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My heart skips. It went through. The voicemail went through. I could have sworn I deleted it, but it looks like I didn’t. They heard every miserable, wine-soaked, tearful word. Every broken sentence. Every sob. They heard me say I missed them, that I missed the cabin and the stupid tree and the foxes and the creek, and they drove hours down the mountain in the dark and the cold just because I said I needed them.

They didn’t call first. They didn’t text. They didn’t ask if it was okay. They just came.

My chest is so full I can barely breathe. The tears I’ve been fighting all night are right there, pressing against the backs of my eyes, and I’m losing the battle. I blink hard, starkly aware that I’m standing in the middle of a posh crowd in a designer dress with mascara that is absolutely not waterproof. I can feel the room watching. I can feel the whispers building. I can feel the story being written in real time. Josie Marsh, the runaway bride, crying at her parents’ Christmas party over three men in flannel.

I need to process this. I need to get away. I can’t handle this, any of it, all of it. The love and the shame and the relief and the terror of being seen this clearly by people who actually know me, in front of people who never will.

I turn and stride blindly across the house, pushing my way through the crowd. Someone says my name. I don’t stop. I catch a fragment of my mother’s voice, sharp and bright, already spinning the story for whoever will listen. I pass the Christmas tree. It’s enormous, professionally decorated, nothing like the stupid little tree with tin-can ornaments. I shove through the kitchen door. It swings shut behind me and the noise of the party drops to a dull hum. I press my hands flat to the cold countertop and suck in a breath, my throat so tight it hurts. In the quiet kitchen, I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I hear the door swing open behind me and I turn, utterly defenseless. It’s them. Hunter front and center, Emmett and Beau on either side, the three of them filling up the doorway. Emmett’s brow is furrowed. Beau has a look that’s the closest thing to fear I’ve ever seen on his face.

Hunter grimaces. “Sorry if we made it worse with your family. We couldn’t just stand there and listen to them talk to you like that. Talk about you like that. We can go if you want.”

I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. I struggle to find my voice around the lump in my throat. I open my mouth once, fighting to say what I want to say, but the words won’t come. The gleaming countertops, the color-coordinated hand towels, the spice rack in alphabetical order, everything in this kitchen is controlled and correct and exactly where it’s supposed to be, and I can feel it pressing in on me, shrinking me back into the version of myself that fits here.

“I don’t want you to go,” I say finally, my voice coming out low and hoarse. “That’s not what this is about.”

Emmett pushes past Hunter and crosses the kitchen. He catches my tear with his thumb, brushing it away. “What is it about, Josie? What’s wrong?” His voice is low and steady, like he’s prepared to fix whatever it is as soon as I tell them.

My voice comes out a whisper. “You really came here for me? Just because of that voicemail?”

“Of course,” Beau says.

“Yeah. Of course,” Hunter says at the same time.

“Oh, Josie,” Emmett murmurs.

It’s like it’s obvious. Like there was never another option. I swallow hard.

“I never meant to send that,” I admit. “I tried to delete it. It must not have worked.” I look down at my hands on the counter, embarrassed.

Beau frowns. “Why did you try to delete it?”

My fingers grip the counter edge and I don’t answer right away. When I do, my voice is a whisper again. It’s hard to get the words out around the lump in my throat. “I didn’t want you guys to know how I felt. I was too open in that message. Too honest. It—it scared me.”

Something shifts in their faces and they share a look. That silent conversation is happening all around me, just like it did back at the cabin. Hunter’s brows draw together, his lips pursed. Beau’s frown deepens, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallows. Emmett’s gray eyes are sharp and glistening as he turns his focus back to me.

His voice is rough. “How do you feel?”

I bite my lip, my heart hammering. I want to say it, but the words are stuck. Fear settles over me, the fear of being too much, of wanting too much, of asking for something that I can’t have. I struggle for a long moment, and I just can’t win this battle.

The kitchen is quiet. The muffled bass of a Christmas song pulses through the door, distant and strange, like music from another life. Nobody speaks. The four of us just stand here, breathing, and the silence stretches until it becomes its own kind of honesty.

“Do you want to know how I feel?” Beau asks. He comes closer. “My life changed the moment you threw that book at my head, and I never want it to go back to the way it was before you.”

My grip tightens on the counter and my vision blurs. I blink and a tear slips free.

Hunter steps up beside him. “I feel like you’re the sexiest, kindest, strongest, most talented woman I’ve ever known, and the cabin hasn’t been the same without you.”

My breath catches. I press my hand to my mouth, holding something in. A sob, a laugh, I don’t even know which.

Emmett brushes my cheek again. “I used to only care about two people in this world,” he says. “Now it’s three.”

The kitchen goes still. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, filling the silence between us.

“We’re falling for you, Josie,” Hunter says softly. “We’ve been missing you so much that it’s been driving us crazy. We never should have let you leave without telling you the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” I ask, my voice shaking.