Chapter 12
Twelve
DIMITRI
No one dares to make a sound or comment about our previous conversation now that Hope is eating with some show playing on the TV.
Did she hear? Does she know?
The couch beneath me shakes slightly since Jaxon can’t stop the tremor in his leg. I push him once again and stare at his leg but he just huffs.
Perhaps I should change the subject… and steer away from the storm that has the power to destroy us.
“So, sweetheart, are we all sleeping with you tonight, or…?” I offer and Knox almost chokes on his beer.
Jax looks up, a cheese noodle hanging off his lip, and says, “You askin’ for a foursome, Dimitri?”
I’ve never seen Hope turn red so quick, except maybe when she was concussed and bleeding from her hairline.
Jax keeps going, mouth too full of food to care. “You could rotate. A cuddle relay. Like, the Russian thing and then the Finnish one, then the American leg. I think that’s how they do it in the Olympics.”
“That’s a relay, not an orgy,” I deadpan.
Hope chokes again and buries her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-mortified.
Knox cuts in, his voice a surprise because he’s actually laughing too. “Jax, if you keep talking, she’s going to stab you with those chopsticks.” He leans back, catches Hope’s eye, and for once his smile doesn’t look like something hurting inside him. “Ignore him. He was raised in a barn.”
“I was… wait, actually, pretty close to a barn.” Jax grins, nuzzles Hope’s arm, and then flicks a piece of rice at me. “So what is it, Hope? You want all of us in bed? Or like, just to have bodyguards?”
“Neither,” she says, but it’s a weak protest. “I want sleep. Real, actual, non-nightmare sleep.”
Jax shrugs like that’s the most reasonable thing in the world.
Knox says, “We can do that.” Not a question. “I’ll take the left side. Dimitri, you in or out?”
I shrug. “In if she wants.”
We all stare at Hope, knowing that we’re pushing this. But we all need a distraction from what’s to come.
Hope makes a weird, strangled sound. “Why does it feel like you’re all about to hunt and eat me alive?”
Jax grins, eyes full of mischief. “Because we are, baby. You’re the little wounded gazelle.”
Hope throws her chopsticks at him. He lets the hit land, then bows low as if it’s the highest honor to be attacked by her.
I lean in, closer than I probably should, and murmur, “You okay with this, really?”
She looks at me, and her expression is so raw I almost look away. “Nothing’s okay. But… I don’t want to be alone. Just don’t… I don’t…”
“You’re safe,” I whisper.
“Fine,” she says with a weak smile.
Knox is the one who smirks first, but I know he’s buzzing inside.
He tosses his empty beer can in the bin with a little too much force, then wipes his hands on a napkin, not looking at anyone.
I watch Jax. He waits until Hope finishes her plate, then grins over at me.
He knows her better than anyone, probably better than I ever could. I think it should bother me, but it doesn’t. It’s a relief.
Knox pulls out his phone, fiddles with it like he’s waiting on a text, but really he’s just distracting himself so none of us make it weird and there’s no added pressure.
This is what we’ve become: three busted assholes and one broken girl, eating rotisserie chicken and watching Friends reruns, pretending there’s a future for any of us. But I’ll take it.
We all do our best to act like the news we saw earlier isn’t replaying in our heads, that the “urgent tip line” isn’t going to lead right to our doorstep.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take a quick peek. My throat dries instantly as I see my dad’s name filling the screen.
Shit.
My eyes find Knox’s, and he looks at me like he already knows who’s calling. Will this be a warning call? No. He doesn’t care enough to warn us.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I glance at Hope, the one we failed to protect. But we won’t fail again. Jax is watching her too, jaw tight, his knee bouncing.
The phone vibrates again. I stand up, walk to the kitchen, and answer.
“Dimitri.” My father’s voice is low, almost tired.
That’s how I know it’s bad. He’s never tired. He operates in one gear—authoritarian police chief, king of the fucking mountain—and if he sounds tired, it means something is about to cave in. We know he’s the one that can put the pieces together, who can lock us all away.
“What is it?” I whisper, voice tight.
There’s a pause. I hear him breathing. Always the same trick: see if I’ll break first. And I hate how my heart stammers in my chest, how my hands are turning clammy.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Dad says. His voice is smoke and gravel, and every syllable is a hook. “You know why I’m calling.”
“No clue,” I say.
He clicks his tongue, annoyed. “You been following the news?”
“Obviously.” I swallow, then, “You think it was me.”
Another silence, longer this time.
“I don’t think anything. I know.” His voice is so cold, so distant.
I want to tell him to fuck off so badly, to hang up and turn my back on the whole mess. But if he’s calling, he’s desperate. And desperate men are dangerous. I force my voice steady. “What do you want?”
Dad’s voice drops to a whisper. “If they find him, it’s over for all of us.”
I scoff. “There’s no us.”
“They won’t let this go so easily,” he says. “She knows too much, we all do.”
I grit my teeth. “No one’s finding anything. You know it.”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “I can’t protect you.”
“Like you ever did,” I spit back. “This isn’t about protecting me; it’s about covering your own ass. You knew about Coach, probably before anyone else.” Maybe he didn’t know everything, but he always knew enough.
“I’m not going down for this. Give them a name, Dimitri,” he says, his voice sharp.
“You want me to give you Hope.” I keep my voice low, so no one in the living room can hear. Dad sighs, and somehow it’s even worse than his anger.
“The world needs a villain. Don’t choose to be the hero.”
I want to say something sharp, something final, but my tongue is dead in my mouth. I know what’s really being said: it’s not about right or wrong, not anymore. It’s about survival, about legacy, about who’ll still be standing when they finish combing the bones from the ground.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer and the line goes dead.
When I go back to the living room, the others look up like they were just waiting for my return.
Knox’s face is stone, but I catch how he flicks a glance at Hope and then away, like maybe if he looks too long she’ll break again.
Jax juggles the TV remote in his hand, but he’s not watching anything; he’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard I can see the blood on his gums.
Hope’s eyes are on me, like she knew all along that the call was coming, and she’s waiting for the verdict.
“Bad news?” Jax finally says.
“Nothing we didn’t expect,” I say, and try to make it sound like a joke, but it lands flat.
Hope tugs her knees closer to her chest, curling in until she’s barely a shape on the couch.
I want to tell her it’s fine, that I’ll handle my dad, but she’s not an idiot and I’m a shitty liar.
I sit next to her, give her some space, but she leans sideways until our arms touch.
It’s nothing, but I feel it right to the bone.
“You okay?” I whisper.
She shrugs. “No,” she says, so softly I almost miss it. “Do you think they’re going to find the body?”
“Honestly, no clue. But it won’t be an easy find,” I say.
“Dogs,” Jax chips in. “Fucking dogs.”
“We’ll be okay,” I whisper to Hope as I glare at Jaxon for his dog comment.
“They have to find the cabin first,” Knox says, gets up, and reaches for Hope. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart.”
HOPE
I know I said yes, and with all that has happened tonight, I’m glad I did. But I don’t think I’m ready. Ever since that news bit about my dad, it feels like I’m not really here anymore. As if I’m watching myself from afar. And to hear what the guys have planned if shit goes down… I can’t.
I still wait for the panic, the fear, the need to run and get the hell out. But none comes. Perhaps it’s better to not feel anything right now, perhaps it means I will finally get some freaking sleep.
My eyes drift over to Knox and Jaxon and I wonder if I can even sleep with them surrounding me.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Jax says and tugs on the hem of my shirt. “Why don’t you get ready and get under the covers. We’ll join in a bit.”
I blink up at him, my mind blank, and all that slips off my tongue is, “No.”
“No?” He tilts his head to the side.
“I don’t know,” I mutter and stand up from the bed. “I don’t want to fall asleep alone, it doesn’t work anyway.” A faint smile tugs on his lips and I mirror it. “Put your piercings back in.”
“Promise not to claw them out tonight,” he teases.
“I’ll promise nothing,” I tease back and crawl into bed.
“There she is,” Jax says. “Feared we might have broken you tonight.”
“Jax,” Knox warns.
“What?” Jax says with a shrug of his shoulders and crawls in bed beside me. “I’ll put them in tomorrow. Don’t want to lose my spot next to you.”
I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes me. Slowly, the state of feeling nothing fades as his warmth seeps into my skin.
Knox pulls off his shirt, tosses it on the chair, and stands a second too long at the foot of the bed like he’s waiting for a signal. I nod, just enough to say it’s fine, and then he slides in on my left.
Dimitri comes in last, having brushed his teeth and run his fingers through his hair so it spikes at odd angles.
He doesn’t say a word as he stares at the guys.
I have a feeling he wants to make a comment but it seems he keeps it to himself today.
He just lifts the covers and settles onto my right, next to Jax.
I’m boxed in, tucked, a little bit suffocated, but I can tell none of them are touching me. Not yet.
My heart’s going like a machine gun. I know the rhythm by now; it’s what happens before a panic attack, the buildup.
I can’t move my arms. I’m pretty sure I’m sweating through my shirt.
I try to will myself to relax, but the fear feels thick and hot.
Overwhelming. As if it has been lurking in the background, waiting, and chose this moment to come back and drown me.
Just as I’m about to lose it, I remember what Jo said: box breathing.
I picture it in my head, a line building the sides of a square, and I force myself to breathe in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold again.
The first cycle does nothing, but I keep going, keep drawing the box.
By the third round, my hands stop shaking.
By the sixth, I realize I haven’t been touched, not once, not even accidentally.
It feels like a test I’m failing, but also winning.
Jax whispers, “You okay?” and his voice is so gentle I almost don’t recognize it.
“Yeah,” I say, but it comes out so small I’m not sure they heard me.
“You want to hold someone?” he asks. “Or want us to keep our distance?”
I swallow, thinking about it. I want both, which makes no sense, but nothing about this year has made sense.
Me and Jax sleep together every night. He holds me in my sleep, I wake up in his arms, but this is different. Normally, I’m already half-asleep before he joins and now I’m wide awake between him and Knox.
I roll onto my side, facing Jax, and I hear him stop breathing for a second.
I inch forward until my fingers bump the curve of his ribs.
He’s tense, but lets me test it, lets me lead.
I slide my hand up just enough to feel his heartbeat, sensing how his is going just as fast as mine.
I scoot in closer until my knee touches his thigh.
The world doesn’t end. I’m still breathing.
“I’m okay,” I manage, and he lets out a long, slow sigh. His arm comes around my waist, but he keeps it loose.
“You’re doing really good,” he whispers.
Knox shifts his weight behind me.
“You’re fine?” Jax repeats. And it’s both a question and a reassurance.
Dimitri doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension radiating off him from the other side of Jax. Like he’s holding his breath and waiting for the experiment to fail. But it doesn’t. I close my eyes and let the hum of their warmth settle around me.
The fear doesn’t leave, not really, but it gets quieter. Less like a scream and more like an echo.
Knox’s hand gently lands on my shoulder and I breathe through the tension.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, and the words are so gentle they almost don’t sound like his.
I drift, not quite asleep, but close to it. I let myself imagine that maybe, just maybe, none of us are going to ruin this. That maybe we can be fucked up together, and maybe that’s enough.