Chapter 2
Millie
He’s lounging on an L-shaped couch, one arm bent under his head like a pillow, the other cradling a half-empty beer bottle.
His white t-shirt clings to his collarbones, damp around his neck, hair sticking to his temples and dripping at the ends. He must’ve showered recently. The scent of soap and cologne hangs thickly in the air, and I wonder if he showered here, in Noah’s bathroom.
“Beer?” he asks, reaching into a case on the floor.
I shake my head, glancing at Noah. He’s in a green velvet armchair, knees spread wide, a glass of golden liquid in his hand.
He’s... broody. Bad boy type. Tattoos snake up the right side of his neck, his dark hair is buzzed at the sides, longer at the top, and he has a small black plug piercing in his ear.
My mouth goes dry when he lifts his gaze to mine, his quiet intensity amplified by his black clothes: loose sweatpants and a tee that hugs every muscle to perfection. He’s ripped.
I’m sure my face is on fire, but I can’t stop staring. His looks are only half the reason why. The aura of unwavering confidence droning around him is the other. There’s not an ounce of uncertainty in his posture. He knows where he belongs.
He lifts the glass to his lips, his forearm taut, tan, and inked. He looks relaxed but controlled, and it makes the air feel thick. A stack of leather bracelets adorns his right wrist, a silver watch on the left, a signet ring on his pinky.
“Millie,” he greets.
My name rolls off his tongue, his voice as smooth as the low jazz pulsing in the background. Heat lashes down my spine.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Oh, come on!” Dash sits up, mock offense written all over his—admittedly—handsome face. “He gets a hi and I get a head shake? No fair, Mini. No fair.”
I meet his hazel gaze, shrugging the sleeves of my jumper until the tips of my fingers disappear and I can doodle over my hip without anyone noticing.
“It’s Millie,” I say.
Dash grins, pulling from his beer bottle. “Millie...” he repeats, testing my name, head tilted to the side. “Yeah, I’ll stick with Mini Ward if you don’t mind.”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile.
Noah’s room is bigger than mine and Abby’s. At least it feels bigger. The kitchenette and ensuite are on the right, just like in 212, but the room’s arranged differently.
His bed is a double, across from the entrance, tucked against the left wall, same as mine downstairs. The sheets are black, pulled tight, and smoothed down like he ironed them in place.
It gives military precision.
The pillows are stacked with care, and the whole thing looks immaculate... and cozy. Shelves run the length of the wall, lined with books, records, and a smart speaker. There’s a narrow desk pushed against the tall window, a single silver pen on the surface, parallel to a closed notebook.
I’m starting to get a feel for Noah and Hyde’s friends as a group. So far, each represents something different.
My brother’s all tension and vigilance. Shoulders tight, jaw tighter, assessing eyes never missing a thing.
Dash is ease, carelessness, and bad intentions wrapped in devilishly charismatic packaging.
Noah’s the controlled one. He’s order, calm, and cold logic.
I wonder what Creed’s like.
I can only guess, given Hyde keeps him so close to his chest. Going off what he said earlier, his annoyance, and what this group’s missing, I bet Creed’s the hothead. Bad temper, bad decisions, I don’t give a fuck attitude.
Every bunch of guys has one like that.
“Come on, Mini.” Dash pats the cushion beside him.
The seating area is where Abby’s bed is in our room. A couch, two armchairs, and a wide coffee table where a bottle of scotch sits beside an unfinished chess game. The pieces are scattered across the board, the whites—facing Noah—clearly winning.
Hyde places a hand between my shoulder blades, urging me forward until I’m sitting a foot away from Dash, who looks infinitely pleased with himself as he pops the cap off another beer bottle, offering it to my brother.
“You sure you don’t want one?” He nudges my shoulder.
“No.” Ugh, that came out rude, so I add, “Thanks.”
“Make a move, Dash,” Noah says.
“Noo,” he groans, sinking into the cushions. “I don’t want to play anymore.”
“You never want to play when you’re losing.”
“I never want to play when I’m playing with you,” he retorts, scooting forward. “Can’t wait until Creed gets back and you stop torturing me with this shit.”
He pushes his rook to C4, making me cringe because he blatantly opens his queen.
Noah’s eyes flick to mine. “You play?”
Hyde snorts under his breath. “She’s better than Dash, that’s for sure.”
“Everyone’s better than me.”
Noah sweeps off the pieces in one fluid motion and resets them quickly, landing each dead center of its square. On top of controlled, he might also have a touch of OCD.
Perhaps a little more than a touch.
He turns the board so the white pieces face me and leans back, eyes boring into mine. “Your move.”
It’s intimidating how his gaze never falters.
I hesitate, doodling against the couch cushion. A chess game might be innocent on the surface, but it gives away things I stopped giving away last year, like the fact I enjoy chess. The fact I’m good at it and strategically minded.
People mock anything once they decide you’re beneath them, and they don’t stop at belittling your shortcomings; they go after your strengths, too.
Especially your strengths.
Still, my hands itch inside my jumper sleeves, and I hate second-guessing my every move, so I glance at Hyde. He obviously trusts his friends... could I? Should I? It’s been months since I risked loosening my guard.
Hyde shrugs but the lines around his eyes crinkle with a smile. Inhaling a deep breath, I scoot to the edge of the couch, curl my index finger around a pawn, and move it to E4.
Noah smiles. Well, the corner of his mouth twitches, but I think that counts. He studies the board for a long moment before making his move.
“I’ll go easy on you,” he tells me. “But only this once.”
“Don’t,” I reply.
The last thing I need is another Hyde tiptoeing around me. I’m not a sore loser. My dad is, though. We used to play every evening, and he never took me checking his king well.
“There are three of you now?” Dash groans again. “You people need a fucking hobby.”
Noah lifts an eyebrow, eyes on my fingers hovering over another pawn. “This is a hobby.”
“No, this is a fucked-up mental war. A long, boring, and pointless war.” He turns my way, his warm breath tickling my ear. “He made me sit through a two-hour match with Creed once. They didn’t speak the entire time.”
“I lost that game,” Noah admits with another imperceptible smile.
“Because Creed cheated.”
“Creed doesn’t cheat,” Hyde says, finishing his beer.
“He doesn’t get caught cheating,” Dash corrects.
We trade another move, Noah’s eyes focused and narrowed on his pieces. I bet he was ten steps ahead with Dash, but he looks like he’s planning from scratch each time I move.
We keep going for a while until my brother’s phone breaks the silence. He taps the screen, moving into the kitchenette.
“Fucking finally. Where the hell have you been?”
“Ah, only one dead Creed after all,” Dash says, grabbing another beer. “And zero in prison.”
Hyde props his back against the cabinets, his fingers curling around the edge into the hardwood. I can’t hear what Creed’s saying, but it makes Hyde’s jaw flex.
“Don’t ghost me again—” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. Is everything arranged?”
Noah makes a move, cornering my queen, but watching the concern lining my brother’s forehead, I’m not in the game anymore. I remember that look from my hospital bed.
“Did you at least eat something?” Another pause, accompanied by a jaw tic. “You’re unbelievable. Drink all you want, but fucking eat, too.” He drags a hand down his face, then tenses, his spine going rigid. “Sit your ass back down, Creed.”
“Oh-oh,” Dash singsongs beside me, clearly amused.
“What?” I whisper, my head snapping his way.
“Drunk Creed is a handful,” Noah explains.
“Yeah, and Hyde said eat, so Creed’s probably up, keys in hand, ready to head out for a steak.”
“Eat the fucking casserole and grab a cold shower,” Hyde continues, using his signature stern big brother tone.
It works better than yelling, if I’m honest.
“I don’t care if it tastes like cardboard. Eat it. And don’t drive. One dead Creed is—fuck!” He slams the phone on the counter, peering up at Noah. “He hung up.”
“That’s nothing new,” Dash says. “You were nagging.”
“Because he’s acting out.” Hyde stalks over. “He hasn’t done shit. Got a burial date and nothing else. No casket or flowers. He didn’t even inform his aunt.” He slumps back into his armchair.
I’ve never seen my brother this worried about anyone other than me, and that only happened once. A tremor passes through his fingers as he reaches for his beer, closing his fist around the neck. The vein on his forehead twitches, teeth gnashing behind his lips.
“Hyde,” I say before he takes a sip. “Go.”
Two vertical wrinkles crawl between his brows. “What?”
“Go.”
“Where?”
Noah sits back, eyes on me as he speaks to my brother. “I think she wants you to go babysit Creed.”
“No. No way. I’m not leaving you alone, sis.”
I get up, snatch the bottle from his hand, and jut my chin at the door, marching out of the room without checking if he’s following. Noah and Dash are okay, but I just met them. I’m not letting them overhear any meaningful words.
Hyde follows me out, closing the door with a thud. “I’m not leaving, Millie. Forget it.”
“Why? You’re worried about him.”
“He’s a big boy. Fucking unstable, that’s for sure, but once he sobers up and—”
“You’re not making any sense!” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. “You left after Christmas break, didn’t you?”
His face falls and arms drop loose to his sides. “I couldn’t stay home any longer, you know that... I had classes.”
“I know. I’m not guilt-tripping you. I’m stating a fact, Hyde. You weren’t there when I faced Evan again. I survived him, the finger-pointing, mockery, whispers, name-calling, and bullying... I’m not weak, so stop acting like I’ll fall apart the moment you look the other way.”
He stares at me, eyes a little wider, emotion written all over his face. “This is the longest you’ve talked since...” He trails off, pulling me into a warm bear hug. “I know you survived. I just... fuck, I hate I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
I think about that night, how I sat under the bathroom sink, a phone in hand, tears streaming down my face. I think about every call he declined, every video I watched, and every comment that felt like a knife in my heart.
Gritting my teeth, I grasp Hyde’s hoodie in both hands and inhale his scent, grounding myself in the here and now.
“Don’t make the same mistake again,” I say. “Creed just lost his father. He needs you more than I do. Be there for him.”
He snorts, squeezing me tighter. “Creed’s not... well, it’s not my story to tell, so I won’t, but it’s not how it seems.”
“But your worry is just as it seems. Eating you alive. Go, Hyde. Be there for him.”
He mulls it over for a long moment, but once his shoulders sag and he stamps a kiss on the crown of my head, I know he’s made the right call.
“Promise you’ll ask Noah or Dash for help if you need it?”
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t trust them, Millie. That’s okay. But you trust me, don’t you?” He pushes me away by my shoulders so he can watch me nod. “Good. Then promise you’ll ask for help.”
He’ll be gone a few days at most. He might even be back before classes start, and frankly, I have no reason to leave my room until then. Nothing will happen.
“I promise.”
“Good. Come on, you need to finish kicking Noah’s ass.” He takes my hand and leads me back inside.
“You’re going?” Dash asks when my brother lingers in the doorway, watching me settle on the couch.
“Yeah. Keep an eye on Millie for me, alright?”
“I’m insulted you feel the need to ask.” He plucks a fresh beer from the crate. “Go tame Creed. We’ve got Mini Ward. Trust me, we got the long straw.”
My brother smirks. “Comic relief, shop runs, or the best cooked-from-frozen pizza, Dash is your guy,” he tells me, and said guy puffs out his chest as Hyde continues, “If anyone bothers you, tell Noah.”
“Asshole,” Dash mutters, chest deflating. “I’m perfectly capable of defending your honor, Mini.” He drapes one arm over my shoulders, trying to tuck me into his side.
I jolt, shrugging him off. “Don’t.”
“Boundaries,” Hyde emphasizes, jaw ticking.
“Sorry,” he says and sounds sincere. A little ashamed, too. “I got carried away.”
“Don’t push it, Dash. And stop fucking flirting with her. I meant what I said.” He looks between his friends. “She’s my sister. Off limits.”
That statement has a very contradictory effect on me. On one hand, I’m happy because Hyde’s finally acting like the big brother I’ve always wanted. On the other hand, it’s embarrassing.
“I’m trusting you here, alright?” he adds. “Don’t think I won’t break your jaws.”
“You?” Noah scoffs, a shadow of a smile twisting his lips. “We all know you’d get Creed to throw the punches. Can’t injure those surgeon-in-the-making hands.”
Hyde shifts from one foot to the other, the casual atmosphere dying before my eyes. “Keep her safe.”
They both send him pointed looks, and he leaves without another word. Even though I told him he should go, my stomach drops once the door closes. Being without him at home, in a familiar setting, was different than being alone in a new place with two men I met half an hour ago.
I exhale a shaky breath, forcing my shoulders to relax.
Hyde wouldn’t leave me with them if he didn’t trust them. Besides, he won’t be around forever. After graduation, he’ll move to a warm state, marry a model, and spend his life making a name for himself as the best neurosurgeon in the country.
Shaking off my unease, I scoot closer. “My move?”
Noah doesn’t answer right away and when I peer up at him, he’s watching me as he did before.
Focused, calm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if I’m a problem he can’t solve.
He lifts his glass, taking a measured sip, and as he licks his lips, I spot a barbell piercing close to the tip of his tongue.
“Go ahead, Millie.”
My skin warms under the dark, penetrating stare and something about him makes me tingle.
Maybe sending Hyde away wasn’t such a good idea.