Let the goddamn games begin. No way this can go wrong at all.
Caleb blinks. “Okay?”
“I'll stay. For the setup and the event.” I grab my untouched bourbon and drain half of it in one go. The burn helps. Barely. “But when I’m in that darkroom… no interruptions. That’s the deal.”
Caleb fist-pumps like he just won the lottery. “Barrett squad, reunited! This is going to be legendary.”
Everett disappears around the corner, only to return with four sets of keys a minute later. He hands one to each of my brothers and the last to me.
“Third floor, end of the hall,” Everett says. “Same room as always.”
Grammie Bea’s room.
“I remember.”
The words hang between us, loaded with a decade of meaning no one else in this room can hear.
Roman yawns massively, breaking the tension he’s not even picking up on. “Okay, that's it for me. I need at least four hours of sleep before I can function like a human being instead of a caffeinated zombie.”
“Lightweight,” Caleb accuses.
“Says the guy who's going to be unconscious in twenty minutes.”
“Fair. I'm already mostly unconscious. This is autopilot Caleb. He's less charming but equally handsome.”
They gather coats and bags, the tangle of movement filling the space with blessed noise. I use the distraction to slip off my stool and edge toward the stairs.
“Sierra, wait.”
Roman ditches my nickname and catches me before I can escape, pulling me into a hug that now smells like expensive whiskey.
“I'm glad you're here,” he murmurs against my hair. “Really glad.”
“Me too,” I whisper, horrified to realize I mean it.
These three overprotective idiots who drove me crazy my entire childhood and still somehow managed to be the safest thing I've ever known.
It’s the first Christmas we won’t spend with our dad. He’s finally happy after all these years of just... surviving. We don't begrudge him that. We just don't know what we are without being the family that held together after Mom died.
Which is exactly why I can never tell them what happened with Everett, much less have more window seat run-ins.
Because love like this? It doesn't survive betrayal. Not the kind they'd see it as.
They disperse, their voices fading into the earlymorning quiet. I start up the stairs to the third floor, my legs heavy, my heart heavier.
“Sierra.”
Everett's voice stops me on the landing.
I turn. He looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. Longing, maybe. Or frustration. Or that particular combination of both that seems to define everything between us.
“Thank you,” he says. “For staying. For helping.”
I force a shrug of indifference meant to protect, but only brings sadness. “According to everyone in this room, it's just business.”
“Is it?”
The question lands between us, spitting and sparking with unrestrained energy.
