“I told you to learn, not sit there like a ghost.”
I turn my head toward the window and start counting the seconds.
“You want to keep that little sister of yours close?” he goes on, his voice slicing through the air. “Then stop embarrassing me. You think I won’t send her away? Try me.”
My stomach twists hard.
“You’d really do that to her?” The question leaves my mouth sounding nothing like me.
He smirks. “Don’t test me, Emerson. You’re not nearly as important as you think. You only hold value because you follow instructions. The second you stop?”
He leaves the rest hanging.
He doesn’t need to finish.
He’s repeated the threat so many times it’s practically a script:I’ll send you away too.Same tone, venom, and sick pleasure he takes in saying it.
I swallow the fury clawing its way up my throat and stay quiet.
If I push back too far, he’ll make good on every word.
When we walk into the house, I don’t waste a single second. The moment I see Mom upright and coherent—shock of the century—I know I’ve got an opening. She’s not slurring, not passed out on the sofa, not crying into a glass of cheap wine. Which means I don’t have to hover today.
Kimber’s shut in her room, probably coloring or watching one of those bright, sugary cartoons that help her feel safe. Thank God. I need a break and some air.
I grab my motorcycle keys and head out, riding across town while the tires hum against the road, pushing me forward, pushing the noise in my head back. The constant pressure. Threats. The weight of everything he expects from me—it’s endless chaos.
Lately, the only place that feels remotely sane—the only place where my mind slows enough to breathe—is with the guys.
And Berk.
Not that I ever say that out loud.
I can’t.
Bryce has made that crystal clear. If he senses anyone means something to me, he’ll twist it, use it, weaponize it. Berk would be his favorite target.
So, I stay silent.
I keep my mouth shut about how she makes my chest loosen, how her laugh slices through the dark like sunlight, how sleep barely comes when she shuts us out.
I won’t let her become another pawn in his hands.
When I reach the house, I head straight for Ronan’s room. No knocking. They always know it’s me.
Inside, the guys are sprawled across the room like kings of doing absolutely nothing. Rowen’s holding a book he hasn’t turned a page in for at least twenty minutes, and Ronan is upside down on his bed with his legs hooked over the headboard like he’s auditioning for a circus act.
I kick the door shut behind me.
“Anyone talked to Berk yet?” The question comes out sharper than I intended, but I’m past pretending.
Rowen looks up first, steady as always. “Reign talked to her earlier. Said she’s okay… just trying to sort everything out.”
“It’s been days,” I bite out.
“She panicked, dude,” Ronan says, flipping upright with a dramatic groan. “You saw her face. She hit the eject button like we were made of fire.”
“She’s allowed to freak out,” Rowen adds, ever the mediator. “We dropped a lot on her. She needs space. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
