When the last car pulled away, Roan came to open the back door to help Jay. The fact Jay didn’t argue was all the confirmation I needed that he was hurting way more than he was saying.
I hurried ahead to the front door, keys trembling a little in my hand as I fumbled with the lock. Behind me, I could hear Roan murmuring to Jay, steady and patient, while Rhett’s footsteps crunched up the walkway.
The door finally gave, swinging open on the soft scent of home—cedar, laundry detergent, something faintly floral from the unlit scented candles in the living room. I flipped on the entry light just as Roan and Rhett came in, Jay’s arms slung over their shoulders, his feet dragging a little.
“Upstairs,” I said quietly. “My room.”
They nodded without question, the three of them moving in practiced sync, like they’d done this a hundred times before—though never quite like this. I led the way, every creak of the staircase feeling amplified in the stillness of the hour.
When we reached my room, I turned down the covers and helped guide Jay to the edge of the bed. Rhett set his hand briefly on Jay’s shoulder, eyes scanning him with quiet worry.
“I’ll grab water,” he said. “And the pain meds.”
“Thanks,” I said, and he disappeared down the hall.
Jay groaned softly as I knelt in front of him, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. “There are easier ways to get me in bed, you know,” he murmured, that crooked half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I couldn’t help the answering smile that curved mine. “Who asked for easy?”
He laughed, low, rough, and a little pained. The sound hit me straight in the chest. When I helped him out of his shirt, then eased him down to his boxers, he didn’t protest. He just looked at me, eyes soft, dark, and full of that quiet affection that always seemed to undo me.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I said, cupping his cheek with one hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm, his lashes heavy with exhaustion. “You need to get better first.”
He turned his face slightly into my hand, that faint, dizzy smile still there. “I already am better,” he whispered. “’Cause I’m here.”
Before I could respond, Rhett came back in carrying a glass of water and a couple of pills. “Doctor-approved,” he said, handing them over.
Jay managed to take them without complaint, then sank back against the pillow, out cold almost before I’d pulled the blanket up over him. I brushed a hand through his hair once, gently, before stepping back.
Roan and Rhett both lingered near the doorway, their postures saying what their words didn’t. Neither of them wanted to leave.
I sighed softly. “The bed’s not big enough for all of us.”
“I’ll take the couch,” Rhett offered immediately, already halfway to the hall.
“You could use the guest room,” I pointed out. “It’s more comfortable.”
“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “Alright.”
Roan didn’t move, though. His gaze stayed on me, steady, assessing. “I’m staying in here,” he said simply.
“I figured,” I murmured.
Before the silence could thicken, I stepped forward and wrapped an arm around each of them. “Congratulations, by the way,” I said, my voice roughening with emotion I’d been holding back since the rink. “You guys played your hearts out tonight.”
Rhett gave a soft huff of laughter, squeezing me back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
When I started to shake, it took me a second to realize it was happening. The adrenaline, the fear, the relief—it all hit at once, leaving me trembling in their arms. Roan pulled me tighter against his chest, solid and grounding, while Rhett closed in behind me, his chest blanketing me in warmth from the contact.
I was caught between them, surrounded by strength and safety, and for the first time since Jay went down, I let myself cry.
The tears came hot and quiet, hidden against Roan’s shirt. Neither of them said anything, and they didn’t need to. The only sounds were the slow rhythm of their breathing and the faint, steady heartbeat pressed against my ear.
For a few minutes, that was enough.
The house had gone still after Rhett settled across the hall. I could hear the faint creak of the floorboards, the distant rush of water from the guest bathroom’s sink, and then nothing but the soft sound of Jay’s breathing.
Roan stood near the door a moment longer, watching Jay with that steady, protective focus of his. Then, when he seemed satisfied that our beta was truly asleep, he returned his attention to me.
