Chapter 155
Emily's POV
The logic was sound, but it didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at my insides. Because they were right—my father had made his choices. But I had made mine too. I had chosen to stay silent. I had chosen to withdraw the money. I had chosen to come home and lie to their faces about what happened. And now we were all trapped in the consequences.
"What do you need from us?" Alex asked, pulling me back to the present. His hand was still on my neck, grounding me. "Right now. What do you need?"
The question caught me off guard. What did I need? I didn't even know where to start answering that. I needed my father to disappear. I needed to go back in time and never walk through that parking lot alone. I needed to feel safe in my own skin again.
But I couldn't have any of those things. So I settled for the truth that was simplest and most immediate:
"I need to not be alone."
Something shifted in the air—a collective exhale, a shared understanding. Ethan's arms loosened fractionally, just enough to let me breathe, but he didn't let go. Mason's hand stayed wrapped around mine. Alex nodded once, decisive.
"You won't be," Alex said. "Not tonight. Not any night. If you want us here, we're here."
"All of us," Mason echoed, and the determination in his voice was almost startling coming from someone who, just hours ago, had been worried about his place in this apartment.
"Then stay," I whispered. "Please. Just—stay."
"We're not going anywhere," Ethan promised. "But you need to sleep, Em. And you're not going to sleep like this." He glanced at Alex, then at Mason. "We should change. Get comfortable. Make this work."
There was a brief moment of coordinated movement—Alex stepping back, Mason reluctantly releasing my hand, Ethan carefully extracting himself from behind me. I felt the loss of their contact immediately, the cold air rushing in to fill the space they left behind, but before the panic could take root, Ethan was pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Two minutes," he said softly. "We're just grabbing sleep clothes. We'll be right back."
I nodded, pulling the blanket up around myself and watching as the three of them moved through the dark apartment with the ease of people who knew the space by heart. Drawers opened and closed. Fabric rustled. Low voices murmured something I couldn't quite make out, but the tone was reassuring—calm, coordinated, purposeful.
True to his word, Ethan reappeared less than two minutes later in a worn T-shirt and sweatpants, followed closely by Alex in similar attire and Mason in an oversized hoodie that I thought might actually be mine. They paused at the edge of the bed, as if waiting for permission, and I realized they were trying to figure out the logistics.
My queen-sized bed was not designed for four people. It was going to be tight—uncomfortably so. But right now, that sounded like exactly what I needed. The press of bodies, the lack of empty space for my thoughts to spiral into. The physical proof that I wasn't alone.
"Just get in," I said, scooting toward the middle of the mattress to make room. "I don't care how we make it work. Just—please."
Ethan moved first, sliding in behind me and immediately wrapping himself around my back like a human shield. His chest was solid against my spine, his arm draped over my waist, and I felt the tension in my shoulders start to ease just from his proximity.
Alex took the space in front of me, close enough that I could feel his breath ghost across my face when he settled in. His hand found mine under the blanket, fingers lacing together with a firmness that felt almost possessive. Mason hesitated only a moment longer before climbing in beside Alex, and then his hand was reaching for my other one, bridging the narrow gap between us.
We were packed in like sardines, legs tangled together and shoulders overlapping and personal space completely obliterated. The bed creaked ominously under the combined weight. But no one suggested splitting up or moving to the couch or any of the other logical solutions to the overcrowding problem.
Because this wasn't about logic. It was about the fact that my father had put his hands on me, and now I needed their hands to overwrite the memory. It was about the fact that I had woken up drowning in fear, and now I was surrounded by proof that I was protected. It was about the fact that, for the first time in my life, I didn't have to face my demons alone.
Ethan's lips brushed against the shell of my ear. "Try to sleep," he murmured. "We've got you."
Alex's thumb traced slow circles over my knuckles. "Nothing's getting past us."
Mason squeezed my other hand gently. "You're safe."
And somehow—against all odds, against every instinct screaming that I should be too wired, too scared, too broken to rest—I believed them. The combined warmth of their bodies, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the weight of their hands holding mine: it all wrapped around me like armor, insulating me from the nightmares waiting at the edges of my consciousness.
My eyes drifted closed. My muscles uncoiled. And as the darkness pulled me under one more time, I knew that if I fell, I wouldn't hit the ground alone.