Chapter 73
KAI
Alex ate his pasta in bed, watching the TV I’d put on for him.
The glow from the screen lit up his face, softening the bruises, making him look younger, smaller, like someone who should never have had to learn how to brace for impact.
It was strange seeing him here in my house, in my bed - even if it was the spare - but the strangeness wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind that made my chest feel too full, like I was holding something precious I didn’t quite know how to handle.
I liked it.
No. I loved it.
Loved knowing he was under my roof. Loved knowing he was warm, fed, safe. Loved that he trusted me enough to be here at all.
And the more I watched him - snuggled under my blankets, fork moving slowly, eyes flicking from his bowl to the TV - the more certain I became of something I’d been trying not to admit.
I wanted to keep him here.
Not just for tonight. Not just until the bruises faded. But for as long as he needed. For as long as he’d let me.
Because here, in this room, in this house… I knew he was safe. And I didn’t ever want to send him back to a place where he wasn’t.
I wanted to protect him. I wanted to make it better. I wanted him close.
For as long as I possibly could.
But then his phone rang, and I watched him stiffen.
His whole body went rigid, fork pausing halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted to the cracked phone on the counter - wide, trembling, like he was preparing for battle even here, even in my house.
My chest tightened.
“Who is it?” I asked, frowning. “Connor?”
He shook his head quickly. “It’s my mum.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding, but Alex didn’t relax. If anything, he looked worse - like the call was a different kind of danger.
“Are you going to answer it?” I asked gently, keeping my voice low so he didn’t feel cornered.
Alex swallowed, eyes glued to the screen, thumb hovering but not moving. He looked torn - scared, guilty, exhausted - like answering would hurt and ignoring it would hurt too.
I shifted a little closer, not touching him yet, but close enough that he could feel I was here.
“You don’t have to,” I said softly. “Only if you want to.”
His breath hitched, and he blinked hard, shoulders rounding in like he was trying to make himself smaller.
He took a deep breath and clicked answer , setting the phone on speaker.
“Alex?” His mum’s voice filled the room.
“Hi, Mum,” he said, his voice already shaking.
“Alex, where are you? Your brother’s flipping out.”
I saw him flinch like she’d slapped him.
“Is he… really mad?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“What do you think?” she huffed. “For someone who claims to hate confrontation, you sure know how to wind him up.”
His throat bobbed as he tried to speak.
“Mum, it’s-”
“No, his phone’s fine,” she shouted to someone in the background. “I’m talking to him right now.”
Alex’s eyes went wide. “Mum, is that Connor? Don’t put him on. Please don’t-”
“Hang on, Alex,” she said. “He just wants to talk.”
There was a shuffle, the sound of the phone changing hands.
Then his brother’s voice cut through the speaker, sharp and cold.
“Alex.” A tut of irritation. “Do we need to have another chat about listening?”
“N-No,” Alex stammered.
“Where are you?” Connor’s voice was harsh, clipped.
Alex didn’t answer. His mouth opened, but nothing came out - like the words were trapped somewhere behind his fear.
“Are you with him?” Connor pressed, spitting the word like poison.
Alex looked at me then - really looked - and the fear in his eyes was raw, shaking, like he already knew there was no right answer.
“N-No,” he whispered, his voice barely there.
Before he could say anything else, I snatched the phone from his hand, my pulse hammering.
“Yes, he’s staying with me,” I hissed, stepping back so Alex couldn’t pull it away. “And I’m not going to let you hurt him anymore.”
“Oh, so he’s got balls, has he?” Connor taunted, laughing through the phone, the sound sharp and ugly.
“Kai, what are you doing?” Alex whispered, reaching for my arm, his eyes pleading with me to stop.
“I’m sticking up for you, Alex… someone’s got to,” I said quickly, my voice shaking with anger I couldn’t swallow. “I’m done watching the world hurt you and pretending I don’t see it. It ends today.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“I’m not scared of you,” I hissed. “If you so much as lift a finger at him again, you’re going to regret it.”
Connor laughed - low, mocking, like he thought I was a joke.
Then his voice dropped, colder than before.
“If he’s not home in one hour,” he said, each word deliberate, “there will be consequences. You don’t want to find out what they are.”
Alex flinched like the words hit him physically.
The line went dead.
Alex looked at me, tears still clinging to his lashes, but something else flickered underneath them now - frustration, panic, a spark of anger that came from fear, not defiance.
“Why did you do that? I told you he’d be mad,” he said, voice shaking. “I told you.”
“Alex-”
“No,” he snapped, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand, like the tears were betraying him. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand what you’ve just done.”
His breath hitched, and he pushed the blanket off his legs like he was about to stand, even though he was trembling too much to actually do it.
“You think you’re helping,” he said, voice rising, “but you’re making it worse. You’re making it so much worse.”
I felt the words hit me, but I stayed still, stayed calm.
“He’s going to lose it,” Alex went on, pacing himself with shallow breaths. “You heard him. You heard what he said. If I’m not there-”
“Alex-”
“Stop!” he burst out, louder than I’d ever heard him. “Stop telling me I’m safe! Stop acting like you know what he’ll do!”
His hands were shaking violently now, his whole body tight with fear he didn’t know how to hold.
“You don’t understand,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t understand what happens when I don’t listen. You don’t understand what he’s like when he’s angry. You don’t-”
He broke off, chest heaving.
Then, quieter, rawer:
“You can’t keep me here, Kai.”
He wasn’t angry at me. He was terrified. And anger was the only thing he had left to hide behind. He swung one leg over the side of the bed, trying to stand even though he was shaking so badly he could barely keep himself upright, holding his ribs.
“I have to go,” he said, voice cracking. “Kai, I have to-he’ll kill me if I’m not-”
He pushed himself up, but his knees buckled almost immediately, a wince on his face.
I moved before he hit the floor.
“Alex- hey- stop,” I said, catching him by the arms. Not hard. Not restraining. Just enough to steady him.
He tried to pull away anyway, weak but desperate. “Let me go,” he snapped, breath hitching. “Kai, let me go, I need to-”
“You can’t even stand,” I said softly.
That made him freeze.
Not because he agreed. Because he hated that it was true.
His fingers curled into my sleeves, not gripping, just… holding on. His chest rose and fell too fast, panic tightening every muscle in his body.
“Kai, please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t understand what he’ll do.”
“I do,” I said quietly. “I heard him. I saw the bruises.”
He shook his head, tears spilling now. “Then why won’t you let me go?”
“Because I’m not sending you back to someone who talks to you like that,” I said, steady, unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk into danger just because he told you to.”
His breath stuttered, and he sagged against me, the fight draining out of him all at once.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t make him angrier.”
“You’re not going back,” I murmured, guiding him gently back onto the bed. “You’re not.”
He didn’t argue this time. He just let me hold him up. Let me guide him back onto the bed. But the moment his body hit the mattress, something inside him seemed to snap.
He curled in on himself, knees drawing up, hands fisting in the blanket like he needed something to hold onto just to stay upright. His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls - not quite sobs, but close, like he was fighting them with everything he had.
“Alex,” I said softly.
He shook his head hard, squeezing his eyes shut as tears spilled over.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just… don’t.”
I stayed where I was, close but not touching him. My hand lifted instinctively, reaching to soothe him - but the moment my fingers neared his shoulder, he flinched hard, like the air itself had burned him.
Something inside my chest twisted.
“Alex,” I murmured, pulling my hand back. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”
He turned his face toward me, eyes red and shining, and when he spoke, his voice was cold.
“You already have.”
The words hit like a punch, but the look on his face - the way it crumpled a second later - told me he didn’t mean them the way they sounded.
“I need you to leave,” he whispered.
“Alex-”
“Leave me alone.” The tears were rolling freely now, slipping down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. “Please. Just… go.”
He folded in on himself, shoulders shaking, hiding his face in the pillow like he couldn’t bear to be seen breaking.
He wasn’t pushing me away because he hated me. He was pushing me away because he hated that he needed me. Because needing anyone had always ended badly for him.
I didn’t move closer. I didn’t touch him. But I didn’t leave.
“I’m right here,” I said softly. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not walking out on you.”
His breath hitched - a tiny, broken sound - and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping through anyway.
And I stayed. Close enough for him to feel me there. Far enough that he didn’t feel trapped.
I lowered myself onto the floor beside the bed, slow and deliberate, like any sudden movement might make things worse.
The carpet was cold against my legs, but I didn’t care.
I stayed there, back against the side of the mattress, close enough that he could hear me breathe, far enough that he didn’t feel trapped.
Alex kept his face turned toward the wall, shoulders shaking, tears slipping silently onto the pillow. Every few seconds he sucked in a sharp breath, like he was trying to swallow the sound of crying before it escaped.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t reach for him again. I just stayed.
His voice came out small, cracked. “Why are you still here?”
I rested my hands loosely in my lap. “Because you’re hurting,” I said softly. “And I’m not leaving you alone with that.”
He shook his head, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “I told you to go.”
“I know.”
“Then why haven’t you?” His voice broke on the last word.
I looked at the back of his trembling shoulders, at the way he curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear.
“Because I don’t think you actually want to be alone,” I said gently. “You just don’t want me to see you like this.”
A choked sound escaped him - not quite a sob, not quite a breath - and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself.
“I’m a mess,” he whispered.
“You’re scared,” I corrected. “And you’re allowed to be.”
He didn’t answer, but his breathing hitched again, and another tear slid down onto the pillow.
I stayed exactly where I was, a presence he could lean toward when he was ready, without ever feeling pushed.
And slowly, slowly, the room settled around us.
For a long while, Alex didn’t speak.
He just lay there facing the wall, shoulders shaking, breath catching every few seconds like he was trying to hold himself together with nothing but willpower. I stayed on the floor beside the bed, back against the mattress.
His fingers tightened in the blanket. Then loosened. Then tightened again.
A tiny, broken sound slipped out of him - the kind someone makes when they’re trying not to cry anymore but their body won’t listen.
“Kai…” he whispered.
I lifted my head slightly. “I’m here.”
He swallowed hard, the movement visible even from where I sat. His voice came out so small I almost missed it.
“I’m scared.”
The words trembled out of him like they’d been locked behind his teeth for years.
He didn’t turn toward me. He didn’t reach out. He just lay there, shaking, like saying it had cost him something he didn’t have to spare.
I kept my voice low, steady. “I know.”
I got up slowly, giving him every chance to tell me no. When he didn’t, I eased myself onto the bed beside him, moving carefully so I didn’t startle him. He tensed the moment the mattress dipped - shoulders tight, breath caught in his throat.
I hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then I wrapped an arm around him.
At first he went rigid, every muscle locked like he was bracing for something. I kept my touch light, steady, nothing that could be mistaken for holding him down. Just warmth. Just presence.
A few seconds passed. Then another. And then, slowly - painfully slowly - the tension drained out of him. His shoulders loosened. His breathing softened. He let himself lean back into me, just a fraction at first, then fully, like his body had finally decided it was allowed to rest.
I held him gently, my arm around his waist, my chest against his back, matching my breaths to his until they found a rhythm.
We didn’t talk. We didn’t move. We just existed there together, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the TV and the sound of his breathing evening out.
Little by little, the tremors in his body faded. His grip on the blanket loosened. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion he’d been fighting for far too long.
And eventually, sleep found him - deep, heavy, peaceful in a way I hadn’t seen in him before.
I stayed right there, holding him as he drifted, making sure he knew - even in sleep - that he wasn’t alone.
And in that moment - feeling him finally relax in my arms, hearing the steady hum of his breathing against me - something inside me settled. I wanted to hold onto this feeling, to bottle it, to keep it close. It was bigger than anything I knew how to name.
“I love you,” I breathed, curled behind him, my lips close to his hair. “I’m going to keep you safe.”
He couldn’t hear me, not like this, but it didn’t matter. It was a promise - quiet, fierce, unshakeable - one I was hell-bent on keeping.