Chapter 27
Oscar
Roman is standing at the counter, shirtless and still glittering faintly under the kitchen light. He looks like someone threw a rave in the shower. Crew’s got a towel around his neck, hair dripping wet, and Elijah’s trying too hard to act like he doesn’t care that his skin is literally shimmering.
I lean back against the island, sipping water, pretending not to be amused.
Lottie is in her element—barefoot, hair a tangled mess, cheeks pink from laughing too hard. She’s pulling tray after tray of cookies from the oven. The smell of peanut butter and sugar clings to the air.
Archer laughs, pointing toward Roman. “You’re sparkling, man. Like, full-on vampire.”
Roman’s head tilts back. “Don’t start.”
“Too late,” Claire chimes in. “Twilight’s making a comeback, apparently.”
Will’s lips curve up, his shoulders shake gently. “Edward Cullen, who?”
That’s it—everyone loses it. Even Elijah cracks a laugh, trying to hide it behind his hand. For a second, it’s perfect—this strange little moment where everything’s simple again.
No ghosts, no grief. Just them.
I don’t realize I’m smiling until Archer nudges me.
“She’s happy,” I sign. Unable to stop myself from looking at her again. “Like, really happy for the first time since I met her. She’s healing Archer, and I hate to admit it, but it’s because of them.”
“I know…” he sighs, his body heaving next to me. “I just want her to continue being this happy. All the bullshit on the other side of the door… I hate it. Hate that all she gets is small pieces of happiness.”
“We’ll protect her.”
Then Lottie moves.
She stretches to grab something from the top shelf, and her sweatshirt rides up.
The moment shatters.
There, along her ribs—shadows of purple, fading yellow, deep bruises painted across pale skin.
Archer sees it at the same time I do. His entire body stiffens. I can feel the change in him—the air gets heavier, his shoulders square.
I sign quickly, “Wait. Don’t blow up at her… didn’t end well for you last time.”
“She’s covered in bruises, Oscar…”
“I know. I’m deaf, not blind, Archer. But just give her a moment, yeah?”
His jaw flexes, eyes burning. “What the hell happened to her?”
She turns, oblivious, laughing at something Crew says. But one by one, they all notice. Elijah’s face goes still. Crew stops mid-sentence. Roman’s smirk fades.
Will’s the last to see. When he does, the look on his face could quiet a storm. He sets his mug down slowly. “Lottie.”
She blinks, confused. “Yeah?”
“What’s that?” He gestures to her side.
She follows his gaze, realization dawning—and immediately, she pulls the sweatshirt down. “It’s fine,” she says quickly. “I’m fine.”
Archer steps forward. “That’s not fine. What happened?”
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
Claire shifts where she stands, eyes flicking between them. She knows something. I can tell by the set of her mouth.
Will turns toward her. “Claire.”
Claire meets his stare without flinching. “She’s been training.”
Roman blinks. “Training?”
“Self-defense,” Claire clarifies. “With me.”
No one moves. And I swear none of them take a breath as the room seems to stall.
“She’s bruised all over.” Crew’s gaze darts from Lottie to Claire. “That’s not training, that’s—”
“Necessary,” Claire cuts in.
Roman scoffs. “Necessary? She looks—”
“Like someone who’s learning how to protect herself,” Claire interrupts sharply. “And before anyone starts pointing fingers, you should all remember who put her in a position where she needed that.”
That shuts him up fast.
Archer’s still standing too close. “She could’ve taught you without that.”
“She couldn’t,” Lottie’s hands move as she talks. “You wouldn’t have let her push me that hard. None of you would.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, frustration breaking across his face. He glances at Claire, accusation in his eyes, but she holds his gaze steady.
“She’s right,” Claire says. “You’d have babied her. You still do.”
Archer’s jaw tightens. “Because she’s been through hell.”
“And that’s exactly why she needs this,” Claire snaps back. “Because the world doesn’t stop hurting just because she already has.”
The words hit him hard. I can see it in the way his shoulders drop, his hands curl into fists.
Will crosses his arms, eyes dark. “You could’ve said something, Claire.”
“It wasn’t my place.”
Lottie takes a deep breath, glancing around. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I just—” She hesitates, lip trembling. “I need to know that if something happens again, I won’t freeze. I can’t go back to being that girl.”
The silence after that is different.
Elijah looks away, jaw tight. Crew fidgets with the towel’s hem. Even Roman doesn’t have a snide comment. Will sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You sure you’re okay?”
Lottie nods. “Sore, yeah. But okay.”
Claire’s expression softens. “She’s strong. Bruises heal.”
Archer shakes his head, still conflicted. “I hate seeing you hurt.”
She smiles faintly. “I know, but this is necessary.”
I step closer, catching her attention. “You’re doing this for yourself?” I sign.
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Then I’m proud of you.”
Her expression breaks—just for a moment, her eyes glisten. “Thank you.”
Finally, Elijah clears his throat. “You’re learning to fight,” he says slowly, “with Claire.”
Lottie shrugs. “She’s the best.”
Claire smirks. “Flattery will get you extra drills.”
“What’s next? She takes on us?” Roman groans.
Lottie grins. “Maybe.”
Crew leans back against the fridge. “I’m not fighting her. She’s terrifying when she smiles like that.”
Lottie throws a cookie crumb at him. “Coward.”
Will exhales, the tension finally breaking. “Alright,” he says, shaking his head. “As long as no one’s dying, I’ll let it slide. But next time, I want to know before she comes home looking like she fought a bear.”
Claire raises an eyebrow. “A bear would’ve lost.”
Archer finally moves closer, pulling her into a hug. “You scare the hell out of me,” he mutters.
She hugs him back, cheek pressed to his chest. “You love it.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
Will’s still frowning, but the edge is gone. He looks at Claire. “You hit her hard?”
Claire shrugs. “She hit back.”
He sighs, muttering something that looks suspiciously like God help me.
The tension dissolves slowly after that. Crew sits on the counter, swinging his legs. Roman raids the fridge like the argument never happened. Elijah lingers, still too quiet, watching Lottie like he’s seeing her for the first time.
Archer leans beside me, signing low. “I wanted to be mad.”
“You still are.”
He nods once. “Yeah. But… she needs it.”
“She needed someone who wouldn’t go easy on her.”
“Claire’s right. We’d have babied her.”
“You would’ve.”
He glares. “You wouldn’t?”
“Maybe a little,” I sign with a grin.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile behind it.
“Alright,” Will claps his hands. “So we’re all clear. No more pranks and no more secret sparring sessions, yeah?”
Lottie pretends to think. “Define secret.”
Claire smirks. “Define stop.”
Will groans, looking at the ceiling. “I live with heathens.”
Lottie steps forward and hugs him. “You love us.”
He hugs her back, tight. “Unfortunately.”
Lottie turns then, looking at all of us—the glittering boys, the exasperated adults, the crumbs and chaos scattered everywhere. Her bruises catch the light again, faint now, already fading. But I see something else there, too.
Strength.
Will looks at her and sighs. “You’re really okay?”
She nods, firm this time. “Yeah. For the first time in a long time, I really am.”
I guide her down the hall, and her fingers lace into mine. It’s just her, her heat pressed against me, her presence demanding attention.
I press her lightly against the wall, palm resting on the small of her back. She tilts her head, letting her hair brush my shoulder, eyes catching mine, lips curving in that teasing, knowing way.
Her hands weave into my hair, tilting my head toward hers.
I press a soft kiss along her jawline, linger at the curve of her neck.
Her breath hitches, a quiet shiver running through her.
I trace her collarbone with my lips, fingers gliding down her side, careful over bruises from Claire’s training.
She shivers, pressing herself to me. I kiss lightly over each mark, reverent.
Her hands slide down my chest, over my shoulders, fingers mapping like words. I follow her lead, hands exploring the curve of her back, memorizing her form. Lips find the nape of her neck again, teasing, slow. She arches into it.
She signs again, almost shyly this time, “I love you.”
My chest tightens, warmth flooding me. I brush my thumb along her cheek, whisper against her skin, “I love you too.”
I trace the letters against her skin with gentle pressure, letting her feel my answer.
She shivers, presses closer.
I kiss along the line of her collarbone, tracing over sensitive skin, lingering over bruises. She arches, letting me map her fully, fingers gripping my shoulders, pulling me toward her. Every touch is dialogue, every shiver a sentence.
Her hands roam lower, teasing, guiding. I respond, brushing my lips along her side, over the bruises, leaving soft kisses and gentle pressure. She presses into me, guiding my movements, letting me know she’s ready for everything I can give.
Her hips tilt, pressing against mine. I let my hands roam, tracing along her back, over bruises, letting her feel every reverent touch.
She presses closer, hands sliding along my shoulders and down my arms. I respond in kind, brushing along the bruises on her ribs again, lips lingering, letting her know she is safe.
I brush my thumb along her jaw, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Forever,” I sign back, letting the words carry the weight I feel. She shivers, presses fully into me, her warmth a tether, grounding me.