Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Everett
I take a step toward her and the room holds its breath.
Or maybe that's just me.
Maybe I've forgotten how lungs work because Sierra Barrett just stood in front of God, Tara Greene, and her three overprotective brothers and said I'm choosing him.
Me.
After everything.
After telling her to wait. To make sure she was sure. To make sure she wasn’t under the influence of sex or guilt.
I knew coming clean to her brothers would be impossibly hard, I didn’t want her to have to do it in front of cameras.
And still, she went for it. She owned it. She tuned it into a record setting one two punch ending in a KO.
She chose me.
My feet carry me toward her without permission. Past the heritage boards covered in photos I didn't know existed—photos of me, taken by a girl who was documenting something she couldn't say out loud. Past the scraps of paper with her teenage handwriting, confessions she'd hidden for over a decade.
Past a slack-jawed Roman.
Past Caleb, who looks like someone just told him gravity works backwards.
Past Nolan, who's watching me with an expression I can't read—but there’s a hint of a smile there so I have questions.
For later.
Sierra stands in the center of the room, trembling, her camera hanging loose at her side for once instead of raised like a shield. Her eyes are too bright. Her breath is coming too fast.
She looks terrified.
She looks brave.
She looks like everything I've ever wanted and spent eleven years convincing myself I couldn't have.
Fuck the rules.
Fuck the secrets.
Fuck every single reason we clung to that kept us apart.
I reach her in three strides. My hands find her face—God, her face, wet with tears she's trying to pretend aren't there—and I tilt it up toward mine.
“You're shaking,” I murmur.
“I just told a room full of people I've been in love with you since I was like fourteen.” Her voice cracks. “Of course I'm shaking.”
“Since you were fourteen?”
“Don't make me say it again. I'll combust.”
I smile. It feels like the first real smile I've managed in days. Weeks. Maybe years.
“Sierra.”
“What?”
“I'm going to kiss you now.”
Her breath stutters. “In front of—”
“Everyone. Yes.”
“My brothers are right there.”
“I know.”
“They might actually murder you.”
“Worth it.”
And then I kiss her.
Not the desperate, hidden kisses we've stolen in dark corners and empty rooms. Not the frantic collision of two people who knew they were running out of time.
This kiss is a claim.
This kiss is a promise.
This kiss is every single thing I've wanted to say poured into the press of my mouth against hers while a room full of witnesses watches us finally stop pretending.
She melts into me. Her fingers curl into the front of my flannel, gripping tight like she's afraid I'll disappear. A small sound escapes her—half sob, half laugh—and I swallow it, pull her closer, let myself drown in the reality of her.
Mine.
Fucking finally.
When I pull back, she's dazed. Flushed. Looking at me like I've just done something miraculous instead of something we should have done a decade ago.
“Holy shit,” someone whispers.
I think it's Charlie.
Or maybe Holly.
Or maybe it's the entire room, speaking in unison.
I don't care. I'm still holding Sierra's face in my hands, still breathing her air, still trying to convince myself this is real.
“That was—” She swallows. “That was very public.”
“That was the point.”
“Right. Yes. Public.” She blinks rapidly. “My brothers.”
Reality crashes back in stages.
First, the murmuring crowd—guests and staff and festival volunteers who just witnessed something they definitely didn't expect on tonight's program.
Then, Holly and Charlie and the rest of Sierra's friends, who are clutching each other and vibrating with barely contained screams.
And then—
The Barrett brothers.
Roman stands frozen, his expression cycling through about seventeen different emotions in the span of three seconds. Shock. Confusion. Something that looks like betrayal, quickly buried. Something else that might be understanding, fighting to surface.
Caleb has his phone out. Of course he does. He's probably already drafted a hashtag.
And Nolan...
Nolan just nods. Once. Like this is exactly what he expected.
I keep one arm around Sierra—I'm not letting her go, not now, not ever—and turn to face her brothers.
“I know you have questions.”
“Questions?” Roman's voice comes out strangled. “You just—in front of—she said—” He drags both hands through his hair, a gesture so similar to mine it would be funny if the tension wasn't thick enough to choke on. “How long?”
Sierra stiffens against me. I squeeze her hip. I've got this.
“Eleven years.”
Roman makes a sound like he's been punched.
“Off and on,” I clarify, because that matters, because I won't let him think we've been laughing behind his back this whole time. “Mostly off. She ended it when we were kids because she was afraid of—”
“Losing you,” Sierra finishes quietly. “I was afraid of losing all of you.”
Roman's jaw works. He looks at his sister—really looks at her—and something in his expression shifts. Cracks.
“You hid this from us for eleven years?”
“I was seventeen when it started, Roman. And scared. And stupid.” She pulls away from me just enough to face her brother fully, but her hand finds mine and holds on tight. “I thought if you found out, everything would fall apart. The family. Your friendship with Everett. All of it.”
“So you just... suffered in silence?”
“I tried to move on. I dated someone else. I lied to myself a lot.” Her laugh is watery. “It didn't work.”
“Clearly.”
Caleb clears his throat. Everyone turns to look at him.
“Okay, wait.” He holds up both hands, face scrunched in genuine confusion. “I need someone to walk me through the protocol here, because I'm lost.”
“Protocol?” Roman repeats flatly.
“Yeah, protocol. See, here's the thing.” Caleb starts ticking points off on his fingers. “Sierra's the baby of the family. I get it. Protect the baby sister at all costs. But—” He pauses dramatically. “I'm only a year older than her. One year. Which technically makes me the baby brother.”
“Caleb, what the hell are you—”
“I'm just saying!” He throws his hands up.
“There's apparently some kind of 'bros before—'” He catches Roman's death glare and course-corrects.
“—uh, some kind of 'rule' about baby sisters that I was definitely not consulted on. Pretty sure that rule was made without me, and I was just... grandfathered into enforcing it.”
Sierra stares at him. “Are you seriously trying to unionize your way out of this right now?”
“I'm trying to figure out my role, Sierra. Am I supposed to be mad? Am I supposed to punch Everett? Am I supposed to high-five him?” He gestures wildly at me. “Congratulate you? Be happy for you both? Because honestly, right now I'm just confused.”
“You're an idiot,” Nolan says mildly.
“I'm a confused idiot. There's a difference.”
Despite everything—the tension, the fear, the weight of a decade of secrets finally exposed—a laugh bubbles out of Sierra. It's wet and shaky, but it's real.
Caleb grins, clearly pleased with himself for defusing at least some of the bomb.
But Roman isn't laughing.
He's staring at Sierra with an expression that's slowly shifting from shock to something else. Something heavier. He runs a hand over his face, exhales hard, and when he speaks again, his voice is rough.
“You didn't have Mom.”
The words land like a blow.
Sierra goes rigid beside me. “What?”
“When all this was happening. When you were seventeen and scared and falling for—” He gestures at me without looking. “You didn't have Mom to talk to. You didn't have anyone to help you figure it out.”
“Roman—”
“We raised you.” His voice cracks on the word.
“Me and Caleb and Nolan. Mostly me. After she died, we just... we circled up around you like you were something fragile that needed protecting. But we never—” He breaks off, jaw tight.
“I never stopped to ask if you needed something other than protection.”
“That's not—”
“You should have been able to come to us. About boys. About feelings. About all of it.” Roman's eyes are too bright now. “We should have made space for that. Instead, we just... built walls. And you couldn't even tell us you were in love because you thought it would break us.”
Sierra's crying again. Silent tears tracking down her cheeks while her grip on my hand turns bruising.
“I didn't want to hurt you,” she whispers. “Any of you. That's all I ever—”
“I know.” Roman crosses the distance between them in two steps and pulls her into a hug so fierce it forces her to let go of me. “I know, Shutterbug. I know.”
She sobs into his chest. He holds her, one hand cradling the back of her head, and looks at me over her shoulder.
“If you hurt her—”
“I won't.”
“I mean it, Morgan. I will end you.”
“I know.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods.
It's not forgiveness. Not yet. It's something closer to... acknowledgment. A cease-fire.
I'll take it.
Caleb and Nolan converge on their siblings, the four of them tangling into one of those messy Barrett hugs I've always been a part of, but for once I belong on the outside. So they can work it out, and when they’re done, there’s maybe going to be room for me back in that circle.
Someday.
Not today, but someday.
The crowd has mostly dispersed—Holly and Charlie herd people toward the bar with promises of free drinks.
“Everett.”
My father's voice cuts through the noise.
I turn.
He stands at the edge of the great room, my mom at his side. He looks... different than he did this morning. The rigidity in his shoulders has softened. The disappointment that's been etched into his face for months seems lighter somehow.
He walks toward me, and I brace for impact.
Instead, he holds out a beer.
I take it, confused. “Dad?”