Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Beckett Harrington
I sank into the hotel bed each night, disappearing between sheets so soft they could only be Egyptian cotton. The pillow cradled my head like a cloud, but even luxury couldn’t fill the Theo-and-Asher-shaped void beside me.
Sleep became my only comfort—dreamless, peaceful oblivion under a comforter that somehow stayed cool against my skin, no matter how long I lay there.
But consciousness always found me eventually, yanking me from comfort into a spiral of unanswered questions. What now? Where do I go from here?
The hotel room’s digital clock blinked 11:17 AM on what was, according to the muted TV in the corner, Thanksgiving morning.
Three days of exile had given me nothing but circular thoughts about Asher and the wreckage we’d made of everything.
His words at the hospital kept replaying in my mind.
His declaration felt too late to be genuine.
If only he’d spoken his feelings before everything fell apart—before I had reason to doubt. Now they hung in the air like bait on a hook, designed to reel me back in.
Yet something in me couldn’t fully dismiss them, couldn’t stop wondering if beneath the timing and circumstances, there might be truth worth trusting.
Realistically, I knew I could trust him, even after everything.
I’d kept his dad’s phone close since that day, turning it over in my hands each night but never quite bringing myself to delete anything. There was no rush now—the bastard was locked up where he belonged. Just like my own father was.
Funny how Asher’s dad had always acted superior to mine, when they were cut from the same poisonous cloth.
The only difference? My father’s cruelty never left marks on my skin the way his dad’s had.
Hours turned to days in that hotel room, and clarity crept in with the silence. My grand escape had become its own prison. Every time my phone lit up with Theo’s texts, I felt the walls closing in on what I’d convinced myself was breathing room.
Lucas’s voice on the call yesterday cut through my excuses. “You’re not processing—you’re hiding.” He was right. The bed that had felt like sanctuary now felt like solitary confinement, and the freedom I’d sought had revealed itself as the loneliest kind of emptiness.
“Asher fucked up, and I’m pissed he did that. But if you were in his place, do you think you’d make the same decision? Especially when it’s planted in your head by the man who manipulates, controls, and abuses you?” Lucas’s words landed like a stone in still water, rippling through my certainty.
I should’ve already talked to Asher and Theo about what happened, worked through our issues. Instead, like a coward, I kept up with Asher’s status through Theo’s informational texts, choosing to talk to my brothers about what happened while avoiding the two people involved who mattered most.
During my self-imposed exile, I finally called my brothers and confessed everything—the video work, my relationship with Theo and Asher, all of it.
I braced for judgment, for lectures about my choices.
Instead, they aimed their fury where it belonged—at our father and Asher’s dad, the men whose actions had backed us all into impossible corners.
It felt like a large weight was lifted off my chest, and it was the first step toward reuniting with my boyfriends. Because no matter what, they were just that—mine.
A notification chimed from my nightstand, and I reached for my phone to find Theo’s name lighting up the screen with a text.
I hope you’ll join us for Thanksgiving, even if it means you leave after.
The covers flew off as I launched myself out of bed. Deep down, I’d already chosen my path, but Theo’s text was the spark that ignited action.
My room was a mess. I didn’t do anything except order room service and lie around, overthinking things. Opening the phone, going through the videos, and deciding what to do—except I hadn’t decided.
It had been days, but now I knew what I had to do, and it involved putting on something other than these three-day-old sweatpants.
I brought enough outfits to last a week, filling two suitcases with my things before heading out of the apartment. It wasn’t like I had many things there.
I hauled my sleep-heavy body to the bathroom where hot water and steam worked their magic.
After days of neglect, the ritual felt foreign—cologne misting across my neck, bristles scraping against my teeth, comb battling tangles until the mirror reflected someone who looked like me again, someone presentable enough to face them.
Today marked the first Thanksgiving without my family.
It would look entirely different now—filled with new memories, ones that involved more than just sitting around waiting for someone to serve us.
One that real families experienced every year. Home-cooked food, normal conversation, and maybe a movie.
Though knowing Theo, he’d insist on some obscenely expensive bottle of wine that would make any normal family dinner feel like a luxurious gathering.
After packing my bags, I checked out at the front desk. Theo had me set up in one of the luxury suites. It wasn’t traditional—I didn’t have to pay, of course, but I had to let the desk know I was vacating the room so they could give it to someone else.
I threw my suitcases into my car and headed to the apartment, my heart racing more and more the closer I got.
What would their faces show when I walked through that door?
Three days might as well have been three years—enough time for whispered conversations, for decisions made in my absence.
The invitation could be a goodbye, a way to tell me that they were done.
Maybe they discovered they only wanted each other.
God knows I’d earned their rejection after bolting when Asher lay broken and needing me most.
After I’d thrown that first punch and kept emotional distance ever since.
The fifteen-minute drive to our building stretched into an eternity. Every red light felt deliberate; every slow driver an obstacle between me and what mattered. My fingers hovered over my phone several times, but no combination of words could capture what needed to be said face-to-face.
When I finally pulled into the parking garage, I left my suitcases behind in the trunk—they could wait.
My boyfriends couldn’t. My feet carried me through the lobby and into the elevator, my heart hammering against my ribs with each floor that passed.
Three days of silence weighed on me, heavier with each step toward our door.
The door clicked shut behind me as familiar aromas washed over me—roasted turkey, buttery potatoes, the unmistakable signature spices that Chef Andrews always used.
Home, but the catered version of it. I hesitated in the entryway, scanning the apartment until my gaze landed first on Asher, who looked up from the couch with widening eyes, then on Theo bustling around in the kitchen beyond him.
“Beckett,” Asher said, pushing himself up from the couch. He froze halfway, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. “You’re… here.”
A sharp breath hitched as he clutched his ribs, wincing.
“Asher! You’re supposed to be—” Theo cut himself off mid-stride, a heavy plate of turkey in his hands. His gaze snapped to me, and his whole face lit up. “Wait—you are here!”
He hurried to the table and dropped the plate in the center with a soft clatter.
Asher shifted like he meant to stand again, but Theo shot him a look sharp enough to pin him in place. “Sit. You’re recovering. Food’s almost ready.”
Asher sank back with a groan. “Great,” he muttered. “At least you didn’t cook it.”
Theo rolled his eyes.
I guess that explained why it smelled familiar.
Theo hired the same chef our families had always used. I was surprised he was able to get him on such short notice, since we had plans for Asher to cook before he got hurt.
“You got food catered for Thanksgiving? Last minute?” I questioned, Theo and I a few steps away from each other now.
“Had to. Asher accepted my help. He needs to rest and heal, can’t spend the day on his feet. Chef Andrews just dropped it off minutes ago. Cost a pretty penny ordering his food last minute. I was just plating it all,” he explained.
I stepped closer and took his hand, my gaze locked with his.
“Theo…” My voice cracked. The words I’d rehearsed in the car evaporated.
Instead, what tumbled out was raw, unfiltered.
“These past three days without you both—it was like missing limbs. I kept reaching for something that wasn’t there.
” I brushed my thumb across his knuckles, then lifted my other hand to his face, tracing the curve of his cheekbone.
“I was wrong to walk away. We face things together, the three of us.” When his lips curved into that smile—the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle—something tight in my chest finally loosened as he leaned into my palm.
“I understand why you left. I don’t blame you.
I needed you to spend time apart to realize what you had here,” he said quietly.
“But you realized it, and you’re back. Just in time for our first Thanksgiving together.
” Joy radiated from Theo’s face, transforming his features into something almost luminous.
I’m glad I was here to apologize and work things out instead of breaking up for good, or this would’ve been awkward.
“It’ll look a little different, of course. No home-cooked meal,” Theo said, looking around at the room. “But it’s us. Just us. No family. No maids. No being served.”
“And it’ll be perfect because it’s us.” I leaned down and placed a kiss on his head. “Now, I’ve got to talk to Asher. You go bring food to the table, and I’ll set it in a moment.”