Chapter 41 Uncomfortable Conversations
Malia’s POV
The suite is too quiet when we return.
Not peaceful—heavy. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.
Aiden unlocks the door and steps aside, letting me enter first. Rowan follows, slower than usual, his shoulders tense. Cian brings up the rear, silent as ever, his presence filling the space even without a word.
I stand just inside the doorway, my heart hammering.
This is it.
“I want to go back to my dorm,” I say.
The words come out soft, but they land hard.
Aiden freezes.
Rowan’s breath stutters.
Cian’s gaze sharpens—not angry, not surprised. Assessing.
“Just for a while,” I add quickly, because the silence is unbearable. “I need space. To think. Everything’s… too much right now.”
The carpet suddenly feels too soft under my sneakers, like it’s trying to swallow me whole. I can still smell the grass and sweat from the field clinging to all of us, a reminder that refuses to fade.
Rowan nods first. No argument. No protest.
“I understand,” he says quietly. “You should do what makes you feel safe.”
That makes my chest ache.
His voice is so gentle it hurts more than anger would have. I’ve seen him bleed for me without flinching, yet right now he looks like the one bleeding out—slow, quiet, internal.
Aiden, on the other hand, looks like I’ve physically struck him.
“You’re leaving,” he says flatly.
The words are stripped bare. No flourish. No growl. Just raw fact.
“Not forever,” I whisper. “I just—after today, after the field… I can’t pretend everything’s fine.”
His jaw tightens. I can see the fight in him, the instinct to argue, to claim, to pull me back into his orbit. His hands flex at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s physically restraining the urge to reach for me.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales slowly and looks away, staring at the far wall as though it holds answers he can’t find in my face.
Cian steps closer.
The shift in air is immediate—cooler, steadier, like stepping into shadow after too much sun.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and when I look at him, there’s something rare in his grey eyes. Regret. “For my brothers’ behavior. For how this has spiraled.”
His hand lifts, hesitant, then settles gently over mine.
The warmth of his touch grounds me instantly. Not possessive. Not demanding.
Just steady.
My pulse slows against his palm, traitorously grateful.
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he continues quietly. “None of it.”
The sincerity in his voice cracks something open inside me. I’ve spent weeks trying to read Cian, searching for the lie behind the calm. Today, for the first time, I believe there isn’t one.
My throat tightens. I nod, unable to trust my voice.
Aiden turns back to me.
“I’ll help you pack,” he says. “I’ll walk you back.”
I hesitate. “Aiden—”
“Please,” he cuts in, softer now. “Just… let me do this.”
The please is so quiet it almost disappears. It’s not a demand. It’s a plea dressed in the remains of his pride.
So I do.
We move to the bedroom in near silence. Aiden opens drawers with careful precision, lifting shirts and jeans like they’re fragile things. His fingers linger on the fabric longer than necessary, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. Each motion feels like goodbye he refuses to say out loud.
I watch the way his shoulders move—tight, controlled, every line screaming restraint.
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, not looking at me. “For losing control. For fighting Rowan. For putting you in the middle of that.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
I swallow hard.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continues, voice rough. “I just—when I thought I was losing you, something in me snapped.”
He finally turns, eyes bright with unshed emotion. The gold in them catches the lamplight, fierce and fractured.
“Stay,” he says quietly. “Please. We can fix this. I can do better. I swear.”
The promise sits heavy between us. I can feel how much it costs him to offer it—how much it costs him to beg at all.
I step into him before I can think better of it.
He stiffens, then wraps his arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
His heartbeat thunders against my cheek, fast and unsteady, nothing like the calm he usually projects. I breathe in cedar and salt and the faint metallic edge of his fear.
“I understand,” I whisper into his chest. And I mean it. “But understanding doesn’t mean I can stay.”
His breath shudders against my hair.
We stay like that longer than we should, both of us pretending the moment can stretch forever. When we finally part, the air feels colder.
Rowan is watching from across the room, expression carefully blank. Cian’s gaze is unreadable.
No one argues.
No one stops me.
That hurts more than if they had.
\---
The library smells like old books and polished wood when July and Freddy corner me between the shelves.
The scent wraps around me, familiar and grounding, but it can’t quite reach the knot in my stomach.
“Malia,” July says, arms crossed. “Sit. Now.”
Freddy drops into the chair across from me dramatically. “You’re causing a literal war.”
“I didn’t—”
“Two Moonfall brothers fought in public,” he continues, waving a hand like he’s conducting chaos. “Security got involved. The entire campus is buzzing. You don’t just accidentally do that.”
I press my hands together, staring at the table. The grain of the wood blurs as my eyes burn.
“I didn’t choose this,” I say quietly.
July exchanges a look with Freddy before softening her posture.
“Then explain it,” she says, softer now. “Because from the outside? It looks messy. Really messy.”
I take a breath. The air tastes like dust and paper and the faint trace of coffee someone spilled hours ago.
“The bond,” I begin. “It’s not… normal.”
Freddy blinks. “Of course it’s not.”
“It’s not a choice,” I say. “I didn’t pick Aiden. Or Rowan. Or Cian. It just… happened. All three of them are connected to me.”
July tilts her head, thinking, processing.
“So it’s like…” she hesitates, searching for the right words, “…a supernatural love triangle times three?”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say miserably.
Freddy groans, slumping back in the chair until it creaks. “That’s a nightmare. Like, apocalyptic levels of nightmare.”
“The bond pulls,” I continue. “Different things from each of them. Strength from Aiden. Comfort from Rowan. Stability from Cian. I can feel all of it, all the time. It’s in my blood, under my skin, behind my eyes. There’s no off switch.”
“And they feel you,” July murmurs, eyes narrowing as the realization settles.
I nod.
The truth of it sits like lead in my chest.
“That doesn’t mean I get to hurt them,” I add quickly. “Or let them hurt each other. I know that now. I’ve known it for a while, but today made it impossible to ignore.”
Freddy leans forward, elbows on the table, serious for once.
“Then you need to talk to them. All of them. Together.”
My stomach twists violently.
“That sounds like a disaster.”
“It’s already a disaster,” he counters without hesitation. “This is damage control. You keep letting this simmer in silence and it’s going to explode worse than the field.”
July’s gaze sharpens. She leans in, voice low but firm.
“You clear the air. Set boundaries. Say what you need. What you won’t accept.” Her voice drops even further. “Or—this ends with someone getting seriously hurt. Maybe all of you.”
The words echo in my chest, sharp and cold.
I can picture it too clearly: blood on concrete, gre
y eyes dull, gold dimmed, steady hands shaking.
I nod slowly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”
Because running isn’t working anymore. And whatever comes next?
I’ll face it head-on.