Chapter 96 Back To The Brothers
Malia’s POV
The hallway outside the suite stank faintly of pizza grease and the cologne Aiden doused himself with after practice. I’m holding my breath as my heart does that idiotic fluttery thing again. The door swings open before my knuckles have even hit the door.
Rowan’s here, hair a mess, flannel unbuttoned halfway, smile immediate and wide as if he’s been counting the seconds.
“You came.”
“Promised I would.”
He doesn’t waste any breath with words. Instead he just reaches for me, takes a hold of my wrist and pulls me inside with a tug that’s at once gentle and possessive.
The living room is a glorious wreck. Hoodies draped over chairs, controllers left on the coffee table, an open bag of chips spilling out on the rug. It smells like boy and comfort and them.
Cian emerges from the brief hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Shirtless. Gray sweatpants worn so low on his hips I can already see the razor-sharp angle of his hipbones and the trail of his boxer shorts leading from the waistband.
His hair is wet, curling slightly at the ends. When he looks at me, that ludicrously cute, crooked smiley face he keeps above his lips the one that makes him look several years younger spreads across his face.
“Malia.” He breathes my name as though it were a sigh of relief.
Rowan snorts and grabs a balled-up shirt from the couch. “Put some damn clothes on before she faints from the view.”
Cian catches the shirt one-handed without looking, still looking at me. “Nah. She likes it.”
He is already a stride away from me and I’m being swept into his arms and being carried up and then brought down into his chest. Warm skin. Shower-fresh scent mingled with that subtle mint he always has around. I press my face into the angle of his neck and I don't even bother trying to step back. My arms circle his shoulders as my fingers scramble into his still-moist hair.
“Missed you so much,” he said softly into my temple.
“I missed you too,” I whisper, with a slight cracks in my voice.
He puts me down but he still doesn’t let go — one arm remains wrapped around my waist, his thumb rubbing the skin under my sweatshirt hem in absent little strokes.
Then Aiden is in the doorway from the kitchen, a half-empty water bottle hanging from his fingers. Aiden is in a well-worn black tee and joggers, his hair disheveled in that effortless way that sends my stomach into a tailspin. But the moment our eyes meet, his entire face softens, and relief is plainly visible in every line on his face, and in his eyes, which are now soft and warm.
He crosses to me without a word. When he gets to me, he slides his hand into my hair at the nape of my neck, gently tilts my head back and presses the longest, softest kiss to my forehead. Then another one to my temple. And then one to the corner of my mouth.
“Hey, baby.”
The nickname slips out breathy, intimate, just for me.
“Hey.”
His thumb moves over my cheekbone. “You good?”
I nod against his palm. “Better now.”
He breathes out as if he’s been holding his breath for days.
For a long moment, we are just standing – me trapped between Cian and Aiden, Rowan lingering so close behind I can feel the warmth of his body at the small of my back. Nobody talks. No one does.
Then Rowan claps once, sharp and theatrical..
“Okay. Clean-up crew, assemble. Malia is not sitting in this pigsty.”
Cian groans but begins collecting empty cans. Aiden gives my waist one squeeze before moving away to lend a hand. Rowan tosses pillow back onto the couch with exaggerated flair. In short, the den is beginning to look — well — almost civilized — the mess still there, but confined.
Rowan flops onto one end of the sectional and pats the cushion next to him. ”Sit, princess.”
I do.
Cian comes in with a giant plastic bowl piled high with popcorn and slides in on my other side, his bare shoulder pressing against mine. Aiden takes the armchair across from us, legs outstretched, looking relaxed in a manner I haven’t seen forever.
Rowan snatches the controller. “Mario Kart. No arguments.”
“Bet,” Cian says, already reaching for his.
They bicker through character slinging. I get peach because Cian says it’s “ironic.” The racing is mad—blue shells, banana peels, Rowan screaming every time he gets hit, Cian whooping like the villain when he laps someone.
I’m awful.
But every time I accidentally bump Rowan right off Rainbow Road, the three of them go wild like I’ve just won the championship
“YES! MALIA MVP!” Rowan yells, throwing his arms up.
Aiden leans over and kisses my cheek, obnoxiously loud. “That’s my girl.”
Cian’s smiling—silent, proud, with eyes that are crinkling up at the corners. We play until our thumbs hurt and the popcorn bowl is mostly crumbs.
At some point the controllers go forgotten. Rowan queues up some godawful early-2000s action flick—bombs, terrible CGI, zero coherent plot.
Perfect.
I end up curled into Cian’s side, with his arm around my shoulders, his fingers lazily toying with the tips of my hair. Aiden extends across the distance between the couch and chair to place his hand on my knee, moving his thumb in slow, comforting circles. Rowan stretches out on the other end, his feet unapologetically in my lap, jabbing my thigh just to make me swat at him.
Halfway through the movie just as the hero makes his dramatic leap out of an exploding helicopter, I realize I’m laughing. Really laughing. That laughing that makes your stomach hurt and your cheeks ache.
Aiden kisses the top of my head. “There’s that smile.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Been a while.”
“Yeah.” His tone is now quieter and softer. “We missed it.”
Aiden squeezes my knee once with his hand—a gentle agreement.
Rowan glances over, his eyes unusually serious beneath the teasing. “We’re not letting it go missing again, okay?”
I nod, throat tight.
They don’t push for more words. We are just twisted up as the film drones on, explosions illuminating their faces in bursts of orange and blue. Popcorn is thrown. There are jokes. Hands stray in purely innocent, reassuring ways — fingers laced, shoulders pressed, ankles joined.
No pressure, no expectations. Just us.
When the credits finally roll, no one gets up to turn off the TV. The room falls silent, save for the gentle hum coming from the speakers and our breaths.
Aiden’s thumb strokes the shell of my ear then moves to the couch cushion and covers mine, his fingers threading through mine. Rowan’s foot gives my thigh a light nudge.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into it — the warmth, the solidness, the simple knowledge that right now, in this messy suite with popcorn on the floor and a terrible movie playing on the menu screen, I’m not on my own.
And for a few moments in forever, it seems like my nightmares are miles and miles away.
Or so I thought…