Chapter 15
Haven
The second I woke up this morning, the dread was there—settled low in my chest. I stared at the ceiling for a while, debating if I even had the energy to move, then reached for my phone and sent a quick, rambling text to Cassie.
Nothing deep, just a “hey, I feel weird today” kind of thing with a half-joke slapped on the end so she wouldn’t worry too much.
I didn’t wait for her to answer before slipping out of bed and tiptoeing down the hall, careful not to wake Carter or Tate.
Outside, the air was cool enough to sting my lungs a little, and I clutched my cup of coffee, sitting on the porch steps for a few stolen minutes of silence while the house slept.
When I step back inside, the smell of coffee hits first, and I spot Carter at the counter fiddling with the machine. His shoulders perk the second he notices me, that brightness lighting up his whole face.
“Hey, good morning,” he says, reaching for a cup like he’s about to offer me some even though I’ve got my own.
“Morning,” I manage to yawn out. I glance toward the hall. “Is Tate up yet?”
Carter shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes before he pushes it back with the heel of his hand. “Not that I saw. He’s dead to the world in there, you know how he is.”
There’s that warmth he carries, that almost makes me forget the weight in my chest, almost.
I nod, giving him a faint smile before slipping back toward my desk, where the monitor is waiting, pulsing like a warning light the quiet had already drained away, replaced with the suffocating buzz of screens and voices.
My fingers tense around the mouse, my breath’s coming a little faster than it should. The headset feels too warm, too loud, even though I’ve barely said a word myself.
His name just flashed across the match list. D7LAN of course he made it through the bracket, because why wouldn’t he?
I try to even out my breathing, crack my neck, adjust the way I’m sitting. It doesn’t help, nothing helps. His gamer tag loads across from mine like a flashing warning sign.
Behind me, I hear Tate start to wake, the sheets dragging as he rolls over and blinks himself into the day.
His yawn cracks the quiet just as Carter’s coming back from the kitchen from making what has to be his fourth cup of coffee.
Neither of them says a word when they see the bracket refresh on my monitor but I hear the shift in energy instantly.
“Hey,” Carter says gently, stepping closer. “You got this.”
I nod once and then again like it’ll trick my body into believing it. Tate just mutters under his breath. “Fucking finally.”
The match is absolute chaos, Dylan’s always been fast but I’m faster.
He starts the round with a taunt over comms, the stupid smug voice that used to get under my skin and crawl there like rot. “Bet it’s been boring without someone keeping you sharp.”
Fuck him. I move like I’ve got fire in my blood. I dodge and duck, reload faster than I ever have. I throw myself into the fight because if I hesitate, I lose. And I am not losing to him, not again.
The map feels like it’s closing in on me, tight corridors, sharp turns, shadows where anything could be waiting.
Every step is a risk, every breath too loud in my own ears.
My cross hair wavers, the nerves showing in the first few rounds, and I hate it.
Hate the tremor in my hands, the drag in my lungs. Get it together.
I lock in, I’ve done this a thousand times. Hours stacked on hours, clawing my way toward this exact moment. My body remembers what my head tries to forget. Fingers settle, movements smooth out, and then I’m not thinking anymore I’m just doing.
He tags me, close enough that my screen flashes, the sound buzzing sharp in my ears. But I don’t fold. I track him clean through the chaos, center mass, one after another, and this time he’s the one scrambling. I outplay him, I take it.
When the final round snaps to black, I don’t say a single word. I don’t even smile. Just a ragged exhale leaves me, dragged from the pit of my chest. He’s out, I’m through— it’s over, or at least it should be.
He’s been dropped to losers bracket reset, double elimination. He’s one round away from being done for good, but he only has to outplay two people to claw his way back into finals. Two, and after what he did to the last three? That won’t be a problem, not for him.
He’s playing mean now, reckless in a way I hate to admit that works. He doesn’t care about rules, he doesn’t care about clean. That scares me more than I want to admit.
Dylan never needed to be better than me. He just needed to get in my head, he’s always been good at that.
Carter appears beside me with a bottle of water cracked open and presses it into my hand.
“You did it,” he says, voice gentle, grounding. I nod, but I can’t speak.
Tate paces a slow loop beside me. His jaw is clenched and his eyes track every movement on the screen like he’s hunting something. The look on his face says if Dylan were here in person, he’d already be in the hospital. “I swear to god,” he mutters. “If he said anything off-mic—“
“He didn’t,” I manage. “Just… snide stuff. Typical.”
Carter gently guides me up out of the chair, wraps a blanket around my shoulders like he’s been waiting to do it all day. He steers me toward my bed, I sink into it without protest. My entire body feels like a worn-out wire, frayed, sparking at the ends.
I drop my head onto Carter’s chest, he instantly holds me steady. Tate sits down beside me, shoulder pressing into mine, fingers twitching on his thigh like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Next time,” he shakes his head, “I want him in person.”
Carter doesn’t say anything and just presses a kiss the side of my head. I close my eyes, nestled between them, soaking in the tension they don’t know how to let go of.
I won, I beat him, fuck I I buried him. But all I feel is tired, I don’t even realize I’m crying until Carter’s thumb brushes my cheek. A single drop sliding down, hot and bitter and unexpected
Carter doesn’t say anything about it. He shifts beside me, pulling me closer, burying his face in my hair like holding me tighter might stitch me back together. “You were incredible,” he whispers. “You always are Haven.”
I don’t feel incredible. I feel scraped raw, hollowed out. Like all the adrenaline burned straight through me and left ash in its place. “I didn’t want to fall apart on stream,” I manage, voice thin.
“You didn’t.” Tate’s now sitting beside me, his knee is pressed against mine. His hand finds my thigh, not in a teasing way just anchoring.
“You didn’t break,” he says, voice lower now. “You fucking obliterated him.”
I turn my head slightly, looking at him. “I wanted to hurt him,” I whisper. “I wanted him to feel what it was like to lose to me.”
Tate exhales. “He did.”
Laying back fully across the bed my head is in Carter’s lap, my legs brushing Tate’s. The blanket’s wrapped around me, but it’s not enough. I feel cold inside.
Carter runs his fingers gently through my hair. Tate’s hand slides up under the blanket, his fingers pressing into the inside of my knee, spreading heat and tension as they drift slowly higher.
“You need to get out of your head,” Tate says.
“She’s exhausted,” Carter sighs, but his hand doesn’t stop moving
“So let’s help her sleep.”
I suck in a breath as Tate’s hand creeps further, dragging the blanket with it. His fingers ghost over the waistband of my shorts, teasing, not rushing. His touch isn’t greedy, it’s controlled, focused. He’s doing this for me, not him.
Carter’s breath catches. His hand stills against my scalp. “You good?” he asks, voice a little shaky now.
I nod. “Yeah. I just… don’t stop.”
Tate leans in, his lips brush the side of my knee, his hand slips beneath the fabric, his fingers dragging over sensitive skin with maddening precision.
Carter watches. I feel his thigh tense under my cheek, slowly he moves, his hand tracing the curve of my neck, the slope of my jaw, until his thumb brushes my lower lip. “You’re safe,” he whispers. “You’re ours.”
The tension doesn’t vanish but it starts to change shape.
I close my eyes, let the heat between them build in quiet touches, soft moans swallowed by the blanket and the weight of everything we are.
Not wild or loud, just theirs. Tate’s fingers slip beneath the edge of my shorts, and everything inside me stills.
I need this. I need the grounding, the way he touches me like I’m something to worship and wreck all at once.
Carter watches him. His hand is still on my face, his thumb brushing slow, reverent strokes across my bottom lip like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth.
“Tate …” I breathe.
That’s all it takes, his fingers find where I’m soaked for them, for both of them—and a low groan slips from his throat. “Fuck, you’re soaked, pretty girl. All this for us?”
When I don’t answer, his fingers slide deeper, slow and steady, filling me with a rhythm that makes my breath hitch, my body lift off Carter’s lap in a barely-there arch.
Carter’s jaw flexes. “You’re not gonna last,” he whispers to me, his voice a quiet promise. “And that’s okay.”
Tate’s fingers curl just right, dragging over the spot that makes my toes curl and my thighs tighten around his wrist. He knows every flick of his wrist is designed to push me closer, deeper, higher.
Carter leans down and kisses my lips like I’m glass.
“Tate,” I gasp, barely able to keep my voice from breaking. “I can’t—I can’t think—”
“You don’t need to think,” he groans against my thigh. “You just need to come.”
Carter kisses me harder, his fingers curling around mine, holding on tight as Tate’s fingers speed up.
When I come it’s not loud, it’s just the kind of release that undoes you.
Carter catches my moan with his mouth. Tate doesn’t stop until my body jerks and my breath stutters out and I’m panting in Carter’s lap like I’ve just come back from orbit.
He finally pulls his hand away. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, the warmth of their breath. Carter whispers something against my cheek.
Tate shifts closer, brushing my hair out of my face. “That’s one. I know you’ve got more in you pretty girl.” His body stays close, braced beside me, hand resting heavy on my thigh.
Carter hasn’t let go of my hand, his thumb keeps stroking along the inside of my wrist, grounding me with every small, sweet pass.
My breath is still shaky, I should feel wrung out. Instead I feel open, softened. I know they both feel it.
“You okay?” Carter asks quietly, brushing the hair off my damp forehead.
I nod. “Yeah. Just…” I glance at him, then at Tate. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Carter’s breath catches and Tate tilts his head, mouth twitching. “That’s our girl.”
Carter leans down, cupping my jaw with both hands, kissing me slow, deeper this time. “You’re everything,” he murmurs against my lips. “Everything, Haven.”
I reach for him and he melts into the moment like he was made for it. His body moves over mine, careful but eager, hands tracing every curve.
Tate lowers himself between my legs, his hand trailing up the length of my calf, slow and savoring every inch. When he reaches my thigh, his fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts, he peels them down inch by inch, dragging the fabric over my hips, my knees, until they’re gone.
The air feels different against me, his shoulders settle against the mattress. His mouth finds me, lips parting, tongue trailing along my inner thigh. Heat flares sharp, my hands twitch desperate for somewhere to hold on.
Carter leans in close, brushing his mouth along my cheek, the corner of my jaw, until finally he’s kissing me.
His lips tremble, whimpers breaking against mine like he can’t contain it, and I feel him shiver every time I gasp.
His hand cups the side of my face, thumb stroking over my cheekbone, grounding me even as my body arches toward Tate’s mouth.
Tate doesn’t let up. One of his hands locks tight at my hip, pinning me in place. Every drag of his tongue feels fucking incredible, precise, pulling sounds out of me only he can.
Carter swallows them, kissing me harder, murmuring against my lips, little fragments of words I can’t even catch. Praise, comfort, worship, they blur together until I’m surrounded by the weight of it. Tate holding me down, Carter lifting me up, and me caught somewhere between them, unraveling.
The room falls into a hush except for the last sound they drag out of me, the wet pull of Tate’s mouth, Carter’s soft, broken noises against my skin.
In that silence, I realize what’s really happening.
I’m not just being touched, I’m being bound by hands, mouths, voices, until all that’s left of me is theirs.
Carter’s chest is against my back now, one arm draped around my middle, his lips brushing the back of my neck every few seconds like he’s reminding himself I’m still here.
Tate’s sprawled at the end of the bed, long legs kicked up, one arm slung over his eyes like he’s half-asleep with his hand is still curled around my ankle, thumb lazily tracing circles over my skin. I sigh softly, too tired to form words,
“You good?” Carter whispers, voice muffled and warm against my shoulder.
I nod. “Starving.”
Tate snorts. “She lives.”
I don’t even have the strength to glare at him, but Carter chuckles softly, pulling the blanket back over the three of us. “We’ll get food soon. Just… lay here a minute.”
“You’re the one who said you were gonna cook,” Tate mutters without moving.
“You also said you were gonna help.”
“I lied.”
I smile, eyes still closed, heart still doing that fluttery thing it only does when they’re both like this—close, bickering, grounding me without even trying.
“I’ll cook,” I offer, voice scratchy. “I’m the only adult here, clearly.”
“Absolutely not,” Carter says, kissing the top of my head. “You just went full final boss on your ex. You’re not lifting a finger.”
Tate’s thumb pauses its lazy circles. “He’s right,” he adds. “I’ll order something.”
I blink. “Wait you’re voluntarily spending money on food delivery instead of arguing about cooking?”
He grins without looking at me. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Don’t make me,” I mutter, tucking my face back into Carter’s chest.
The three of us fall quiet again. Today, I didn’t just win a match, I survived a war and they made damn sure I didn’t have to do it alone.