Page 41 of Triplets for the Rival MC

“She won’t see a doctor,” I say quietly. “That’s not like her.”

“No.” Flint’s voice is firm. “It’s not.”

“Do you think she’s regretting being with all of us?” I ask.

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken fear. We’ve faced bullets and ambushes. We’ve stood across from the Raging Bulls unafraid and knowing a fight is to come. We’ve dealt with broken bones, bloodied wounds, and losing our friends. But Tori shutting us out feels ten times worse.

“We have to confront her,” Hunter finally says. “Not aggressively, but we need to do it together. If she’s having second thoughts, we need her to know that we’ll still protect her from King.”

Flint nods once. “We should go up. Now.”

***

The hallway upstairs is dim, lit only by a wall sconce that casts a soft amber glow. The carpet muffles our footsteps as we walk toward Tori’s door.

Hunter carries a tray with soup, dry crackers, and a glass of water. Flint has a small paper bag from the bakery downtown containing her favorite lemon pastries. I’m holding a bundle of fresh flowers I picked on the way back from a run earlier, wildflowers. She once told me she prefers them to roses because they’re stubborn enough to grow anywhere.

I hesitate before knocking, my hand hovering. “Tori?” I call gently. “Baby?”

A pause. Then, faintly, “Yeah?” Her voice is weak. Too weak.

Flint opens the door without waiting for permission. His concern can sometimes come off as controlling and domineering, but right now, we can’t take no for an answer.

The room is dark, the curtains half-drawn, letting in the only light from the streetlamp outside. I move to the bedside and switch on the lamp. It casts a soft pool of light over rumpled sheets. Tori winces in the light, even though it isn’t bright. She’s sitting propped up against the headboard, hair loose and tangled around her shoulders, one of my old shirts hanging off her frame. Her eyes widen when she sees all three of us. She pulls the blankets up higher, covering herself completely. The gesture is modest and shy for someone whom we know every inch of her body.

“What’s all this?” she asks, glancing at the food, the flowers.

“We’re worried,” I say simply, setting the tray down on the dresser.

Flint moves to sit at the edge of the bed. I stand for a second, taking her in, reading every tiny shift in her expression. She looks cornered, like a stray cat ready to scratch its way out if needs be.

“You’ve been hiding,” Flint says, not unkindly.

“I’m not hiding,” Tori insists, but her fingers twist in the bedsheet.

“You are,” I say softly. I step forward and place the flowers on her nightstand. “And you’re pushing us away.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows.

“We love you,” Hunter adds, crouching in front of her so he’s at eye level. “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Her eyes shine immediately, like the tears were already waiting there.

I reach for her hand. This time, she doesn’t pull away. “Talk to us,” I plead. “If you’ve changed your mind about us, that’s okay. I mean… it isn’t okay… but we’ll protect you. We’re not gonna throw you out.”

The silence between us stretches painfully, and I fear she won’t speak, and that we’re too late, we’ve lost her. The clock on the wall ticks steadily. Somewhere downstairs, someone laughs loudly, the sound jarringly normal against the tension in this room.

“I…” she presses her lips together. “You’re not going to love me less?”

The question slices through me. I move to sit beside Tori, close enough that our thighs touch. “That’s not possible,” I murmur.

“Nothing you say changes what we feel,” Hunter says firmly, moving to sit on her other side.

Flint nods. “You’re ours. We’re yours. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

Her breath shudders. “I went to the doctor,” she whispers.

All three of us stiffen.