When I finally pull away, I keep her close, foreheads brushing.This kiss was different from the one before and I have to say it: “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you ran.”I press my lips and take a deep breath.“Since the second you disappeared and left this fucking ache behind.”
“I didn’t want to go,” she whispers.“I didn’t want to leave either of you.I just ...didn’t know how to stay.”
“We know,” Barret says, his hand covering hers where it rests on my chest.“You don’t have to explain.”
She turns slightly, one hand reaching for him without letting go of me.It’s instinct.Muscle memory.Heart memory.
And I realize with stunning clarity—this is what we are now.Not fragments trying to fill gaps, not pieces fumbling to make a whole, but three souls bound in the same breath.Not one of us on the outside looking in, but all of us woven together, holding each other steady in the storm.
Barret leans in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before brushing one against my jaw too.My breath catches.He pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes.
“I love you too,” he says quietly.
Fuck.
I don’t realize how much I needed that until it pours through me like light in a room I thought would stay dark forever.My throat tightens.
“Yeah?”I rasp.
“Yeah.”His hand curls behind my neck.“Always.”
I glance at Cleo, then at Barret, and there’s this quiet that fills the room—not the kind that haunts or unsettles.This one feels earned.Sacred.
It feels like coming home.
But the moment doesn’t last forever—it’s broken by a knock.
“What the fuck is going on in there?”Roderick’s voice hits the wood like a warning.“I swear, if I walk in and my sister?—”
I’m already moving.I press a quick kiss to Cleo’s temple, meet Barret’s eyes—later—and cross the room.The door swings open on a wash of rain-dim light and Roderick’s scowl.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Wilder,” I say, leaning on the frame.“All of you.”
He shoulders past the threshold by half an inch, jaw set, gaze cutting over me to where Cleo stands with Barret.His focus snaps back to my face.
“You kept me downstairs waiting.”His voice is low, threaded with too many nights and not enough answers.“Try that again.”
Behind me, Barret’s tone drops.“Back off, Rod.”
Roderick’s nostrils flare.“Don’t ‘Rod’ me.I heard raised voices.I heard—” He takes in Cleo’s flushed mouth, her damp lashes, our closeness that says everything.His expression splinters, not with judgment—just a brother trying to measure if his sister is safe.
“She’s okay,” I say before he can spit more fire.“She’s better with us.”
Cleo steps forward.No retreat, no apology.“I am,” she tells him.“I’m here.”
Roderick drags a hand over his face, anger cooling to something rawer.“I need guarantees.”
“So do we,” Barret answers.“Starting with you not kicking in doors.”
Roderick exhales through his nose.The hall behind him is all damp wool and the hush of people trying to listen without admitting it.Wilder brothers, plural.A whole wall of worry.
“Say it straight,” he grinds out.“What’s the plan?Because the press is chewing on rumors.And if they pull a body out of the Pacific—” His voice tightens.“I won’t have them writing her obituary while she’s breathing.”
“It’ll be from the Atlantic,” Barret corrects him.“Geography was never your strong suit, asshole.”
Roderick glares at him.
“We won’t let them,” I say before they stare bickering.“Here’s what’s going to happen.”
