Chapter Seventeen
Dean
Alex and I are frozen, staring at his phone where Ayla’s contact is lighting up the screen.
The shrill ring fills the kitchen, slicing through the uneasy silence.
Zayn and Ayla walk in, laughter dying on their lips when they see our faces.
Zayn’s eyes dart to the phone, reading the tension instantly.
“What’s going on?” His voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it, the kind of tone that makes you realize something is seriously wrong.
Before I can answer, Zayn lunges for the phone, but I shout, “Don’t answer it!
” The air is so thick you could choke on it.
It can’t be tracked. I made sure of that before we left New York, but I just feel like that's a bad decision.
He stops dead, hands raised, eyes wide. The phone keeps ringing, relentless, each buzz ratcheting up the dread in the room.
Finally, it goes silent—just for a second—then starts up again, insistent and menacing. No one moves.
When the ringing finally stops for good, there’s a brief, hollow quiet before the sharp ping of a voicemail breaks the tension.
Alex grabs the phone, knuckles white, and hits play.
This time, Charles’s voice is softer—almost gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of strain.
“Ayla, sweetheart, if you’re listening… I just want to know that you’re safe.
I miss you. I’m worried about you, and I hope you’ll call me.
If the people you’re with are listening, please bring her home.
She’s my daughter. I know things have been hard for all of us, but if you bring her back, I can make what happened with Derek disappear.
No police, no trouble. Just bring her home, please. ”
I watch Ayla’s face drain of all color, her body rigid with fear.
Zayn’s fists clench at his sides, jaw ticking as he fights the urge to punch something.
My anger flares hot and fast. “We sure as hell aren’t doing that,” I say, my voice low but fierce.
“If Charles wants her back, he’ll have to get through me—and I promise, I’ll leave him bleeding before I ever let him touch her again. ”
Alex’s answer is ice-cold and final. “Not a fucking chance.”
Ayla’s breathing turns wild, shallow, and uneven, her eyes swimming with tears as she looks pleadingly at all three of us.
“You can’t let them take me,” she chokes out, her voice breaking, desperate and raw.
“Please. Please, don’t let them take me.
” The words cut through every wall I’ve ever built, slicing right to the core of who I am.
For a split second, none of us move. Then I’m across the room, pulling her into my arms, holding her tight enough to anchor us both.
Alex and Zayn close in too—Alex’s hand steady on her back, Zayn’s fingers gentle on her shoulder.
I can feel their presence, the shared promise vibrating in the air between us.
Inside, a dangerous kind of certainty hardens.
If they want Ayla, they’ll have to kill me first. Kill all of us.
There’s no universe where I let her go without a fight.
My anger sharpens, molten and absolute—I’d burn the world down before I let her be taken from us.
"Never," I breathe fiercely, pressing a kiss to her hair. "No one will ever take you. Not while we’re alive. They’ll have to go through every last one of us.
" I mean every single word. My heart hammers with fury.
We stand together, a wall around her—ready to face whatever comes, side by side.
“Thank you,” Ayla whispers, her voice so soft it barely carries.
She looks at each of us—me, Zayn, Alex—her eyes pleading for reassurance.
I want to promise her the world, want to be her anchor, but as she pulls away, her fingers slip from mine and graze Zayn’s hand instead.
My chest tightens with a flash of jealousy, a pang so sharp I almost wince.
I want to be the one she reaches for, the one she turns to first. But I school my face to calm, not letting it show—I know she needs all of us right now, not just me. She needs safety, not possession.
He squeezes back, offering a quiet, “You’re safe here.
We’re not letting anything happen to you.
Not now, not ever.” I swallow the disappointment, reminding myself that this isn’t about me, or my ego.
It’s about her. As much as I want to be her first choice, I know what matters is that she feels safe—no matter whose hand she holds.
And if that means stepping back, I’ll do it.
Because caring for her, in this moment, means letting her lean on whoever she needs.
We drift into the living room, weighed down with exhaustion and dread.
Ayla curls up with Zayn on the couch, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders.
Alex takes the other end, his palm resting on her calf, thumb tracing slow circles.
I slump into the recliner, watching them—my girl, my friends, my family—all tangled up in each other, and feel a strange peace settle over the chaos.
No one talks at first. The only sound is the TV, movie trailers flickering across the screen. Finally, Alex breaks the silence. “As long as the road is flooded, we’re safe. Tonight, we breathe. Tomorrow, we make a plan.”
Zayn nods, jaw tight. “I’ll stay up, keep watch. You three get some rest. We need our strength.”
Ayla snuggles deeper into Zayn’s side. “I just… don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”
I meet her gaze and give her a gentle smile. “You’re not alone. You’ve got all of us. They’ll have to go through every last one of us to get to you.”
Alex scrolls through movie options, the remote clicking rhythmically in his hand. “Alright, what’s it gonna be?” he asks, glancing at each of us. “Comedy? Action? Something cheesy to lighten the mood?”
Zayn snorts. “No rom-coms. I need something that’ll keep me awake.”
Ayla perks up a little, her voice tentative but hopeful. “What about horror? Something scary enough to make us forget everything else for a while?”
I groan from the recliner, shaking my head. “You all know I can’t stand horror movies. Every time it’s a jump scare, I spill my drink.”
Alex grins, eyes twinkling. “Come on, Dean. It’s a classic cabin experience.”
Zayn squeezes Ayla, teasing. “I’ll keep you safe. And if Dean screams, we’ll know the movie’s actually good.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s all in good fun. “Fine, you win. But don’t expect me to stick around for a slasher marathon. I’ll pass on the nightmares, thanks.”
Zayn grins and squeezes Ayla’s shoulder. “I’ll keep her safe from the ghosts. You just go dream about rainbows and kittens, Dean.”
Alex snorts. “If you hear screaming, it’s probably Zayn, not Ayla.”
I laugh, grabbing the blanket off the back of the recliner. I lean over, brushing a kiss to Ayla’s forehead and letting my hand linger on Zayn’s neck, warm and possessive. “Goodnight, trouble,” I whisper to Ayla, then give Zayn a squeeze and nod at Alex. “Try not to traumatize her too much.”
Alex salutes with the remote. “We’ll try not to.”
I head down the hall, listening to their laughter and easy banter behind me.
The glow of the TV and the sound of their voices fill the house, and for tonight, it almost feels like a real home.
I smile and head up the stairs toward my room, the sound of Ayla’s soft laughter and Alex and Zayn’s playful bickering following me.
Behind me, I hear Zayn teasing, “Alright, Ayla, time to see if you can handle the scary stuff.”
Ayla
I’m curled up with Zayn, his arm snug and protective around my waist, the heat of his body steady against my back.
Alex sits close on my other side, his palm resting on my thigh, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles that make my skin tingle.
Sometimes his touch drifts higher, pausing just beneath the hem of my t-shirt, like he’s daring me to stop him—or daring me to want more.
I try to keep my eyes on the movie, but it’s impossible to ignore the way Alex keeps glancing at me, never at the screen.
He watches every little shift, every nervous laugh, every time I press closer into Zayn.
There’s a hunger in his eyes—dark, focused, and patient—that makes my breath catch, makes my whole body buzz with the curiosity of what might happen if I let myself melt into both their touches.
The suspense on screen builds, but the real tension is wrapped around me, wound tight and humming in the hush of the cabin.
Zayn’s thumb strokes absent patterns against my hip, Alex’s hand slides a little higher, and the air between us is thick with promise.
When the killer finally jumps out, I shriek and practically end up half in Zayn’s lap, my heart racing.
Both guys laugh—low, rough, the sound buzzing with something dangerous and thrilling.
The movie fades into the background as I realize how tangled up we all are, how touch and want are blurring together with every heartbeat, and there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.
Zayn’s lips suddenly crash onto mine, his hand gliding beneath my oversized T-shirt—the only thing I’ve worn since the storm hit and we never got the chance to pick up clothes for me.
I melt into the kiss, matching his energy, breathless and hungry.
Alex’s hand slides up my thigh, his touch searing as he grabs my ass, squeezing possessively.