My heart was breaking, torn apart by grief and longing. A small, desperate part of me wanted to reach out to him—just to hear his voice, to feel close to him again, even for a moment. I’d clutch my phone, muster the courage to call, but always stopped myself short. The weight of his words, the sting of his lies, and the reality of everything he had done for his family would resurface, reminding me that the love I thought we shared was never truly reciprocated. He didn’t love me the way I loved him, and accepting that truth only deepened the hollow ache inside.
I clung to those false memories, desperate for comfort but finding only pain. It felt as if my very identity was unraveling, every truth I thought I knew slipping through my fingers, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to piece myself together again, or if I’d remain lost in the wreckage of secrets and sorrow.
For three days, I drifted in and out of restless sleep, haunted by dreams that left me gasping for air and clutching the sheets in a cold sweat. Sometimes I thought I heard Massimo’s voice inthe hallway, a phantom echo that faded before I could reach for it. Even the sound of rain against the window became a reminder of nights we once spent together, tangled up and promising forever—a promise I now knew would never be kept. Each time I woke, the emptiness beside me felt sharper, and the silence seemed to press in from all sides, threatening to swallow me whole.
I watched the sun rise and fall over the mountains through my window, each cycle blurring into the next, until a soft knock broke the silence in my room. I didn’t bother to move—just listened as the door creaked open and closed before the mattress dipped behind me. The instant the familiar scent of cedar shavings and worn leather, laced with his cologne, drifted over my shoulder, I knew who it was. I immediately turned, seeking Jackson’s solid warmth, and curled into his strong arms as years of grief and longing spilled over into uncontrollable tears.
“I’ve gotcha, baby girl,” Jackson whispered, his chin resting gently atop my hair as his arms tightened protectively around me. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thudded against my cheek, grounding me, giving me the strength to finally let go of everything I’d been holding in.
Jackson held me tightly, letting me sob until the storm inside me quieted. His steady presence was the anchor I hadn’t realized I needed; in his arms, the chaos of my emotions gradually eased. He didn’t try to offer empty reassurances or force me to move forward—he simply stayed, letting me grieve at my own pace.
Eventually, my breathing slowed, and I wiped my eyes, feeling a flicker of hope that maybe, with Jackson by my side, Icould start to heal. The pain was still there, raw and relentless, but the love of my brother reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in the darkness. For the first time in days, I considered the possibility that I might find my way back, piece by fragile piece.
Jackson eventually broke the silence, his voice tinged with playful menace as he brushed the hair away from my face. “Want me to kill him?” he asked, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. “Say the word, sis, and he’s a goner.”
I couldn’t help but return his smirk, wiping away the remnants of my tears. “As much as I know you’re serious,” I replied softly, “I don’t think I could handle losing him, too.” The ache in my chest was still raw, and the thought of another loss was almost too much to bear.
Jackson grinned, undeterred by my response. “Shame too,” he teased, “’cause I was really looking forward to it.” His lighthearted words coaxed a faint smile from me, easing some of the tension that lingered between us.
“I missed you,” I breathed, my hands trembling as I stared at the worn quilt Roxy had gifted me when I was thirteen, feeling the weight of Jackson’s gaze settle over me.
“Missed you too.” Jackson’s voice was rough, as if he’d been holding back tears, and I wondered what he’d been carrying in the days apart.
“Is Karlyn here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “She’s downstairs with Stella. Baby girl, I need you to tell me the truth here, ’cause the family downstairs is itching to make your hurt go away, but one word from you will stop them.” His eyes darkened, and I suddenly wondered what he was afraid I’d say.
“I... I don’t get it.” My voice trembled, chest aching as if a hand was squeezing the air from my lungs. The edges of my vision wavered; I could hear my pulse thundering in my ears, hot and wild. My fingers fidgeted, nails digging into the soft skin ofmy palm—a desperate anchor against the anxiety threatening to pull me under.
Jackson’s tone was gentle but laced with that big brother worry he never bothered to hide. “Baby girl, Stella’s losing her mind out there. Says you haven’t touched a thing to eat, not in days, and you’re gettin’ sick. Scarin’ folks.” He kept his voice low, trying to be soft, but I caught the edge—the way his words pressed into the charged silence, the frustration barely veiled by concern.
I stared at the blue veins tracing my wrists, voice so quiet it almost vanished. “You... you’re asking if I’m pregnant?” My words burned on my tongue. My stomach flipped cold, nausea blooming deep and tight, the weight of dread thick in my throat.
He nodded roughly but hesitantly, his gaze searching mine for answers. “Yeah, baby girl. I need to know.” He tried to sound steady, but I caught the hitch—Jackson, always the protector, suddenly looked too young, too raw. I wondered what it cost him, admitting how much he cared, how helpless he felt seeing me like this.
I tried to answer, but the word snagged in my chest. Tears spilled hotly and silently down my cheeks. I nodded my head once, shoulders caving inward, shame a heavy ache pressing against my ribs. The world felt too bright, too sharp—I wanted to vanish into the quilt beneath me, dissolve into the fabric and never have to speak again.
Jackson’s breath left him in a shaky rush as he ran a hand through his hair, lips twisting in a grim effort at a smile as he bent to press a kiss to my forehead. “I got you, baby girl. You don’t gotta say nothin’ right now. I’ll handle the rest—don’t worry.” Maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as me, but for a moment, the certainty in his grip felt real. I heard the silent promise under his words—his own fear, his need to keep me safe even when he couldn’t fix what hurt.
A knock sounded at the door, drawing both of our attention. As the door creaked open, Oliver poked his head inside, his grin stretching from ear to ear. The familiar warmth in his expression eased some of the tension in the room. “I heard my bestie flew the proverbial coop,” he said, the tease in his voice unmistakable. “Thought I might follow her in case she needed me.” His presence, always so light and reassuring, seemed to offer a lifeline—a reminder that, no matter how heavy things felt, I wasn’t alone. Oliver’s easy confidence filled the space, shifting the mood and promising support in whatever came next.
Jackson rose from where he sat, his presence steady and reassuring. “I’ll let you two talk,” he said, his voice gentle. “We’ll all be downstairs waiting for you when you’re ready, baby. Remember, whatever you decide, your family always has your back.”
With those words, he offered a final, grounding reminder that no matter the circumstances, I was not alone. The quiet strength in his promise lingered in the air, a shield against the uncertainty ahead.
I looked at my brother, emotion thick in my throat. “I love you, Jackson.” My words carried a weight of gratitude and vulnerability, a simple truth spoken in a moment of need.
Jackson’s response was immediate and heartfelt. “Love you too, sis.”
When the door closed behind him, Oliver clapped his hands together, wiggled his eyebrows, and grinned. “So can I kick his ass now?”
At that, I finally laughed.
Chapter Forty-Five
Massimo
The moment she turned and left with her family, my legs buckled, and I collapsed to my knees, a guttural roar tearing free as my brothers watched in stunned silence. They could never truly grasp the depth of my despair—the agony and fury that surged through me like wildfire—nor could they understand the magnitude of what I had done. I felt as if my soul had been wrenched from my body and crushed under the weight of my own choices, and maybe, in some irrevocable way, I had destroyed it for good. Betraying her trust, exposing the secrets I swore I’d protect in a moment of unforgivable weakness, had shattered everything we had built. The fallout was all-encompassing, leaving nothing untouched.
