that I shared with him. And you,” I narrow my eyes at him, “you stole them.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t you dare say you didn't mean to! You made the choice. You crossed the line!” I slam my fists into him, anger bursting out of me in waves of red. “Do you know what those messages cost me? Every word was a piece of me, and you…you fucking stole them, you asshole!”

He grabs my wrists, but I jerk free, wrenching back. “Go.” My voice breaks on the word, a plea wrapped in steel.

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, torn and stubborn, like staying planted will somehow fix the wreckage he caused.

“Go,” I repeat, louder this time. “Please. Just go.”

“Ever—”

“Leave!” The scream rips out of me. “Just fucking leave!”

Anthony stumbles back, eyes wide, stricken. His mouth opens, like he wants to argue, to explain, but no words come. Only a slow nod, his throat working around what he won’t say.

He picks up his cane and takes a step back. And another. Eyes never leaving mine. “I love you, Everly.”

“Don’t you fucking say that.”

“I’ve always loved you. And I’ll never stop loving you.”

The words scrape over raw nerves, and I flinch like he just pressed salt into an open wound. I don’t reply. My throat’s too tight, my chest too crushed.

Anthony lingers for one heartbeat too long, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to etch me into memory, and then he turns. His uneven steps retreat across the walkway, the tap of his cane fading until he gets into the waiting car.

The second he’s gone, I slam the door shut with both hands, hard enough to rattle the frame. My forehead drops against the wood, hot tears spilling faster than I can wipe them away.

I crumble, sliding down until I’m curled on the floor, arms wrapping around my middle as though I can shield the life inside me from everything unraveling outside.

Luna whines, nudging against my side, her warm weight pressing into me, but even she can’t soften the jagged edges tearing me to pieces.

I cry for Anthony’s betrayal. For the friend I thought would never cross a line he just shattered. But most of all, I cry for Isaia—for the man whose absence is still the loudest thing in the room, even when silence is all that’s left.

One betrayed me. One abandoned me. Both…broke me.