Lawson sets the cake on the kitchen counter and settles Lucy back onto her bed before the five of us head up the stairs, Christmas lights glittering along the railing.
We don’t go to Lawson’s room.
Or Jasper’s.
Instead, Lincoln leads us toward a room we haven’t been in yet, his hand steady in mine. He opens the door to what I immediately guess is his room. The space feels like him, all clean lines and quiet strength. A bookshelf is tucked into one corner, its shelves filled with a mix of fiction novels and books about complex litigation and business law.
I hesitate for half a breath with Lincoln at my side and the other three close behind me.
Not because I don’t want this, but because I want what’s about to happensomuch, it scares me.
Eventually, the four of them slowly step around me and enter Lincoln’s room. They each turn around, and four sets of eyes are on me. Not pressuring. Not rushing. Just waiting.
A moment later, I choose.
I knowexactlywhat this is, what this will mean. For them. For me. For my future. And I’m choosing it anyway. I’ve been choosing it.
Stepping forward, I close the door behind me.
Chapter forty-eight
Beau
Abigail’shandstwistnervouslyat the cuffs of her sweater. It’s a small thing. Barely there. But it tells on her in a way the steady lift of her chest can’t hide. Each breath she takes is deeper than the last, her lungs pulling in air like she needs more of it now than she did before she closed that door.
Anticipation does that to people.
Her cheeks are flushed pink, color high and warm beneath her eyes, and I watch as her thighs press together ever so slightly in excitement.
She looks impossibly soft standing there, hair loose past her shoulders, lips parted, like she wants to speak but can’t figure out what to say with all four of us in front of her. But her choice has already been made. I saw it in her eyes the second she stepped into this room.
No one moves.
Not right away.
I think it’s because we all feel it. The shift. That quiet, irreversible click into place.
This isn’t like before. When it was just me and Lawson and her, there was heat, yeah. Desire. Hunger. But it had edges. Something unspoken we could back away from if we had to.
But this?
This feels like stepping off a ledge together.
There will be no going back.
Ever.
I glance sideways without moving my head. Lawson’s standing near the dresser, broad shoulders filling the space, unable to take his eyes off of her. Not in that sharp, assessing way you might mistake for hunger, but something deeper. Something desperate to lock this moment away because he already knows nothing will ever look the same again.
Lincoln stands closer to the bed. Posture calm and controlled. But I know him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his side like it’s taking everything in him not pounce on her. Lincoln looks at her like she’s something fragile and fierce all at once. Acutely aware of the fact that in this room, he wants control of her almost as much as he wants to worship her.
Jasper’s the only one leaning back. His shoulder against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. But his eyes give him away. They’re bright and locked on her. Tracking every movement she makes. Desperate to see as much of her as possible.
None of us talked about this.
We didn’t have to.
Living together does that to you. Years of shared space, shared silences, shared battles. You learn how to read the air. How to feel when something’s coming before it ever arrives.
