Chapter 12
Lottie
Hospitals always smell like endings.
Bleach. Metal. That faint sourness of too many bodies crammed into too few rooms. They’re not places for beginnings, even though doctors and nurses try to make them feel that way.
They’re in-between spaces—where you sit and wait, where your life feels like it’s perched on the edge of a clipboard and a pen stroke.
So when Roman finally gets discharged, when the nurse wheels him out with a stack of papers and a glare sharp enough to slice through him, it feels like a held breath finally loosening in my chest. He looks pale, tired, his shoulder pinned tight in the sling, but he’s alive. And right now, alive is enough.
“Prisoners of war have more freedom than this,” Roman mutters as Will helps him into the SUV.
“Prisoners of war don’t get morphine,” Claire fires back, buckling him in like he’s a toddler.
“Details,” he smirks, but there’s a twitch in his jaw that betrays him.
The ride home feels cramped and restless.
I’m wedged against Roman. Oscar’s thigh presses solid against mine, grounding me.
His hand brushes mine once, but it’s enough to steady me.
And Archer. He doesn’t speak the whole ride.
Just stares out the window, jaw tight, shoulders locked.
The silence from him feels heavier than all the noise crammed into the car combined.
Elijah and Crew have taken Elijah’s car.
Claire leans forward in her seat like she’s already cataloguing Roman’s meals and restrictions in her mind, and Will drives because he refuses to let Claire when he’s around.
Claire and Will’s house is big enough to hold us, but stepping inside with Elijah and Crew carrying boxes and bags feels cramped and intrusive. There’s a hum of energy, too sharp to be comfortable, too restless to feel settled.
Roman immediately claims the couch like a king, laying claim to a throne.
“You’re not staying there,” Claire tells him, arms crossed.
“Watch me.” He stretches out, wincing when the sling bites into his shoulder, but he grins through it. “This couch and I are bonded now. Can’t be separated.”
Crew drops beside him with a sigh, flopping dramatically until Roman grunts at the jostle. “Guess I’ll have to be your nurse, then. Want me to put on a sexy nurse outfit?”
Roman raises a brow. “What, you gonna spoon-feed me?”
“I totally would.”
Roman snorts, then groans when the movement jostles his shoulder. “I don’t think I trust you with sharp objects near my mouth.”
“Sharp?” Crew gasps, hand to chest. “My spooning skills are impeccable.”
Elijah rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t stick. “Both of you shut up before Claire strangles you.”
“If I’m going to strangle anyone… It will be you,” Claire snaps at him. “Now get a move on with those boxes. Downstairs rooms are yours.”
Will clears his throat, loud enough to quiet the bickering. He sets the last box down with the kind of precision only Will has. “No one’s sleeping on the couch. Roman gets the downstairs guest room, and Elijah and Crew will take the ones next to him. End of discussion.”
Roman looks ready to argue, but Archer’s voice cuts in from the doorway. “He’s right. You need a bed.”
The silence that follows stretches, heavier than before. Roman swallows hard, some of the fight draining from him. “Fine. Bed. But Crew’s still dressing as my nurse.”
Crew beams, victory declared. “Gladly. I look amazing in white.”
A ripple of laughter breaks the tension, even if it’s thin and fragile. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.
Archer doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even glance at Roman. His gaze finds me instead, and he leans against the wall down the hallway, arms crossed. He’s not angry, just tense.
I step closer. “Archer—”
He shakes his head slightly, eyes flicking toward the living room where Roman sprawls on the couch, Crew lounging next to him, Elijah leaning casually nearby. “I hate how close they are to you,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “After everything… it feels wrong.”
I hesitate. “They’re only here because of him,” I remind him softly. “Claire and Will brought them here to protect all of us. To protect me. This isn’t about them being safe… It’s about keeping me safe, and I feel like we owe Roman something after he was shot.”
Archer’s jaw tightens. “I know. I get that. But seeing them so… comfortable around you, laughing, acting like nothing ever happened… it doesn’t sit right.
Not after everything.” He takes a deep breath, almost like it pains him to do so.
“We don’t owe him anything, Lottie. He chose to go after his dad without a gun. This is all his own doing.”
I reach out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “I know, but it’s part of surviving. They’re part of the plan to keep us alive. And right now, alive is all that matters.”
He swallows, eyes flicking back toward the living room. “I just… I’ll never stop feeling like I need to watch over you.”
“You don’t have to stop,” I whisper. “I need you to. That’s why I let you.”
Oscar moves over to us, hands moving. “I don’t like them being here either, especially after everything. But are you going to argue with your Mom?”
“God no.” Archer shudders. “She’s terrifying when you try fuck with her plans.”
Oscar’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh, though his expression is grim. His hands move again, quick and sharp. “Still don’t trust them. Not one bit.”
Archer smirks faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Good. At least we agree on something.”
I glance back toward the living room. Roman is still sprawled on the couch like he owns it, Crew stretched out beside him, Elijah leaning against the wall with that bored confidence that makes my skin prickle.
Claire is fussing with a stack of pill bottles, muttering under her breath about dosage charts, while Will hovers nearby like the silent guard he always is.
The scene almost looks ordinary—almost. But I feel Archer’s words settle deep in my chest, heavy and true. The laughter, the casualness, but it doesn’t erase the history.
“We don’t have to trust them,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. “We just have to survive Lorenzo.”
Archer nods once, slow, deliberate. “And I’ll make sure you do.”
Oscar rolls his eyes.“We’ll make sure.”
Archer groans under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
“Nightmare?” Crew’s voice drifts from the living room, dramatic and far too loud. “This is a hospitality retreat, Archer. Five stars, all-inclusive. Claire even gives out meds on schedule.”
“Crew,” Claire warns without looking up from her pill bottles.
“What?” He grins, unrepentant. “Roman’s got his throne, Elijah’s pretending he’s too cool to even be here, and I—” he stretches his arms wide—“am clearly the emotional support clown of this circus.”
Elijah snorts. “Emotional support pain in the ass.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” Crew fires back.
Roman groans, rolling onto his side with exaggerated effort. “If you two don’t shut up, I’m going to bleed on something expensive just to spite you.”
Claire’s head snaps up. “Like you haven’t already. It cost me a fortune to get that carpet replaced.”
Roman smirks faintly, but it doesn’t last. His eyes flick to the floor. “Not exactly my fault that my dad put a bullet in me.”
Claire’s arms fold tighter across her chest, her stare like a blade. “You went after him without a weapon, Roman. You didn’t think. You just charged in like some hero in a bad movie. And look where it got you—bleeding all over my carpet while we scrambled to keep you alive.”
The room stills. Crew shifts uncomfortably, glancing between them. Elijah doesn’t even bother to hide the shake of his head, muttering, “You were an idiot.”
Roman’s jaw tightens. “What was I supposed to do? Sit back and pretend I didn’t know what he’s done?” His voice lifts, rough around the edges, and then dips back down, quiet but fierce. “I couldn’t.”
Claire doesn’t flinch. She just steps closer, her voice low and dangerous.
“No one’s saying you had to do nothing. But charging at Lorenzo empty-handed wasn’t brave, Roman.
It was reckless. You could’ve died… You nearly did die and if it wasn’t for Lottie begging for you to live, I probably would have left you on the ground outside after everything you did to her. ”
Roman swallows hard, the bravado cracking, but he doesn’t answer, and I can’t blame him.
Claire has an air about her that when she tells you to shut up…
you do. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until even Crew stops fidgeting.
Elijah leans back against the wall, arms crossed, his usual mask of indifference slipping just enough to show that he’s watching Roman, judging.
Roman sinks further into the couch, suddenly looking smaller despite the smirk he tries to pull back onto his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
Claire exhales sharply, like she’s burned through all her patience in one breath. “Will, get him off my couch before he stains something else. Guest room. Now.”
Will moves without a word, his presence enough to make Roman drag himself up with a groan. Crew hurries to gather the bags, his mouth twitching like he wants to crack another joke but thinks better of it.
Elijah pushes off the wall, muttering as he follows, “Told you. Idiot.”
Roman doesn’t rise to the bait this time. He just limps past, jaw tight, eyes carefully avoiding mine.
When they disappear down the hallway, the house finally feels like it exhales. Claire presses a hand to her temple, muttering something about fools and carpets, while Will rubs a hand over her back.
Beside me, Archer lets out a low breath. “See? That’s what I mean.” His voice is quiet, only for me. “He’s chaos, Lottie. All of them are. And chaos gets people killed. I refuse to lose you because they can’t get their heads on straight.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “I know they’re a mess. But right now… they’re also a shield. If Lorenzo comes again, it’s not just us he has to get through.”
Archer shakes his head, leaning closer, his voice low. “A shield that breaks the second someone does something stupid. That’s not protection, Lottie… It’s a gamble. And I don’t gamble with you.”
The words sink, and my chest aches because he’s right—Roman bleeding out on Claire’s carpet wasn’t just a mistake, it was proof that Lorenzo truly doesn’t care about who he hurts.
Oscar’s hands move. “He’s right. I refuse to lose you. They haven’t exactly shown they care about you in the past. I don’t trust them, not one bit.”
Archer jerks his chin toward him, like he’s been waiting for backup. “Exactly.”
Heat flares in my chest. “So what’s the alternative? Kick them out? Leave them on the street while Lorenzo’s still hunting us?” My voice cracks, too loud, too raw. “That doesn’t make us safer. That just makes us as bad as him.”
Archer’s jaw works, like he’s chewing on the words, swallowing something bitter. He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me with that fierce, stubborn kind of love that makes me feel both safe and smothered.
Oscar’s hands flick again. “Just be careful, yeah?”
I glance toward the hall where Roman and Elijah disappeared.
The silence they left feels sharp, like broken glass under bare feet.
Claire’s threat echoes in my head, her promise she would’ve left Roman outside if not for me.
That didn’t sound like safety. That sounded like survival, and I’m so sick of only surviving.
Before I can say more, the creak of footsteps pulls my attention back. Crew slips into the room, quieter than usual, his usual grin nowhere in sight. He rubs the back of his neck, looking… uneasy.
“Hey,” he says, softer than I’ve ever heard him. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the jokes earlier.” He shrugs, awkward, eyes darting between us. “It all felt… heavy. Too much. I thought laughing would make it better, but… it probably just made it worse.”
I give him a small tired smile. “I know you were trying. And honestly… even if it was bad timing, it did help. For a second.”
Archer exhales hard through his nose, but his shoulders ease. Oscar signs, slower this time, and I translate. “We just don’t want things brushed off. Not with everything that’s happened to her.”
Crew nods quickly. “Yeah. I get that. I do. I’m not trying to pretend any of this didn’t happen. I just… I don’t know what to do when it all feels like it’s closing in. Before I would have got high, been a total letdown, and have Roman clean up my mess… but I’m trying to be better.”
Archer watches Crew for a long beat, arms folded, eyes sharp like he’s weighing every word. Finally, he sighs, the sound low and rough. “At least you’re honest about it. More than I can say for Roman.”
Crew flinches but doesn’t argue. He just nods, staring at the floor. “Roman… he’s complicated. But I’m not him. I know we don’t exactly deserve your trust, not after… everything. I just don’t want to make things worse for her.” His eyes flick to me, quick, almost guilty. “For Lottie.”
Oscar’s hands move, slower this time. “Then prove it. Words don’t mean much right now.”
Archer translates what Oscar said, and Crew bites his lip, then nods again. “Fair. I’ll prove it.” He pauses, then tries for a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Might take me a while, though. I’m better at bad jokes and fucking things up than… whatever this is.”
Despite myself, I huff out a laugh. The sound surprises me. “You’re doing okay.”
Archer groans under his breath, dragging a hand over his face. “God help me, if he actually becomes tolerable, I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
Crew grins, a little brighter now. “See? That was almost a compliment. We’re making progress already.”