Chapter 17
Haven
Cassie’s arms are around me before I fully open the door and I can’t help but break. Not full-on crying but the kind of slow that starts in the chest and leaks into your limbs. Every wall I’ve kept up for the last week is finally ready to fall, and I don’t have the energy to hold them anymore.
She just squeezes me tighter. “You okay?” she asks softly, even though we both know the answer is no.
I shake my head.
The guys are half awake, sprawled across my couch. Tate had woken up around five this morning and retreated to the couch. Carter and I woke up around seven and joined him, but I texted Cassie before I went to sleep last night. I needed her, I needed this.
Carter glances up when he sees us hugging, his brows twitching like he wants to ask if I’m alright. Tate doesn’t say anything, but his gaze flickers to mine before shifting away again. They both stand up after a few moments.
“We’ll give you space,” Carter says gently, grabbing his hoodie. “Go walk around or something.”
Tate snorts. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go bond at a flower shop.”
Cassie raises a brow as the door closes behind them. “Was that… a joke?”
I shrug. “He’s adapting.”
Cassie doesn’t let go right away, her hand stays on my back, rubbing slow circles trying to anchor me, even after the worst of the collapse has passed. I pull in a shaky breath, she catches it with a low hum, the kind when she knows I’m not saying everything out loud.
“Wanna sit?” she asks gently.
I nod, brushing my sleeve over my face. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”
Cassie doesn’t rush me, she never has. I slip into the bathroom for a minute and splash cold water on my face. My reflection’s a mess but I look more like myself than I have in days.
When I come out, Cassie’s in the living room sipping from a cup I forgot I even owned. She’s watching Carter and Tate, who are both still getting their shoes on in the hallway. She lifts a brow at them.
I dryly laugh. “They’re the worst.”
“Terrified boyfriends are kind of adorable, though,” she says. “Especially when they try to act cool and fail.”
I roll my eyes and walk to the kitchen. Cassie follows, perching on one of the bar stools. She opens the cupboard next to her and tosses me a granola bar.
“Eat,” she says. “You’re twitchy.”
“I’m emotionally unraveling, not malnourished.”
She shrugs. “You can be both.”
I unwrap the bar with a sigh and take a bite.
She studies me for another moment, head tilted slightly. “You slept at all?”
“Some.”
“Cried?”
“This counts.”
She nods, satisfied. “Okay. One more question before we get into the heavy shit.”
I brace myself. “What now?”
Cassie points toward the bundle of wires near my gaming shelf. “Why is your HDMI cable duct-taped to the wall?”
I blink. “Because I tripped on it two nights ago and rage-patched it.”
Cassie bursts out laughing. I join her a second later, half-cackling, half-cringing at the memory.
“Oh my god,” she wheezes. “You’re thriving.”
“I’m surviving.”
“Same thing in this economy.”
We’re still laughing and that’s the exact moment tension unwinds just enough that I can breathe again.
We sit at my kitchen table, there’s coffee and leftover cinnamon rolls. The calm only she brings, that grounding energy I always forget I need until I’m wrapped up in it again.
“I think I’m falling for them.” The words come out quieter than I meant, admitting them makes it real. It is real.
Cassie’s gaze doesn’t change. “You’re just now realizing that after a few months…?”
I stare down at my cup. “Like… not just attracted to them, not just fun. Like, terrifyingly into them.”
A pause. “Both of them equally?”
My breath shudders. “Yeah.”
Cassie hums, leaning back. “And… are they falling for you?”
I blink. “I think so?”
She sips her coffee. “Then you’re not spiraling. You’re catching up because clearly they’d walk to the ends of the earth for you.”
I let out a stifled laugh. “You make it sound easy.”
“You’ve always been the one who kept the lid on,” she says eventually. “The fixer, the funny one. The one who bounces back before anyone sees the crack.”
I stare at my coffee.
She leans forward, elbows on the table. “So why does this feel different?”
“Because they see me crack,” I whisper. “And they don’t run. They don’t try to force me back together or offer advice or… fix anything. They just stay. And it’s so—”
“Unfairly hot?” she offers.
I choke out a laugh. “Yeah. That too.”
Cassie tilts her head. “Do you trust them?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then let yourself fall, babe. Stop gripping the edge like it’s safer to dangle.”
Her words hit hard, a lump forms in my throat. I’m not afraid of loving them, I’m afraid they’ll realize how much power that gives me or worse how much it gives them. Before I can spiral again, the front door clicks open.
Carter’s holding a mix of pink and white roses, Tate follows with two iced coffees in hand and a paper bag that smells like donuts.
Tate shrugs. “They had roses. Carter said you like the pink ones. Don’t make it weird.”
Cassie grins. “Too late.”
I laugh. Really laugh, maybe I’m not spiraling anymore. Maybe I’m just falling.
Cassie lingers by the door, her eyes bouncing between the three of us. “You sure you’re good?” she asks quietly, her voice just for me.
I nod, softer this time. “Yeah. Actually… yeah.”
Her lips twitch into a grin. “Well, I officially approve of them. Both of them.”
“Cass—”
“Tell Tate he doesn’t intimidate me,” she adds with a wink. “And tell Carter to stop trying to earn my approval. He’s already got it.”
I laugh again, the knot in my chest loosening a little more.
“Text me later,” she says, pulling me into one last hug. “Or tomorrow, or when the smoke clears.” The door clicks shut behind her. The quiet that follows is different than before. I turn, and they’re both just watching me.
Carter still has that sweet, gentle tension in his shoulders, he wants to make sure I’m really okay before getting too close. Tate leans against the counter, iced coffee in hand, head tilted just slightly like he’s trying to decide if now is the moment.
I bite my lip and glance between them. “Come with me?” I murmur, backing toward my bedroom.
Carter moves first, slipping past me with a hand at the small of my back, brushing a kiss to my temple as he goes.
Tate follows a second later, kicking the door shut behind us.
I move first slipping my hoodie off and letting it fall to the floor. Carter’s eyes follow it down. Tate’s jaw tightens.
I crawl onto the bed.
Carter slides in behind me, his chest warm against my back, his lips brushing my shoulder. “You sure?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
His hand finds my waist, guiding me gently. Tate’s hands are anything but gentle, he grips my thighs, spreads them apart. “You want soft or feral first?”
I laugh, breathless. “Both.”
Carter groans behind me. “Let me go slow.”
Tate smirks. “Then I’ll go first.”
He kisses up my stomach, my chest, stopping just long enough to make my breath hitch until Carter’s fingers thread with mine, holding me steady as Tate devours me like he’s starving.
He’s is everywhere all at once hands gripping my hips, mouth dragging moans from me like he needs them more than oxygen. He doesn’t rush, every kiss is deep, consuming. Every word from his mouth is filth wrapped in obsession.
Carter moves in slow, tender. Every sigh meant to ground me while Tate sets me on fire.
When they finally work together, Carter’s mouths praise against my ear and Tate groans “Ours.” against my thigh. It’s trust, in its purest, filthiest form.
When I come, it’s Carter whispering “sweetheart” and Tate muttering “again” like he’ll never get enough. I don’t know how long it lasts.
Eventually we’re settled down, something plays on my tv but I’m too tired to care. Carter’s kissing my shoulder and Tate’s hand tangled in my hair. My body spent, my soul quiet. In the stillness that follows, Carter mumbles into my neck: “Next time, you’re getting the pillow fight rematch.”
Tate groans. “I swear to god, you’re a literal puppy.”
They fall asleep before I do, their breathing slow and steady as I slip out quietly, leaving the bathroom door cracked just enough to let in a sliver of light.
I wash my face, the cool water a small relief. When I look at myself in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize the softness there. Back in the room, they haven’t moved. Tate’s on his side, curled slightly toward the middle of the bed, and Carter’s stretched out on his back.
I slip between them carefully, trying not to disturb either one, but Tate shifts anyway, tucking his arm around me.
I wake once, maybe an hour later, when the room’s gone quiet.
Tate’s shifted closer in his sleep, one leg thrown protectively over mine, his breath warm on the back of my neck.
Carter’s hand is still resting on my stomach.
I don’t think about chat logs, or brackets, or exes with shitty usernames.
I just think about this moment, this breath, this heartbeat caught between theirs.