Beautiful When He Breaks (Sinners of Blackthorne U #5)

1. Julian

Julian

It’s strange how quickly a house full of people can feel lonely.

I’m standing at the edge of the living room, half a bottle of Coke in my hand, watching everyone pile onto Damien like he’s just been crowned king of New York. Which, I guess, he kind of has.

Damien Moore—Thunderhawks captain, reformed playboy, our friend—is the first of us heading for the pros. The whole house is alive with that electricity, the sense that something momentous has shifted and nothing will ever be the same.

Damien’s laughing so hard he’s almost doubled over, and Roman and Luca are trying to dump a shaker of confetti over his head while Ryan films the whole thing for Instagram.

Liam’s in the kitchen, flipping burgers on the electric grill and pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s got that small smile—the one that means he’s proud even if he’d rather die than say it.

I should feel more involved in this, I guess. This is family—the found kind you build brick by brick when the world offers you nothing but broken glass. But lately, I don’t know where I fit, and it’s not even because of my shattered friendship with Eli.

I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror, the bruise on my neck fading from violent purple to a sickly yellow-green color. It sits just above my collarbone, half-hidden by the collar of my T-shirt, easy to miss unless you know where to look.

I angle my chin, making sure it’s subtle enough to pass as something else. A hard practice. An accident in the weight room. I’ve gotten good at explanations no one actually asks for.

The music swells behind me, Ryan whooping as Damien ducks another handful of confetti. The smell of charred burgers and beer mixes with a sharp spark of excitement that comes when one of your own makes it out. It should feel uncomplicated.

Instead, there’s this thin film under my skin, this constant awareness of how quickly joy can flip. I tug my shirt higher, fingers brushing the fading mark. It’s almost gone. Almost like it never happened.

“Jules!” Roman calls from the living room. “You hiding back there or what?”

“Coming,” I answer, forcing brightness into my voice.

I step back into the noise, into the bright mess of it.

Damien’s got Luca in a headlock now, both grinning like idiots while Killian leans against the wall, arms folded, watching the chaos with that satisfied, territorial look he gets when his people are happy.

This house. These idiots. He’d burn down the world for them. We all would.

That’s the part that makes my chest tight. Because this—this loud, stupid, loyal love—is the only thing that feels steady. Everything else feels… conditional.

I drift toward the kitchen, popping the cap off my Coke with my thumb, pretending I just needed a refill. Liam glances at me as I lean against the counter.

“You good?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking once to my neck before snapping back up.

I nod too fast. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugs, flipping a burger. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

“I’ve had stuff,” I say lightly. “Midterms. Extra lifts. You know.”

He studies me for a second longer than I’d prefer, then lets it go. “Right.”

Stuff.

That’s what I call it in my head, too. Stuff. Not the late-night texts that aren’t really requests. Not the way my phone buzzes and makes my stomach drop before I even look at the screen. Not the tone that goes sharp and cutting if I don’t answer fast enough. Just… stuff.

Back in the living room, Damien catches my eye and raises his bottle in a silent toast. I lift mine in return. He looks different lately—lighter somehow. Noah did that. Love did that… The right kind of love.

I wonder what that must feel like.

Sometimes I think about telling them about what’s going on with me.

About saying, “Hey, I might’ve made a mistake.

” About admitting that what started as a secret thrill turned into something I don’t know how to step out of.

But then I picture the fallout. The way Killian would go still and dangerous, how Luca’s hands would curl into fists, and how Eli would look at me—hurt and furious all at once.

I don’t want to be the problem, so I keep it to myself.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, I catch Eli’s gaze from across the room. He’s laughing at something Ryan just said, head thrown back. But when he looks my way, the laughter dies, replaced by that awkward shadow that’s haunted us for months.

It’s been six months since Celeste ghosted him and everything between us fractured. I tried to talk to him, tried to bridge the gap, but Eli won’t let me in. It stings in ways I can’t explain to anyone, especially not him.

I want to fix it. God, I’d do anything to fix it. I miss my best friend. I hate myself for noticing every little thing about him that hasn’t changed—the way he rubs the back of his neck when he’s uncomfortable or how his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

“Hoekom stoot jy my weg?” I murmur under my breath, thankful that no one else can speak the language I grew up with.

Someone cranks the music louder, and I take the opportunity to slip out of the room again. I detour toward the front of the house, telling myself I just need a minute to breathe without feeling like I’m being crushed under my own thoughts.

The late afternoon light filters through the tall windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air, and for a brief second, everything feels suspended, calm in a way the Sin Bin rarely is.

That’s when I hear the knock, faint and distant, swallowed by the music and the noise, and I realize no one else even noticed.

I want to ignore it, but then I hear a car speeding off, and I frown.

I hesitate for half a second, then head for the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quieter foyer. I pull it open, expecting to see one of the neighbors or maybe a delivery someone forgot about, but there’s no one there, just the empty porch and the quiet hum of the afternoon.

I’m already halfway through closing the door when something catches my eye. I look down, frowning, my brain lagging behind what I’m actually seeing, and my heart kicks hard against my ribs.

There’s a baby car seat sitting on the doorstep next to a diaper bag.

For a second, I honestly think I’m hallucinating and my stress finally snapped something in my head. But then I see the small blanket draped over it, the careful way it’s tucked in, and my stomach drops.

I crouch down slowly, every nerve in my body screaming, and peel the blanket back just enough to see a tiny face, pink and soft, and unmistakably real. The baby is asleep, mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling in that fragile way that makes my hands shake.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, my voice coming out thin and panicked. I stand up so fast I almost knock myself backward, my pulse roaring in my ears as I stumble back into the house. “Uh—guys,” I call into the foyer, “Can someone come out here, like right fucking now?”

The music cuts abruptly, someone curses, footsteps thunder toward me, and within seconds, the entryway is packed with confused faces. Killian pushes to the front immediately, his expression sharp and alert, while Damien’s grin fades into something more cautious.

“What the hell is it?” Roman asks, already bracing himself, and I just point dumbly at the open door because I can’t seem to form a sentence that makes sense.

Killian steps outside without hesitation, crouching down in front of the car seat like this is just another problem to solve, and he lifts it carefully, one hand steadying the base as he brings it inside. “Someone grab the bag,” he orders.

The room goes eerily quiet, and I can hear my own heartbeat as he sets the car seat down on the entryway table. He pulls the blanket back fully, revealing the sleeping baby to everyone, and there’s a collective intake of breath that feels almost reverent.

“What the fuck,” Ryan mutters, his voice stripped of its usual humor. Sage’s hand flies to his mouth, Nate goes pale, and Damien just stares, stunned. Adrian sinks down onto the edge of the stairs, eyes wide, while Thorn looks between Killian and the baby.

Killian frowns as he looks at the car seat, then carefully reaches into the carrier and pulls out a plain envelope.

He doesn’t open it right away, his jaw tightening before finally sliding a finger under the flap.

The stack of papers crackles softly as he unfolds it, his eyes scanning the page, and I watch his expression change in real time, the controlled calm giving way to shock.

He looks up slowly, and when his eyes land on Eli, my heart drops so hard it feels like it might crack in two.

Eli frowns, confusion creasing his brow as he steps forward instinctively. “What is it?” he asks, his voice steady even though his hands twitch at his sides. Killian doesn’t answer him verbally; he just holds the envelope out.

Eli takes it with a puzzled look that doesn’t last long. I watch the color drain from his face as he reads, and his shoulders slumping.

“It’s… mine,” Eli croaks. “It’s my baby.”

There’s a collective inhale and a few muffled curses, but I can’t look at anyone but Eli.

My Eli—the one who held me up at my mom’s funeral, the one who snuck out with me at midnight to see shooting stars, the one I’ve loved so fucking stupidly for so long—standing with a letter trembling in his hands, eyes wild with shock and fear.

He looks up and immediately meets my gaze, but all I can see is the terror swimming in his blue eyes. “Jules…” he whispers, and I walk to him without hesitation, pulling him into my arms.

He sags against me, and I wince because of my ribs, but I push the pain down because Eli needs me. One hand comes up to the back of his neck automatically, the other bracing his spine, like I’ve done a hundred times before when life knocked him sideways.

I lower my mouth to his temple without caring who’s watching. “Hey,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady even though my own pulse is out of control. “Breathe. Ek het jou, Liefling. I’ve got you.”

His forehead drops against my collarbone. I feel the tremor there before I hear it, the shaky inhale he tries to swallow down. “Don’t leave,” he whispers.

I don’t even blink. “Not a chance.”

For the first time since Celeste ghosted him, he leans fully into me without reservation. And I hold him tighter, anchoring him in place while the rest of the house scrambles around us, and a new life breathes softly a few feet away.