“We need grieving family out there,” he says, and his usual iron calm thins.
Cleo’s mouth pinches.“I don’t want them grieving me.”
“They’re not grieving you,” I remind her.“They’re grieving the headline.Different beast, princess.”I hold her gaze until some of the panic loosens from her shoulders.
“It’ll look wrong if they’re gone when this hits,” Eddie murmurs, half to himself.
“We can put out something bland, professional,” I say, but my voice dips, recognizing how fucked this is.“A statement that buys space.Says something like—‘The Wilder family is requesting privacy and will not be available for interviews at this time.They appreciate the public’s understanding and ask that everyone respect the family’s space while authorities complete their work.’”
The words feel hollow the second I say them.Like I’m narrating a funeral that hasn't happened, like I’m helping bury her before she’s even had a chance to live again.
Cleo takes a careful breath.Eddie’s thumb moves over her wrist, as if saying without words:I’m here.
“If you want them gone, they’re gone,” I tell her and Eddie nods.Then, I add, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like doing—including being around more stress.”
“We’ll step back,” Eddie assures her.
She looks from him to me like she’s measuring something only she can see.“I don’t want distance from either one of you.”
Eddie’s eyes flick to mine, then settle back on her.His voice scrapes a little when he speaks.“Good.Because I’m not interested in being the breath between storms.I want this.I want us.Now.After everything.After you finally admitted you love us.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m ...”she starts, but doesn’t finish.
“Princess,” Eddie says, soft now.No edge.“We go at your pace.”
She nods once, then—like it catches her by surprise—her mouth twists with something between guilt and grief.
“I’m still so fucking broken,” she says, a whisper wrapped in shame.“I’m not sure when I’ll be okay.Or if I ever will be.The nightmares.The fear.It just—” She exhales shakily, doesn’t finish.
Eddie shifts closer.His fingers curl around her hand.
“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” he says, low, like it’s something sacred.“But the nightmares don’t come every night anymore.And when they do—you talk.You wake up and let one of us hold you instead of pretending you’re fine.”
Her eyes find his.
“You’re more open,” he continues.“You let us in now.Even when it’s dark.”
She blinks like she doesn’t trust herself to believe it.
“And you haven’t flinched in days,” I add, gentler than I ever get credit for.“You let us close.You stay.That’s something, Cleo.”
A silence settles.Not cold.Not distant.It hums with everything none of us are sure how to say.
Finally, she nods.Not all the way.Just enough.
“I want to believe I can be okay,” she says.“With you.”
Eddie presses his forehead to hers.“Then we’ll believe it for you until you can.”
She swallows.Her eyes don’t meet ours.“Then why does it feel like I’ve already disappeared?”
My chest pulls like something’s trying to crawl out of it.
I reach for her.Not fast.Not with force.Just enough to give her the option to lean.She does.
“You didn’t disappear, Cleo,” I murmur as I pull her in, my arms wrapping around her like I can shield her from all of it—the headlines, the false grief, the brother-shaped pressure outside.“You’re right here.In my arms.Breathing.Shaking.Fighting.That’s more real than anything they’ll printing.”
She presses her forehead into my collarbone.Her hands don’t move at first, like she doesn’t trust herself to hold on.So I do it for her.I hold tighter.
