And yet… it feels more real than anything has in a very long time.
I drag a hand over my face. “What is wrong with me?” I whisper into the otherwise quiet room.
I shouldn’t feel this comfortable around strangers. Especially men. Especially men, this big, this intimidating, this…right.
Images of Lawson flash through my brain. His broad shoulders stretching his shirt, dark brown hair falling a little too perfectly, that stubble framing the sharp line of his jaw. And those brown eyes—dark, unyielding, steady—always noticing more than he lets on. He’s tall, solid, and moves like he’s been carrying responsibility on his shoulders since birth. And maybe he has.
Something about being near him feels grounding.
But when he looks at me… I don’t know. I just feelseen.
Lincoln is different. Warier. Carved from the same family stone but with softer edges, he desperately tries to hide. He walked me through the house last night with the stiff, polite posture of a man who would rather be anywhere else. And yet, the moment I teased him, that hidden spark came out to play. The crooked nose, the warm but guarded bright green eyes. He’s beautiful, in that rugged, quietly tortured way.
And he makes something flutter in my stomach that I do not have a name for.
Then there’s Beau. Warmth. Pure warmth wrapped in muscle, tattoos, and gravelly humor. Hands that could snap a board in half, yet ones I know would hold me with a gentleness I’ve never known. And when he asked if I was okay… god. There was something in his voice that made me want to lean into him and stay there forever. Something that let me know that he’s all too familiar with feeling out of control because of the world around him.
My cheeks heat at the thought of the fourth man. Jasper.
What I felt last night when he was sitting next to me, and the way his eyes softened when he talked to me about his family. The pain hidden behind every word, even when he tried to sound matter-of-fact about it all. My experiences felt woven into his somehow. Like he trusted me with a part of himself he doesn’t show anyone, knowing that I would relate.
And that moment at the door—the way his eyes dropped to my mouth, the way he leaned in, slowly, carefully, like he was savoring the moment for everything it was worth.
God, I felt that straight through my bones.
Did he really want to kiss me?
Did I really want him to?
Yes.
And that terrifies me.
Because I barely know them. Because my life is cracked in places I’m scared to look at. Because the idea of wanting someone—four someones—is something I should run from.
Right?
But when I think of Lawson’s steady gaze, Beau’s warmth, Lincoln’s reluctant smile, Jasper’s raw vulnerability, my chest aches almost as much as my head spins.
It’s times like these when I don’t want anybody but her.
What would my sister tell me to do?
My throat tightens at the thought of Katerina. I blink rapidly, staring up at the ceiling until the tears burn themselves out. If she were here—if she hadn’t been taken from me—she’d know exactly what I should do. She always did.
But she isn’t
She’s not here, and she never will be.
And I’m alone with feelings I don’t know how to categorize, much less make any sense of.
A sound outside breaks through the spiral. A low whinny. Male voices. Boots on gravel.
The guys are already up.
Of course they are.
Pushing upright, immediately waking Lucy, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser, followed by my few stray pieces of clothes sticking out of one of the drawers. My lastpair of clean jeans. My last warm top. Sure, I could do laundry, but I’m going to need more.
