Chapter 113
Mason's POV
My eyes felt heavy, sealed shut with the kind of exhaustion that went bone-deep, but I forced them open anyway because passing out in front of strangers—even strangers who were apparently Emily's boyfriends—felt too vulnerable. Too exposed.
The living room swam into focus slowly. I was lying down, a pillow wedged under my head, and someone had thrown a blanket over me even though my skin still felt like it was burning from the inside out.
Emily was perched on the coffee table in front of me, close enough that I could see the worry creasing her forehead. Behind her, Ethan leaned against the arm of the couch with that easy athlete's posture, and Alex stood by the window with his arms crossed, watching everything with cold precision.
Three people. Two very distinct men, and apparently all of them involved with Emily in some capacity that my fever-addled brain couldn't quite map out.
There was Alex—the one who'd cornered me in the hallway with that cold, assessing stare, making it crystal clear I was an unwelcome intrusion. Tall, controlled, expensive-looking in a way that screamed old money and corporate power. The kind of guy who was used to owning every room he walked into.
Then Ethan—who'd appeared in the doorway with that easy confidence athletes always seemed to carry, like the world was just another game they'd already figured out how to win. Broad-shouldered, golden-boy handsome, with the kind of face that probably got him whatever he wanted without having to work for it.
And Emily, sitting between them, looking exhausted and protective and somehow more real than either of the men flanking her.
The way they talked to each other, the casual intimacy in their body language, the way they moved around each other without colliding—it all pointed to something I'd never encountered before.
Something that should have seemed impossible, or at least deeply weird.
But here's what struck me, lying there trying to keep my thoughts from scattering: if two men could apparently share Emily without tearing each other apart over it, then she had to be something extraordinary.
Not just beautiful, though she was that. Not just kind, though the way she'd brought me in from the rain proved she had more compassion in her than most people I'd met.
No, it was something else. Something that made grown men willing to compromise on the most fundamental thing guys were supposed to be territorial about.
I'd watched Alex's face when he looked at her. Watched Ethan's. Whatever they felt, it ran deep enough that they'd rather split her time and attention than lose her completely.
That took a kind of power I couldn't fully understand, but I recognized it when I saw it.
Respect. That's what hit me in that moment, fever and all.
Real, genuine respect for someone who could command that kind of loyalty without even trying.
It was different from the desperate gratitude I'd felt when she'd pulled me into her car. Different from the confused relief when she'd let me stay. This was something cleaner, sharper—the kind of respect you felt for someone operating on a level you hadn't even known existed.
"Mason." Emily's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, gentle but firm. "Can you hear me?"
I managed a nod, though even that small movement made my head throb.
"Good," she said, and relief flickered across her face. "You scared the hell out of me. One second you were standing, the next you were going down."
"Sorry," I croaked, my throat raw.
"Don't apologize," she said immediately. "Just stay awake for me, okay? We need to get your fever down."
She was already reaching for something—a washcloth, soaked in what looked like ice water. She wrung it out and pressed it to my forehead, and the cold was so shocking against my overheated skin that I gasped.
"I know," she murmured. "I know it's uncomfortable. But it'll help."
I forced myself to keep my eyes open, to focus on her face instead of the way the living room kept trying to tilt sideways. Behind her, I caught Ethan moving, heard the sound of a cabinet opening, the rattle of pills in a bottle.
"Here." Ethan appeared in my line of sight, crouching down so we were eye level. He held out two white tablets and a glass of water. "Tylenol. Can you swallow these?"
I nodded and reached for them, but my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the pills. Ethan caught them smoothly, deposited them in my palm, and then guided the glass to my lips when I fumbled that too.
"Slowly," he said, and his hand was steady on the glass, compensating for my trembling. "Don't chug it."
I wanted to snap at him that I knew how to drink water, that I wasn't a complete invalid, but the truth was his help felt necessary in a way that made my chest ache. When was the last time someone had helped me with something this basic, this gently, without making me feel like a burden?
I couldn't remember.
"Good," Ethan said when I'd gotten the pills down. "Now just breathe. Let the meds work."
I let my head sink back into the pillow, the washcloth still pressed to my forehead, and tried to do what he said. Tried to just breathe and let my body stop fighting long enough to accept the help being offered.
But I couldn't stop myself from tracking where Alex had positioned himself—standing by the window, arms crossed, watching everything with that same cold assessment I'd seen in the hallway. He didn't trust me. Didn't want me here. Was probably calculating the exact moment he could reasonably pressure Emily to kick me out.
And the crazy thing was, I didn't even blame him.