6. Hero
Hero
T he stretch feels good, long and deliberate as I hold my final pose.
My breath comes out slow, steady, a controlled release of tension I didn't realize I was still carrying.
Yoga helps with discipline and focus, and also with not falling apart.
Because there are mornings, like today, where it takes everything in me not to check every room, every lock, every window, not to patrol the perimeter one more time just to be certain.
Especially after a night like the one Brookes had.
I'd stood outside his door for longer than I should have, ears straining for any sign of movement, my hand hovering near the knob more than once.
The hallway had been dark, silent except for the occasional creak of the house settling, and I'd counted his breaths until I lost track somewhere after three hundred.
Levi passed once, gave me that knowing look, the one that said, ‘give him space’, even as I stood there clenching my fists so tight my knuckles ached.
Dante had come by, too; silent, eyes shadowed with worry, a brief hand on my shoulder before he disappeared back to his room.
None of us said it aloud but we all felt it.
The pull. The fear. The scent of his distress.
The helpless ache of not being able to protect Brookes from his demons, from the nightmares that live behind closed eyelids.
I wanted to break down the door so badly I almost cracked a tooth from clenching them so hard.
To wrap him in safety, in warmth, in whatever comfort I could offer without words—but I didn't. Instead, I stood sentinel, waiting, listening.
Sometimes protection means respecting boundaries, even when every instinct screams otherwise.
Sometimes the hardest part of caring for someone is knowing when to step back, when to let them fight their own battles, even as every fiber of your being wants to fight for them.
I've learned this lesson over and over with Brookes, and it never gets easier.
Still, he made it through. Somehow. Now he's here.
Brookes steps into the garden like radiant sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
His hair is beautifully unkempt, tousled in that way that models pay stylists hundreds to achieve but on him is just morning vulnerability.
No makeup masks his features, no adornments distract from the raw beauty of him just existing.
His oversized cream sweater keeps slipping off one shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone that makes my fingers twitch with the urge to trace it.
The hem hangs low on his thighs, making his legs look endless as his bare feet brush the cool stone patio with each deliberate step.
His skin glows golden-brown against the pale fabric, warmed by the morning light, and there's something fragile but undeniably defiant in the set of his shoulders.
A silent declaration that he's still here, still standing, still refusing to break.
He holds his ridiculous ‘Diva’ mug like it's a royal scepter, steam curling around his long fingers, pinky lifted in a silent dare to comment on either the mug or the shadows under his gorgeous eyes. Those eyes, the windows to a soul that's seen too much but still finds a reason to shine.
My pulse skips at the sight of him, then doubles its pace to make up for lost time.
He doesn't look perfect. He looks real. Touchable.
A little puffy around the eyes from crying, the faintest crease between his brows from whatever nightmares chased him through the darkness.
There's color in his cheeks now, though, and that soft bratty smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth says more than words could.
It's his armor, the slight upturn of his red pouty lips, the way he faces the world after it's tried to break him.
He's stunning like this, not despite the vulnerability, but because of it.
Levi's the next to notice him, crouched over the herb garden he’d convinced Brookes to plant with him a month ago.
His massive frame looks almost comical among the delicate green shoots, like a bear in a China shop, but his hands are surprisingly gentle with the plants.
His suit jacket is discarded over a nearby chair, the sleeves of his crisp button-down rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate constellation of Aries tattoo peeking out on his right arm.
The dark ink stands out beautifully against his deep brown skin in the morning light.
Normally he would be dressed in worn jeans and an old t-shirt for his morning gardening activities, but Brookes has a beach shoot in a few hours that both Dante and Levi are already dressed for.
Our uniform. Security always looking the part, blending in while standing out just enough to serve as a deterrent.
"Well, well," he murmurs, straightening from the basil he's been babying for weeks, his fingers still dusted with soil. "The elusive Bloom graces us with his presence." The morning light catches on Levi's dimples as he smiles, genuine pleasure warming his expression at the sight of Brookes.
Brookes sips his coffee with exaggerated daintiness. "Someone has to liven up the aesthetic. You're out here dressed like Business Casual Farmer Barbie, Levi." He gestures with his free hand at Levi's incongruous combination of gardening and formal attire.
Dante chokes on a laugh behind his laptop, the sound rare enough that I glance over.
He's positioned himself strategically, back to the wall, full view of both entrances, but his eyes are crinkled with amusement.
"Petal, he's been elbow-deep in rosemary for an hour.
Be kind." His voice carries that gentle warning tone he reserves only for Brookes.
"I am being kind," Brookes says, settling onto the edge of the patio couch, his movements fluid and graceful despite the underlying tension I can read in his shoulders. "This whole serene masculinity in linen vibe you've got going is very Goop-catalog chic."
Levi walks over without missing a beat, his movements deliberate but gentle.
He lifts Brookes by the thighs like he weighs nothing.
Which to someone of Levi's strength, he practically doesn't, shifting him sideways along the couch to make space. The movement is casual but calculated; I recognize the technique. Create physical contact without making it feel like restraint. He drops down next to him, his wide thigh pressed casually to Brookes’. Then, without warning, he grabs Brookes’ ankle and deposits his foot into his lap like it belongs there.
My fingers twitch instinctively at the sudden movement, but I force them still. This is Levi. This is safe. I'm not going to lie to myself and say I don’t wish it was my hands and my lap his foot rested on.
Brookes sputters, coffee nearly sloshing over the rim of his mug. "Excuse me. What are you doing?" His voice rises an octave, indignation fighting with surprise.
"Anchoring you," Levi says with that unshakable calm of his, massaging the arch of Brookes’ foot with practiced ease. His large hands engulf Brookes’ slender foot completely.
"You've got this twitch in your leg that says you're about to bolt.
Sit still." I hadn't noticed the nervous movement, but now that Levi mentions it, I see the telltale signs of Brookes’ flight instinct activating.
Brookes stares at him like he's grown a second head, momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence.
He closes his eyes and bites back a moan as Levi's fingers get to work on what must be tender muscles.
His eyes pop open almost immediately, as if remembering he's supposed to be offended, not enjoying the attention.
"You can't just. . .manhandle my limbs like that!" he shouts indignantly, but there's no real heat behind it.
"You didn't seem to mind if that moan is any indication," Dante mutters without looking up from his screen, fingers still typing steadily. His lip quirks upward slightly, the Dante equivalent of full-blown laughter.
Brookes gasps, clutching his pearls in mock-offense, but the tension in his frame has already decreased by at least thirty percent. "Are we flirting now? Is that what this is? Because I need warning. I haven't emotionally prepared."
"You never are," Dante says dryly, finally looking up to fix Brookes with that intense green gaze. "But you rise to the occasion like the drama queen you are." There's something softer in his voice now, something that wasn't there when we first took this assignment.
Brookes flips his nonexistent long hair and preens with all the dramatic flair of a runway finale.
"Well, I am known for my flexibility," he announces, batting those long lashes with practiced precision.
The morning sunlight catches the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones that have launched a dozen magazine covers.
"Oh, please," Levi says with a smirk, his large hand continuing its methodical kneading of Brookes’ foot. His thumbs press into the arch with expert pressure that makes Brookes’ toes curl involuntarily.
"Your idea of stretching is reaching for the remote when it's slightly out of arm's reach.
And even then, you usually just whine until one of us gets it for you. "
Brookes turns to me then, eyes glinting with mischief, the rich brown of his irises catching golden flecks in the light.
His rose scent intensifies slightly with his indignation.
"Hero, back me up here. Tell these brutes I am a vision of grace and agility.
You've seen me work, right? The catwalk?
The poses? The absolutely flawless execution of movement. "
I raise an eyebrow, keeping my face deliberately neutral though warmth spreads through my chest. "I've seen you trip over your own shoes, Brookes. Twice in one day. Once over absolutely nothing but air."
He gasps again, clapping a hand to his chest with such theatrical outrage that I can practically hear the pearls clutching. "Et tu, Brute? After all we've been through. The betrayal cuts deep, Elijah Delaire. Deep."
Dante chuckles, the sound rare enough that both Levi and I glance at him. "He's quoting Shakespeare now and he used your real name, Hero. The spiral is real."
I can't help the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Usually, I try to keep the line clean, guard up, focus sharp, it's what makes me good at my job.
Right now, with Brookes sprawled across the couch like the crown jewel of this strange little kingdom we've created, it's impossible not to feel it.
Relief. Warmth. A crack in the wall I've kept carefully constructed around my heart since I left my family in New Orleans.
He's here. With us. Physically and emotionally present. Joking. Smirking. Trusting. The shadow that's followed him since the kidnapping has receded, if only temporarily. His body language is open, unguarded in a way I've rarely witnessed.
I see exactly what Levi meant when he caught my eye earlier. The anxious twitch in his leg has stopped. His spine isn't tight with tension. His shoulders have dropped from their defensive position. His eyes, though still shadowed with memories I wish I could erase, aren't haunted in this moment.
This is a bridge being built between his trauma and healing. A beginning, yes, and not the tentative, fragile kind we've seen before. This is him reaching for us. All of us. Not out of fear or dependency, but with that quiet strength that's always been there, beneath the hurt.
He nudges Levi's side with his toes, playfulness returning to those expressive eyes. "If you're going to keep fondling my feet like this, you better put a ring on it." His voice carries that familiar teasing lilt.
Levi hums, those strong fingers never pausing in their ministrations on Brookes’ arch. "Don't tempt me." Three simple words delivered with such unvarnished sincerity that they hang in the air between us, weighted with meaning.
Dante closes his laptop with a soft click and lifts a brow in my direction before he chimes in.
"He's been tempting us since day one." Coming from Dante, this admission feels monumental.
The man who measures every word, who calculates risk with military precision, openly acknowledging what we've all been circling.
Brookes flushes, cheeks reddening, eyes darting between us, wide with surprise or shock at the ease of Levi and Dante's confessions.
For once, he doesn't deflect with a joke.
There's no theatrical gasp, no hair flip, no armor of sarcasm.
He just smiles, small, soft, genuine. A smile I've seen only in rare, unguarded moments when he doesn't realize anyone's watching.
Yes, he feels it too. It's all the proof I need.
I shift onto my back on the yoga mat, folding my arms behind my head. The sky above is clear, vast in its simplicity, the infinite blue a contrast to the complicated tangle of emotions we've been navigating for months. For the first time in a year, I don't feel like I have to brace for impact.
I can breathe. I can want. I can see the possibility of something more.
Of us.
All of us.