Part-11

Becker’s POV…

I should’ve listened to Kyle last night and gone to bed. Now I’m going to get my ass kicked.

“Dude, you look like shit. Did you sleep at all?” Declan asks, his tone half-concern, half-amusement.

“I’ll be fine,” I mumble, peeling open another protein bar.

We’re in the mess hall, surrounded by twenty guys scarfing down carbs like they’re oxygen. The captain of the team discards his tray and calls, “On the field in five, boys!” His voice booms, commanding, and then he’s gone, a few players trailing after him.

“This is it!” Declan stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. “You ready for this?”

I force a smile. “You bet.”

Outside, the athletic fields sprawl like something out of a movie—perfect grass, white-painted lines sharp against green, and further down, the turf stadium shining under the morning sun.

I perk up when I notice the girls’ team warming up on the practice field beside us. Easier to steal glances at Greya. Easier to pretend I’m just checking in on the competition.

“Did you make any bets with Grey this morning?” Declan teases.

“She actually challenged me,” I chuckle, shaking my head.

“That’s our girl,” he grins.

Session one nearly kills us. The coach pushed until my lungs burned and my legs felt like cement. I came close to puking, but didn’t—not about to be “the guy who ruins the grass.” Dec and I actually earned some nods of respect for surviving.

By lunch, I was dead enough to crash in my dorm for an hour. My roommate disappeared with friends, and for once, sleep came fast.

We crossed paths with the girls at the dining hall. They were laughing, relaxed, already making friends with teammates. I didn’t get to talk to Greya, but just seeing her smile lit something in my chest I didn’t want to name.

Session two was drills—passing, footwork, endurance. I found my rhythm again, but every time I glanced over at the girls’ field, Greya was stealing attention without even trying.

“Water break!” Coach barked.

“Oh, thank God,” Declan groaned between gulps.

“You’re killing it, though.”

“Whoa! Did you see that chick?” one of the guys shouts. “Who is she? She’s insane!”

“That’s Greya Matthews,” Declan answers before I can, pride swelling in his voice. “Wait ’til you see what else she can do.”

Another guy smirks. “I’m getting her number later.”

My jaw clenches so tight I taste blood. Declan leans closer. “Relax. You know Grey doesn’t hand out numbers.”

Still, every compliment she got twisted something in me. Especially when Jasper Cane—freshman prodigy, everyone’s golden boy—praised her footwork. Him and Greya? Perfect on paper. Skilled. Unbroken. Untouched. Everything I wasn’t.

By dinner, the jealousy had curdled into something sharp. Ari and I cross paths in the food line, and I ask about their day. She says everyone was asking why Greya hadn’t accepted offers from UCLA or UNC yet.

“She already has offers from here?” I nearly choke.

Ari only shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated. Everyone kept saying that, like it explains anything.

Later, Declan fills in the blanks. Reminding me that her parents died, that her grandmother raises her and her blind brother. All I can imagine is Greya holding her whole family on her shoulders while keeping that brilliant smile for the world.

I feel like the biggest asshole alive. Infatuated with her for years and yet I’d never bothered to really know, to really think about what she’s been going through. I’m too selfish. Too afraid. Too screwed up.

“She deserves better than me,” I mutter to Dec.

“Maybe let her decide what she deserves,” he counters.

The words rattle in my head all through dinner. So much so, I barely taste my food. Eventually, I stand, walk to her table, and croak out, “Hey, Greya.”

My throat betrays me, shaky, awkward. She looks up with those green eyes and for a second, I think maybe I could risk it. Maybe I could sit next to her, just this once.

Then I hear it. Her name, called from the doorway.

Fynn. And beside him, her little brother.

Greya’s frozen. Silent. Eyes glistening before she grabs her bag and moves toward them. A quick embrace for Fynn. A tender one for her brother. Then she’s gone, walking out with them before I could process what just happened.

Declan appears beside me, nervous. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But it doesn’t seem good.”

When Ari returns, eyes red and swollen, the truth hits like a wrecking ball. Greya’s grandmother—her anchor, her last piece of family—has suffered a stroke. The outcome uncertain.

“She told me to tell you the bet’s still on,” Ari added, forcing a small laugh through her tears. “Even if she’s not here to beat you, she said you better score a goal or two.”

It was so like her. Thinking of us, of some stupid bet, while her world is collapsing.

I speak abruptly, fire in my veins. “Then we’ll give her what she wants.”

And we did. I scored five goals that weekend. Not for myself. Not for pride. For her. For the girl carrying the weight of everything and still finding room to care about me.

I’d buy her coffee every damn day for the rest of my life if it meant keeping her smile. Bet or no bet.

Part-12

Greya’s POV…

There are five stages of grief or loss that a person must go through before they can accept and move on. At least, that’s what my therapist told me after my mom passed away.

At eleven years old, I nodded and pretended to understand, but the words were just noise back then. Two years later, when my dad couldn’t make it past the fourth stage and took his own life, I learned what those stages truly meant.

My therapist says I’ve made it to the final one—acceptance—but most days, I’m not sure if I believe her. Do I accept that my mom’s cancer killed her? Yes. But am I still furious that such a gentle, selfless woman had to suffer like that? Absolutely. My dad never came with me to therapy. He never let go of denial or anger, and depression swallowed him whole. I’m angry at him every day—for leaving me, for leaving Chase, for putting a thirteen-year-old girl in charge of raising a blind four-year-old boy who deserved so much more.

So when someone tells me they’ve moved through all the stages of loss, I know they’re lying. The stages don’t vanish. They stay, echoing, buried deep. If you’re strong, you learn to live alongside them. But they never leave.

“I’m so sorry, Grey. I told you everything would be fine. I told you to go this weekend… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Fynn. Just drive.” My voice comes out too sharp, but I can’t stop it.

The words sting him. His jaw tightens, his eyes flickering with guilt. But the truth is, it’s not his fault. Deep down, I know it isn’t mine either—but denial and anger keep trading punches inside my chest, and they need somewhere to land.

The road blurs by. An hour passes before I can tear my gaze from the window. Chase is asleep in the back. Fynn hasn’t said a word, but his hands are strangling the steering wheel. His knuckles are white, his jaw twitching as he fights to stay composed.

“I’m sorry too, Fynn,” I whisper, reaching over to take his hand. It’s trembling under my touch.

He glances at me, his eyes wet.

“This wasn’t your fault,” I say softly. “You checked on her. You called the ambulance. You did everything you could. I don’t blame you—do you hear me?”

His breath shudders as he squeezes my hand, silent tears spilling down his cheek.

“Pull over at the next gas station. I’ll drive,” I say firmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need the distraction. If I’m focusing on the road, I won’t think the worst.”

We switch seats. My foot is heavier than it should be, the speedometer climbing as if the distance itself is my enemy.

By the time we reach his house, my chest feels hollow. I drop Fynn and Chase off, promising I’ll update them. Then I head straight to the hospital.

I sit in the parking lot for a long time, staring at the glass doors. Too many memories are buried here. Watching Mom wither under chemo. Watching the ER team pound on Dad’s chest. This place has never given me anything but loss.

But Grams needs me. She was there for Chase and me when the world collapsed. I won’t abandon her now.

Dragging my feet inside, I approach the nurse’s station. “Hi, I’m here to see Elizabeth Matthews. I’m Greya Matthews—her next of kin.”

The nurse’s pity is obvious. “Please, have a seat. Someone will come get you.”

Minutes later, a tall man in green scrubs appears. “Greya Matthews?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Correa. I’ve been caring for your grandmother.”

“Is she going to be alright? Can I see her?” The words tumble out, my pulse spiking.

“Miss Matthews… this won’t be easy.” His tone makes my stomach drop.

“Just spit it out,” I snap.

“Your grandmother suffered a cerebral aneurysm. The bleeding was catastrophic—too much damage. It happened while she was sleeping. Nothing could have prevented it. I’m very sorry.”

The room tilts. “What does that mean? Did she… is she gone?”

“She’s on life support. A machine is breathing for her. But she won’t wake up. You can sit with her, talk to her—but she will not recover.”

“No surgery? No experimental treatment? What if she wakes up in a week? A month?” My voice breaks. “How can I be the one to… to…”

“There’s nothing to be done. Take your time. No decisions have to be made tonight.”

Her room is dim. The soft whoosh of the ventilator fills the silence, forcing her chest to rise and fall. Her skin is warm under my fingers as I hold her hand. She looks like she’s only sleeping—peaceful, except for the tube between her lips.

“She’s still here,” I whisper. “She’s still here.”

Dr. Correa rests a hand on my shoulder. “Talk to her. Say the things you never said. Sometimes… we believe they can hear.” Then he leaves me to the machines.

I sit for hours. Saying nothing. Because saying something would mean goodbye, and I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

The sunrise pours through the blinds, golden light spilling across her sheets. “You’d love this one, Grams,” I whisper.

The nurses check in on me, worry written all over their faces. I must look feral—still in my soccer clothes, hair matted, eyes swollen.

By noon, my phone buzzes with missed messages. Fynn. Chase. They need me to keep it together. I kiss Grams’s hand and promise I’ll be back.

When I get home, Chase is in the kitchen with Fynn, perched on the counter while Fynn fixes him something to eat. Both of them look up as soon as I walk in.

“I need a shower,” I say, almost apologetic.

Then I look at Fynn. “Can I talk to you?”

In the living room, I tell him everything. Not in the flat, carefully rehearsed way I plan to speak to Chase, but the raw version—the life support, the impossible decision.

His arms are around me before I finish, pulling me into his chest. He presses a kiss to my hair. “You won’t face this alone. I’ll wait for Ari, and then we’ll come. All of us will be with you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper into his shirt. “For Chase. For everything.”

He only holds me tighter.

I pull back and swallow hard. “I’m taking Chase to the hospital. He needs to say goodbye.”

Part-13

Greya’s POV…

This is probably the first time in his young life that I thank God Chase is blind. He can sense everything, but actually seeing Gram’s frail body lying motionless in the hospital bed, a machine forcing breath into her lungs, would be too much for him. It’s too much for me.

“What’s Grams doing now, Greya? Is she sleeping? Can I talk to her?”

Oh, my heart. It’s breaking for him. For her. For me.

I lower myself into the stiff vinyl chair and pull him onto my lap. He’s so small, yet feels heavier with the weight of everything he’s lost. “Yes, buddy. She’s sleeping. But…” My throat burns. “She’s not going to wake up.”

He tilts his face up to mine, his unseeing eyes wide and glistening. “Like Mom and Daddy?”

Tears sting before I can stop them. I hug him tightly, pressing my cheek to his hair. “Yes. Like Mom and Daddy.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then nods slowly. “Just like Mom… she’ll go to a better place where she doesn’t need medicine anymore, right? And she’ll still watch over us? Be our angel?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah, buddy. She’ll always be our angel.”

This kid. This brave, too-wise-for-his-years kid. He’s had to grow up faster than anyone should.

Chase slips from my lap and feels his way toward the bed. His small hand reaches out, fumbling until I guide it into Gram’s. “Can I hold her hand and talk to her? Can she hear me?” His voice cracks.

I steady his hand, curling her cool fingers around his. “I hope so. If she can, then we should tell her how much we love her. Thank her for everything.”

He sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve, then squeezes her hand. “Thank you for being the best grandma ever. Thank you for taking care of me and Grey when we didn’t have anyone else. And… thank you for showing Grey how to be a great mom. I know she’s my sister, but she’s my mom too. The best mom I could ever ask for. So please, watch over her. I don’t wanna lose her too.”

That’s it. My tears fall freely. Chase is too strong for someone so little. He’s lost so much already, and yet he still worries about me.

He kisses Gram’s hand before turning into my arms, clutching me with a desperation that tears me apart.

“Please don’t leave me, Greya. You’re all I’ve got.”

I rub his back, rocking him gently. “Shh. I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me now. Always.”

A knock at the door pulls us from our cocoon of grief. Ari and Fynn step in, their faces etched with sadness. Ari’s already crying. Fynn gives me a small, soft smile before crouching to hug Chase, his big hand ruffling Chase’s hair. Soon we’re all tangled in a group hug, four broken pieces trying to hold each other together.

“You here to say goodbye to Grams?” Chase sniffles.

“Yes, little man,” Fynn says quietly.

Chase takes his hand and leads him to the bed. “You can hold her hand and talk to her,” he instructs, his voice trembling but sure.

Ari and I step back, watching them. Ari’s shoulders quake as I slip an arm around her. “We’ll be okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure I believe it. “We still have you. And Fynn.”

Her eyes glisten. “I don’t know how you do it, Grey. First your parents, now Grams… and you still keep it together.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have a choice. Chase needs me.”

She bites her lip, then tries to smile. “Camp was good, though. Declan impressed the coaches. And Becker—”

I look at her sharply. “What about him?”

“He scored five goals.” Her laugh is watery. “He found someone new to compete with too—Jasper Cane. But… after I told him what you said, about us staying for camp, he just… changed. He jumped up and said the rest of camp was for you, and that we’d better play our hearts out.”

My brows knit. “Becker said that?”

“Yeah. He was different, Grey. Like… I don’t know. Fierce. And then on the ride home, he kept asking if we’d talked to you. Kept circling around asking if you were okay.”

“That’s… not him.” Becker Reeves doesn’t do openly vulnerable.

Ari shrugs. “Guess losing you from camp messed with him more than he expected.”

Before I can respond, Chase comes over and tugs Ari’s hand. “It’s your turn, Ari.”

She follows him, wiping her cheeks. Fynn lingers, slipping an arm around me. “You okay?”

“As much as I can be,” I admit. My voice cracks. “I need you both when they… when they remove the tube.”

“You’ve got us,” he says simply, kissing my forehead. “You’re not doing this alone.”

“I love you, Fynn.”

“Love you too, Grey.”

Minutes later, the doctor and nurse enter, explaining what will happen. Machines go silent one by one until only the hum of the ventilator remains. My stomach knots.

We take our places. Ari grips Gram’s left hand, Fynn steady behind her. I guide Chase to her right, then lean over to stroke her silver hair.

“I love you, Grams. Thank you for everything. For raising us. For giving us a home. I’ll take care of Chase. I promise.” My lips brush her cheek. “Say hi to Mom and Dad for us. Fly free.”

There’s so much I never said. She lost her son, my father, and instead of collapsing under her grief, she carried us. Even when her body ached, when it was hard for her to chase after a little boy, she did it without complaint. She gave us love when she had nothing left.

I nod for the doctor to proceed. The tube is removed. We listen in aching silence as her breaths come shallow, falter, then fade.

After five long minutes, it’s over.

Gram passes away surrounded by the people who loved her most.

And though I try to be strong for Chase, the truth is, part of me leaves with her.

Part-14

Becker’s POV…

I haven’t seen Greya at school for three days and it’s gnawing at me like an open wound. I know what she’s going through — funerals, arrangements — but knowing and not seeing are different things. She’s been on my mind since the moment I woke up this morning. Her absence makes my chest go tight in a way Jack’s fists never did.

Returning home after the weekend made Jack worse than usual. I’ve spent the last few nights deflecting him away from Alec, taking the blows myself. Every inch of me aches. Some nights I wonder how long I can keep this up, how long I can keep getting back up and pretending nothing’s wrong so Alec can sleep.

Ari and Fynn walk into class and I shove myself into the seat near them like a magnet. Anything to be closer to the people who know her.

“How’s Greya?” I ask, too eager.

Ari answers first, soft. “She’s holding up as best as anyone could. I don’t know how she does it.”

Fynn’s voice is matter-of-fact. “She’s the strongest person I know.”

I want to believe them. I want to believe she can carry it. But when Ari tells me there’s no funeral — just a private burial tomorrow because there’s no more family — something cold runs through me. Nausea, a flutter behind my ribs. I feel staggeringly useless.

“Hey man, you look like you’re about to hurl,” Fynn says, and it hits me how pale I must be.

“I’m fine,” I lie, but I don’t wait to prove it. I bolt from the room to get air.

I drive without thinking. The car finds her street like it knows where it’s going. I pull up in front of her house before I even realize I meant to turn around. I stand on her walkway for a minute and listen—distant, warm—laughter. The sound pulls me toward the backyard.

Through the fence I watch them: Greya and Chase passing a ball between them, light in her face as she laughs. Chase’s cane taps as he wanders in toward the house. He’s brilliant at juggling—better than me—and he does it without sight. You can’t watch that and not be struck dumb by how much responsibility and pressure she carries quietly.

The sight should make me want to help her. Instead I step back, because I’m terrified of being another weight on her shoulders. I leave as quickly as I arrived, the coward in me figuring I can fix things by not adding to the mess.

Practice is supposed to fix everything. It usually does. But today I’m frayed. My head is buzzing before I even get to the locker room. Cohen and Declan hang back, watching me pace like they’re trying to figure which version of me will show up.

“What are you looking at? Get to practice!” someone yells and I snap; the reflex to flinch is immediate, muscle memory from getting hit. I hate that I still flinch in front of them.

Cohen sees it too—his eyes drop to the dark bruises along my ribs. He doesn’t ask, but I know he knows.

Sometimes I wish the cause of my breakdown was only Jack; at least that would be simple. But today it’s more than that—there’s Greya, and something about seeing her and Chase alone sends my walls toppling inward.

When I start talking, the words tumble out. “Greya’s basically a teenage mom to her blind little brother and she took care of her elderly grandmother. How does she do it? Did you guys know she’s been alone taking care of them all these years?”

Cohen and Declan exchange that look. “Yeah,” they answer in unison.

“What do you mean, yeah?” I’m stunned. How did I never know this? I’ve been circling her for five years and never asked. My chest tightens—not from guilt exactly, not only from that—but from the cowardice of my silence.

“Not many people know,” Cohen says. “Ari and Fynn do. My parents knew her parents and helped with the will after her mom died. They helped make sure Grams and the house were okay. Now they’ll help Greya get custody of Chase, since she’s eighteen. It’s been quiet—Fynn and Ari don’t broadcast it, she wants privacy.”

“How did her parents die?” I need to ask the harder questions.

Declan answers the rest, softer. “Her mom had cancer. Her dad… he couldn’t handle her death and took his own life. Greya found him. Somehow she’s been holding things together since she was thirteen.”

Hearing it hits me in the gut like a punch. I stumble toward the nearest trash can and empty my stomach into it.

The world tilts. I swallow water, wipe my mouth with my shirt, and feel mortified for having been such an idiot—infatuated but uninterested in actually knowing the person I claim I care about.

“Tomorrow,” I say, standing up. My voice is cleaner than I feel. “We go to the memorial tomorrow. Private or not—she needs people there.”

“Whatever you decide, we’ve got you,” Declan says.

It’s not about me. It’s about her. About the kid who counts the tiles of the flooring because he can’t see them, about the granny who loved them both until she couldn’t anymore. It’s about not being the guy who stood by and did nothing.

When we take the field, something shifts. My feet find the ball the way they always have. Everything channels—anger, shame, grief—into each touch, each run. I’m hard on myself, harder than any coach. I run harder, pass sharper, move with a fury that’s not just competitiveness; it’s penance.

By the end of practice my legs ache in that clean way that proves something was earned. It doesn’t fix what I didn’t know. It doesn’t undo the nights I let Jack take his anger out on me so Alec would be safe. But it does give me something to hand Greya tomorrow: presence. Not answers, not words, just the fact that I’ll show up.

“Let’s go,” I tell Cohen and Declan quietly as we walk off the field. My voice is steady now. “She’s not alone.”

And for the first time in a long time, feeling that resolve in my chest, I believe it.

Part-15

Becker’s POV…

“Open this door, you bastard, before I rip it off its hinges!”

Fuck. So much for sleep tonight. Jack’s rage has been simmering since I got home, but this—this is different. The pounding rattles the frame. My stomach knots. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, fingers shaking as I type. “Alec, stay in your room. Don’t come out until I say.”

His reply is almost instant.

Alec: Becker, be careful.

I don’t get the chance to respond. The door explodes inward with a kick I didn’t think Jack was capable of. He sways in the doorway, whiskey bottle dangling from his left hand, a steel fire poker in his right. The tip glows faintly red, smoke curling up from where he must have jammed it into the fireplace. My throat dries.

His eyes are bloodshot, face slick with sweat. “Your mother left me with you,” he slurs, staggering forward.

No shit. The words burn in my mouth but I keep them locked behind clenched teeth.

“Alec is my responsibility. But not you. She should’ve taken you.” He jabs the poker in my direction, spit flying.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snarl. “We’re both your sons. Both your responsibility.”

He lurches closer. The wall presses cold against my back. Nowhere left to go.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he growls, then lunges.

The glowing tip slices through the air toward me. Instinct takes over. I shove at his chest, but he outweighs me and drives the burning metal into my left side.

The smell hits me first—skin sizzling. Pain explodes, white-hot. A strangled sound tears from my throat as I grab the shaft of the poker, holding it back from driving deeper.

Jack stumbles, whiskey sloshing, and I shove him hard. He topples onto my bed, groaning. Not out cold, but close.

I don’t wait to see. Snatching my phone and the go-bag I keep ready, I bolt into the hallway.

“Alec!”

His door cracks open. His eyes are wide.

“Grab your things—we’re going to Cohen’s,” I order.

In the bathroom, I snag the first-aid kit, toss Alec the car keys. “You’re driving.”

He blinks. “But—” His gaze drops to my side, where blood seeps through my shirt.

“No time. Just do it.”

He nods, jaw tight, and we’re out the door.

The night air bites, the pain sharper now that the adrenaline is thinning. Alec drives, knuckles white on the wheel, silent tears streaking his cheeks.

“Beck… how bad is it?”

“Just a flesh wound,” I lie, forcing a grin. I rip open gauze with my teeth, press it against the burn. He glances at the bandages, face crumpling.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching him hurt you like this.”

“I know.” My voice softens. “I’ll figure something out. I won’t let him touch you, ever.”

“I’m not worried about me anymore,” he whispers.

But I’ll always worry about him. He’s all I’ve got.

It’s 2:00 a.m. when Cohen’s mom opens the door. She doesn’t hesitate. Just pulls Alec into a hug and tells him to sleep in Macey’s room. With me, she only offers a kind smile, like she knows a hug might shatter me.

“You boys are always welcome here,” she says.

I nod. “Thank you.”

I don’t sleep. By sunrise, Alec’s in the kitchen with her, flipping pancakes. For a moment, he looks sixteen again, not someone forced to drive through the night while his brother bled beside him.

“Morning, Becker,” Mrs. Colins says warmly. “Sit. Eat.”

I manage a small smile. “Thanks.”

She eyes me knowingly. “Cohen says you’re skipping school today?”

“We’re… going to a burial. A friend’s grandmother.”

Her face softens. “Poor Greya. That girl’s been through so much. Selfless and strong. We help her when she lets us.” She chuckles gently at the thought.

“Yeah.” My lips twitch. “She is something.”

She notices, and her smile shifts—gentler, almost like she sees right through me.

By mid-morning, I’m in a slate shirt and black tie Cohen handed me, sitting in the car with him and Declan. None of us speak much. The silence feels heavy, respectful.

At the cemetery, Ari and Fynn nod when they see us. Greya doesn’t. Her back is to us, one hand clasping Chase’s. She turns at last, and her eyes catch mine. For a breath, she looks startled—then relieved. Maybe even grateful.

The priest’s voice drones, but I hear nothing. My attention is locked on Greya—on the way she holds her brother steady while balancing the urn in her arms, on the quiet strength etched into her shoulders. Her whole family—gone. Parents, grandmother. Only her and Chase remain, yet she doesn’t falter.

Cohen nudges me. “Becker.”

I blink. “What?”

He presses a rose into my hand.

Greya kneels with Chase, guiding his small fingers through a scoop of soil. Together they sprinkle it over the box that will hold the urn. Then she lays a rose atop the gravestone. One by one, we follow, our roses forming a fragile crown over the names carved in stone.

When it’s done, we step back, leaving her and Chase a moment alone.

Later, she rejoins us. Chase clings to Fynn, who scoops him up with ease.

“Thank you for coming,” she says softly. “It means a lot.”

“Of course,” Cohen answers for all of us, pulling her into a hug. Ari and Declan follow, wrapping her in the kind of comfort only best friends can give.

Then it’s me.

She stops right in front of me, closer than I expected. Close enough that I can see the way the wind lifts a strand of her hair across her cheek, the faint redness in her eyes from crying. She doesn’t speak at first—just looks at me, waiting.

Her arms hover awkwardly at her sides, like she’s not sure if she should reach for me. And for a split second, I swear she wants to.

My chest tightens. Every instinct screams to close the distance, to pull her in and let her know she’s not alone. But my body won’t move. My hand twitches uselessly at my side, like I’m frozen between wanting and fear.

“I appreciate you being here, Beck,” she finally whispers.

Her voice is soft but it slices right through me.

I rub the back of my neck, avoiding her eyes because if I meet them for too long, I’ll break. “I’m sorry for your loss, Greya,” I manage, low and rough.

Her lips part slightly, like she was expecting… hoping… for something more. A hug. A promise. Anything. But she just nods instead, tucking that hope back behind her strong front.

The silence between us lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, until Ari saves us both. “Let’s get back to Greya’s house. We’ll have lunch there.”

Greya gives me one last look before turning away. I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

On the drive back, Declan studies me. “You sure you’re okay? After last night, and today… you seem out of it.”

“Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.”

Like the way Jack’s words still echo: She should’ve taken you. What the hell did that mean? That I’m not really his son? That I was never his responsibility?

I stare out the window at the passing trees. I don’t know the answers.

What I do know is that life is cruel. And yet, in the middle of all this cruelty, Greya shines. She doesn’t just survive—she carries others. She carries Chase, her grief, her losses… and still, she stands.

She’s the light on the hill.

She makes me want to try.

To be stronger. Better. For Alec. For her. Maybe even for myself.

I don’t know how yet. But I know I have to try.

Part-16

Greya’s POV…

The laughter from Chase in the back seat while Ari drives us back to my house is soothing. Fynn knows exactly how to cheer that boy up. I’m so thankful for my friends. Them and Chase are the only reasons that I keep going.

I guessed that Cohen and Declan would probably show up at the cemetery. Never in a million years did I expect Becker. I wonder what made him come. After all these years, he decides to want to be my friend in every sense of the word. I’ve always thought of him as a friend, though not in the most conventional way. He’s always been around, watching me, competing with me. Maybe that’s his way of showing he cares.

Becker is awkward, that’s for sure. Not necessarily a bad thing. He’s exceptionally smart and talented, yet so reserved about it. And the fact that I know someone’s been hurting him, breaks my heart. No one should have to suffer physical or mental abuse. I wish I could find a way to help him.

The guys follow us into the house when we arrive. Chase bolts upstairs to his room. “I’m going to change my clothes!” he yells.

“You guys can watch TV or whatever. I’m going to order some food,” I tell everyone. Becker is standing near the door, watching Chase run up the stairs. He seems curious. I wonder how much Becker really knows about my family.

“I’ll help you order the food,” Ari says as she follows me into the kitchen.

“Greya has a cool backyard. A soccer net too,” I hear Fynn tell the other three. They all follow Fynn outside.

“So, this is a surprise seeing Becker here,” Ari smiles at me.

“Yes, very surprising. Nice though,” I shrug. I don’t want to think too much into it or anything else. I need to keep busy so I don’t break down.

“Hey Grey, why don’t you let me bring out the drinks and you go hang out outside. You’ve been taking care of everything and everyone, you haven’t even taken any time to grieve.”

“I’m not ready to grieve yet,” I admit.

Ari is about to say more when Chase comes barreling through the kitchen and out the slider. “I’m going outside!” he blurts past us.

“I need to make sure he is okay first. One minute he’s sad and the next he’s happy. It’s extra hard for him to process everything, you know?”

“You’ve always done a great job with him. I’m proud of you, Grey.”

“Thanks Ar. Now let’s join the others.”

Everyone is in a circle juggling a soccer ball around. Even Fynn, which makes me laugh. “Feel for the ball, Fynn,” Chase teases him. Becker is the only one sitting in one of the patio chairs. His eyes solely on Chase.

“Why aren’t you over there showing them all how it’s done?” I ask, taking a seat in the chair next to him.

“How does he do that?” Becker asks.

“What? Who?” I give him a confused look.

“Your brother. How does he juggle like that if he can’t see?” I have a feeling that he’s known but hasn’t asked much about my brother’s blindness. He’s been watching him because he’s curious.

“A lot of practicing,” I chuckle. By the look on Becker’s face, I can tell he needs more information.

“Chase can’t see so he relies on his other senses. His other senses are heightened, I guess, especially his hearing and touch.”

Becker is listening intently, so I continue. “He can feel the air pressure change when the ball is falling and rising and he focuses on how the ball feels when it hits his foot.” I look at Chase and smile at how amazing he really is.

“That’s incredible,” Becker whispers.

“He is incredible,” I agree with him. “He was born without his sight so he’s learned to adapt to life. He makes everything look so easy.”

“That’s because he has an amazing sister who cares for him so much,” Becker surprises me with his comment.

We sit together in comfortable silence watching everyone have fun. Becker has a peaceful smile on his face, while his captivating eyes take everything in. For the moment he’s not hiding behind his walls and I feel privileged that I’ve captured this rarity.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, those lovely blue eyes lock onto me, his left one sparkling more than usual. The expression on his face says he’s trying to read me.

I look away quickly, clearing my throat and yell over to Fynn, “I think the food delivery guy is here.”

“Yes! Let’s eat!” Chase squeals and grabs onto Declan’s hand. “Come on,” he tries to pull Declan along and it makes me giggle.

“Yeah, everyone go ahead inside and eat, I’m just going to pick up out here first,” I instruct them all.

Becker is the only one who doesn’t listen and starts to help me pick up the soccer balls. As soon as he bends down to retrieve one of the balls, a painful groan escapes his lips.

I’m just about to ask if he’s okay when I see blood seeping through the side of his shirt. Becker tries to cover it with his hand, knowing it’s too late—I’ve seen it.

He averts his eyes from me and rubs the back of his head. His walls are back up and he’s anxious.

I can hear his breathing begin to pick up too.

“B,” I softly say his name and wait for him to look at me. I slowly reach out my hand and patiently wait. When he finally looks at me and notices my outstretched hand, I see a mix of fear and hurt swirling around in the ocean’s depth.

“Please come with me,” I carefully say to him.

Becker hesitantly places his hand in mine as I lead him into the house and up the stairs to the bathroom. We ignored the looks everyone gave us on the way in and thankfully no one questioned us. To say Declan and Cohen were caught off guard by what they were witnessing is an understatement.

I lead Becker into the bathroom and let go of his hand so I can reach for the first aid kit. He leans against the sink, staring at the tile floor like it holds all the answers to life. His jaw is tight, his knuckles white, gripping the edge of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

I set the kit down next to him. “Lift up your shirt,” I say softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

His eyes widen, and for a moment he looks like he’s going to bolt. “I—I don’t know if I should,” he mutters, his voice barely audible.

“It’s okay, B. I just need to clean it and stitch it up. It’s not… I promise, it’s not going to hurt worse than it has to,” I reassure him, on my toes slightly so I’m at eye level.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally lifts the edge of his shirt. The blood-soaked gauze beneath makes my stomach clench. I force myself to breathe. He’s holding himself so tight, I can see the tension in every muscle.

“I’m going to remove the gauze now,” I warn, brushing my fingers against his skin. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “It might sting a little, but you can do this. I’ll go slow.”

Becker closes his eyes and squeezes his jaw. I can see the way his body stiffens with every motion of my fingers, how he’s bracing for pain and for something more—trusting me, yet terrified.

“B… Breathe,” I whisper, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Look at me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He opens one eye, then both, and meets my gaze. The flicker of vulnerability there catches me in my chest. He’s used to holding it all in—this mask of strength—but right now, it’s cracking, and I want him to know he doesn’t have to hide.

“I need to close this up,” I tell him, picking up the suture kit. “I’ll numb it first. You might feel pressure, a little sting, but I’ll guide you through it. Can you do that for me?” I know it’s not the pain he’s anxious about. He can handle the pain… It’s everything else, so I try to reassure him.

He hesitates, glancing down at the kit like it’s a wild animal. Then, slowly, he nods. “Okay.”

I apply the anesthetic carefully, explaining each step, showing him the needle without rushing him. His hands twitch, and I reach out, brushing my fingers against his wrist. “I’m right here, B. Just focus on me, okay?”

The first suture is the hardest. He flinches, bites his lip, and almost pulls away. I let him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be brave all at once.” My words are soft but firm, grounding him. I see him take a deep breath, trying to center himself, and then he allows me to continue.

By the fourth suture, he’s calmer, but his eyes still dart around, restless and cautious. I place the final gauze over the wound, securing it with tape. His hands finally drop from their tight grip, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

I lean on the edge of the counter, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. “You did great, B. Really. I know it hurts to let someone in like this, but you trusted me, and that means a lot.”

He looks at me, eyes wide, hesitant, and for a moment I think he might retreat, close himself off again. Instead, he shifts slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

Something inside me softens. I take a gentle step closer.

“I want to try something,” I say quietly. “Do you trust me?”

His breath catches. His lips part slightly, searching. “Yes,” he whispers.

I close the space between us, and as I wrap my arms around him, he freezes for a moment, uncertainty written across every line of his body. I don’t let go. My chest rests against his, my arms steady.

His heartbeat is rapid, jagged against my chest. His body trembles at first, fighting the vulnerability. I hold him closer, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

Little by little, the tension eases. His arms brush mine, then wrap around me, first tentatively, then fully. I feel him settle into the embrace, releasing some of the weight he’s carried alone for far too long.

“You can always trust me, B. Always.”

His warm breath fans against my neck, and he exhales slowly. “I know, Love,” he murmurs.

And in that simple, broken whisper, I feel everything we’ve left unsaid, everything he’s held back, start to ease.

We stay like that for a long moment, just holding each other, letting the quiet speak what words can’t.

Part-17

Becker’s POV…

I inhale deeply, my face buried in the crook of her neck. Apple pie. Warm, sweet, grounding. Comforting. My whole body wants to curl into her, to never let go—but panic claws at me.

Nothing prepared me for the torrent of emotions when her arms wrapped around me. My mother had been the last to hold me… and I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

“You can always trust me, B. Always,” she whispers. Her words drift over me, soft and steady. I want to believe her, but the instinct to recoil is strong. Years of fear and pain have trained me to flinch at touch.

My chest tightens. My hands tremble, my stomach twists, and my legs threaten to buckle. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to breathe, to stay.

Memories slam into me—the hardest ones. My mother’s hand cupping my cheek. ”Promise me you’ll take care of your brother, B.”

“What do you mean? Why do you have a suitcase, mom?”

Then my father’s voice, angry and loud. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Anna?” Bottle in hand, steps heavy.

I cling to my mother, desperate. She meets my eyes.

“You’ll always be my brave, beautiful boy. I’m sorry, B. Take care of Alec…promise me.”

“I promise, mom,” I choke. Her words, “I love you, son,” echo like a ghost, stitched into my memory. She leaves before my father can stop her, and I’m left trembling, hollow, terrified.

The present rushes back—Greya’s hands along my back. “B?” Her voice, gentle, anchors me, but panic spikes. My stomach churns. I lunge for the toilet, vomiting violently.

When I wipe my mouth, she’s still there, wide-eyed, hands trembling. “Oh my God… I shouldn’t have… I just thought maybe you needed a hug. We both did,” she stammers.

Shit. She was only trying to comfort me. I wanted it. Needed it.

I take her hands gently. My fingers are clammy, my chest heaving. “It wasn’t you, Love. It’s… me. All the blood, the pain… it’s my fault.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine. She doesn’t argue. She lets me be messy, lets me breathe. “Thank you, Grey.

Really… for helping me.” My lips twitch into a weak smile, but my hands tremble as they brush against hers.

My heart pounds, thundering in my chest, each beat reminding me how alive—and terrified—I feel.

I glance at the tile, ashamed. “I’m supposed to be here for you today, not the other way around.”

“Friends are here for each other,” she whispers.

We stay silent, awkward, our breaths mingling. My body wants to cling to her again, but my mind screams run. My pulse is erratic, hands slick with sweat. My stomach knots. The panic is a living thing inside me, yet beneath it all… a fragile thread of trust tugs me forward.

Finally, she asks, softly, “Why now though? After all these years, why are you here now?”

I flush the toilet, scrubbing my hands, buying a moment. She waits, patient, her eyes steady, unjudging.

“I didn’t know what happened to your family until recently,” I admit.

Her brow furrows. “So… you’re here out of pity?”

“No!” I step closer involuntarily. “I realize now it’s time I became a better friend. I want to be here if you need me. I feel stupid for not knowing earlier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now.”

My chest tightens, heart hammering. “I’m… fucked up, Greya. I don’t deserve someone like you as a friend. But I want to be, and I want to be better. You make me want to be better. Please… don’t give up on hugging me just yet.”

Her emerald eyes meet mine, unwavering. My body quivers, torn between leaning in and bolting. My hands clench, unclench. My stomach twists. Every nerve in me is alive with tension and longing.

“You deserve more than you think, B. You’re a good person. Whatever you’re going through—it’s not your fault.” Her voice is steady, grounding, and I feel my breath catch. I want to reach out, press into her warmth, but I hesitate, terrified I’ll break the fragile trust we’ve built.

“I should put on a clean shirt… then we can join the others for lunch,” I murmur, trying to steady my racing pulse.

I grab the door handle, ready to leave, but she calls softly, “Beck… can you answer me one thing?”

I turn. Her eyes are steady, probing, kind. “Is home… a place you feel safe?”

I can’t. Not now. Not here. My chest still heaves, pulse racing. I shake my head. “I… I can’t answer that.”

I step out, leaving her warmth, her safety, and the fragile closeness we’ve shared behind—for now. My body is still tingling from the proximity, heart still hammering, but somewhere deep inside, I know I’ll crave it again.

Part-18

Greya’s POV…

“Come on, Chase, we have to get going to school now!” I call up the stairs.

My school has a morning assembly that none of the seniors attend, so I’m using this time to meet with the Colins. Cohen’s mom has been my lawyer since my dad died. She and Mr. Colins helped me use dad’s life insurance to set up a trust. It was a complicated process—when someone dies by suicide, insurance companies usually fight the payout. There were countless obstacles, but they guided me through every step.

Mom’s life insurance paid off the house. Dad had used interest payments to cover Chase’s schooling. When my father passed, I was thirteen. My grandmother was too old, I was too young to work, and the bills didn’t wait. The trust’s interest has been keeping us afloat.

Today, the Colins are helping me finalize my grandmother’s will and officially make me Chase’s legal guardian now that I’m eighteen. I owe them more than I could ever say, and they’ve even offered us vacations, holidays, and a home when needed. I can’t take more—they’ve already given me everything I could ask for.

“I’m ready, Sis!” Chase hurries to the door.

After dropping him off, I make my way to Cohen’s house—and stop short. Becker’s car is in the driveway.

“What is he doing here?” I murmur under my breath.

“Greya!” Mrs. Colins greets me at the door with a hug. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright. Thanks for meeting with me this morning,” I reply, following her inside.

“Of course, dear. You and Chase are important to us. We need to get guardianship done right away,” she reminds me. Her words comfort me. I can’t risk child services questioning anything.

“Sit down at the table—I made pancakes.”

She places a warm plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me. I inhale the sweet aroma. “Thanks, they smell amazing.”

“Mr. Colins is upstairs handling all the paperwork. We’ll file with the court tomorrow, and it should be official next week.” Relief floods me.

She slides the documents across the table. “Your grandmother set up an educational fund, specifically for you to use for college.” I skim the pages. “That’s exactly her.” She’d always wanted me to go, even if I didn’t get a soccer scholarship. I can commute from home while taking care of Chase—something single mothers do all the time.

A voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Greya?” I look up and freeze. Becker. Standing in the kitchen, wearing only gym shorts. My fork trembles in my hand.

“I… I stayed over last night,” he says, drying his hair with a towel.

My eyes wander over him. A faint scar on his collarbone, bruising along his ribs, the waterproof bandage over his sutures. I can’t help the silent assessment—it’s involuntary.

“Morning, Becker. Want some pancakes?” Mrs. Colins startles me, and my fork clatters to the floor.

Becker smirks. “Thank you, ma’am. I’d love some.” I notice how comfortable he is here; he clearly trusts them, and that reassures me.

“What are you doing here, Love?” he asks, sliding onto the stool next to mine. My cheeks flush—I quickly look away.

“Cohen’s parents are helping me with guardianship paperwork,” I mumble.

The room falls silent. Becker is quiet, but the intensity of his gaze keeps me rooted in place.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he finally says.

“Why?” My voice is small; I feel exposed under his stare.

“You’ve always amazed me—even before I knew about your parents, your home life. Now, seeing what you sacrifice for your brother…” He rubs the back of his neck, shakes his head, and smiles softly. “You’re incredible.”

I’m stunned. Incredible? I don’t feel incredible—I feel tired, responsible, exhausted. “He’s my brother.” The only family I have left. He needs me. I don’t say the last part aloud—he wouldn’t understand.

Becker leans slightly closer, his blue eyes searching mine. “Hey… what’s wrong?” He reaches out, fingers hovering near mine. I feel a tear escape and quickly brush it away before he notices.

“I… I’m fine,” I sniff, ashamed.

“Don’t be. You’ve been through so much,” he murmurs. His voice is low, rough with uncertainty, as if he wants to comfort me but doesn’t know how. My body wants him to—craves it—but I can’t make him touch me if he’s unsure.

At that moment, Cohen enters the kitchen. “Put a shirt on, bro,” he tosses a dark T-shirt at Becker. “Hey, Greya. Want a ride to school?”

“I’ll take my car—skipping practice to meet with Chase’s teacher after school.”

Becker abruptly discards his pancakes into the trash and storms out. My stomach knots. What just happened?

“Don’t worry about him, Greya,” Cohen reassures me.

“He’s… complex.”

“You’re right about that,” I murmur with a small laugh, still distracted.

“We’ll see you at school?” Cohen asks before leaving. I nod.

“Oh, and Greya?” His voice carries urgency, and I glance at him.

“Please don’t give up on Becker. He’s difficult, doesn’t know how to handle his feelings—but he needs you in his life, even if he won’t admit it.”

I’m frozen. My assumptions are confirmed—something serious has been happening for him to need me. I can’t help him if he doesn’t let me in. And now, with everything else, I wonder if I can be the person he needs.

“Cohen, why me?”

“I’ve seen how he acts with you… he’s different. I can’t explain more. He needs you. I need your help.”

From the front door, Becker shouts. “Cohen! Let’s go!”

“Okay… I’ll try,” I whisper. And that’s the truth.

Part-19

Becker’s POV…

“What’s got you so upset?” Cohen points to my white knuckles and I realize how hard I’m gripping the steering wheel.

“I’m fine,” I growl back. Cohen throws his hands up in surrender.

I know I’m being a dick and Cohen doesn’t deserve my attitude, I’m just afraid of saying anything I’ll regret. I wish I knew why I felt the way I do.

When Greya said she was skipping practice because she had to attend a teacher meeting for her brother, something inside me snapped. She should not have to be sacrificing anything. She’s so smart and talented, she could go anywhere. Life seems to have other plans though, which unfortunately involve her having to forfeit her dreams. So many magnificent opportunities are waiting for her. She’s the one who could make it to Pro someday, but I have a feeling she’s going to give it all up.

I’m not upset that she’s taking responsibility of raising her brother, I admire her actually. It’s when I think about all the sacrifice and suffering she continues to endure, it drives me crazy. Like literally crazy. I feel like I’m loosing my mind over everything. The fact that I need to go home tonight isn’t helping my sanity. Jack is usually away somewhere from Thursday through Sundays, but you never know.

I spend the rest of the school day lost in my own head. Cohen and Declan give me the space they think I need. Hell, I don’t know if that’s actually what I need. I’ve avoided Graya for the most part. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know how to explain to her why I bolted out of the kitchen when I was supposed to be trying to comfort her. She wouldn’t understand…even I don’t understand.

During my walk to the soccer field is the only time I get a glimpse of her. Ari & Fynn are next to her car, all three having what looks to be a serious conversation. I wait a moment, watching them. They both give her a hug before she gets into her mustang and takes off.

I want to know if Greya is ok. I shouldn’t pry, and I know the way I’ve been acting today isn’t going to help me get any information out of anyone. The only thing I can do is run off some steam and take my aggression out on the field. That always helps.

After confirming Jack will be gone for the night, I make dinner for Alec and I and then head upstairs to the piano room.

I run my fingers along the keys, feeling the smoothness of them. My eyes close as I begin to play a familiar melody. I allow my mind to drift into the song and enjoy the calmness it brings me. It seems like hours of peacefulness go by until a faint knock on the door has me stop playing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to interrupt your playing. You’re amazing you know.”

Greya standing at the door makes me speechless. What is she doing here. Fuck! Jack could come home and… fuck!

I hastily move away from the piano and towards her. “Greya, how did you get in here? What are you doing here? I frantically ask.

“Alec let me in. I’m sorry, I’ll go,” she starts to turn away.

“No, wait. I didn’t mean…I… fuck!” She is looking at me like I’m crazy. Well I am.

“Sorry, Love, I didn’t mean to sound so rude, I’m just surprised that you’re here? Why are you here?”

She turns back and stares at the piano for a moment before gazing at me. “You seemed really…off today. I came by to make sure you’re alright.”

“I was being an asshole and you came here to see if I’m alright?”

“We’re trying to be better friends, remember?” She kindly reminds me of my own words.

Now I really feel like a jerk. I look over her shoulder, out into the hallway to make sure it’s safe before I motion for her to follow me into the room.

She admires the piano again and her eyes drift to the portrait on the table next to it. “That’s my mom and I,” I tell her. “It’s the only picture I have of her.” The only reason why I still have it is because Jack never steps foot in this room. I’m so thankful for that.

“I now know where you and Alec get those gorgeous color eyes and dark hair from,” she smiles. She thinks I have gorgeous eyes. Has she seen hers. I’m flattered nonetheless.

I take a seat at the piano and pat the space next to me. She accepts the invitation and sits down while trying not to touch me.

It then dawns on me that Chase isn’t with her. “Who’s watching Chase?”

“Fynn’s with him.”

“He’s a great friend,” I say to her.

“The best,” she smiles.

I begin playing a tune as she watches me. “I love hearing you play,” she confesses. My heart skips a beat just hearing her say that.

“You could go to Berkeley. Play piano and soccer. You certainly are talented at both.” I stop playing and turn towards her.

“You think I’m talented?” I search her eyes for the truth.

Her brows squeeze together slightly giving me a quizzical look. “Becker Reeves, you are the most talented person I know. Any college would gladly accept you.”

She subconsciously places her hand over mine causing my breathing to halt. Realizing this, she pulls away quickly.

“I can’t leave here,” I mumble before turning towards the keys again.

“Beck, how long has it been going on?”

I almost choke at the question. She’s not dumb, I know she’s figured something out.

“How long has what been going on?” I play the fool.

“How long has your father been hurting you?”

She ignores the shocked expression on my face and continues, ” B, please talk to me. I know you’re hurting, I want to be here for you.”

“Too long…it’s been going on for t…too long,” I stutter.

“I know what it’s like to sacrifice for your little brother, but your sacrifice is physical torture, I want to help you,” she says.

“You already help me more than you know Greya.”

“Not enough. Knowing someone is hurting you that way…I can’t let that happen to you.”

“Yes you can,” I spit out in an angrier tone. “You have endured enough, I’m not going to burden you with this too.”

“Helping someone you care about is not a burden Becker.”

“Yes it is a burden, I’m a burden to everyone. Declan and Cohen are always careful around me, too afraid to touch me or joke around with me like normal guy friends do. I puked in the toilet after you hugged me for fucks sake!” I shout.

My tantrum stops when I feel her palm cup my cheek. What is she doing?

We face each other, sitting too close on this small bench. Stunned frozen by her sudden touch, I can’t even move her hand away.

“Close your eyes,” she says. Her soft hand still rests on my cheek. Her hand feels warm and inviting and my eyes hesitantly close.

“You’re safe with me, B, can you feel it? I will never hurt you, you are not a burden,” her declaration causes my head to lean into her hand. I believe her even when my body shakes with fear.

A door slams shut from downstairs and I can hear his heavy footsteps. Bolting up from the bench, I run towards the hall and whisper for Alec.

“What’s wrong?” I hear Greya ask.

“Everything is wrong. This is what I was afraid of, you have to leave. Now!” I say with urgency.

Alec comes running into the room. I turn to him while grabbing Greya’s hand and giving it to Alec.

“Get her out the back door and make sure she gets safely into her car, I’ll distract him.”

“What? No, I won’t let you get hurt for me,” she cries.

“Love, he can do whatever he wants to me, as long as I keep you and Alec safe,” I look her straight in the eyes.

“Now go!” I push Alec towards the hallway.

“Promise you’ll be okay!” she begs.

“I’ll call you a little later, please get out of here,” Is the best response I can give her.

After Alec gets her out the back, I head downstairs before Jack sees them. “Who’s fancy car is that in front of the house?” He asks me.

“Just a friend, they just left,” I tell him.

“What friend?”

“Someone from school.”

Jack grabs me by the throat and pushes me back against the wall. His fingers squeeze my trachea until I can barely breathe. “Don’t sass me boy! When I ask you a question, you give me a straight answer.” He belts a left hook into my side and I feel something crack. He releases his death grip on my neck and I crumble to the floor gasping for air.

I watch as he reaches for a bottle from the liquor cabinet and then takes some cash out of the wall safe above. “I’ll be back tomorrow, both of you behave while I’m gone,” he threatens before walking out the front door.

Alec , comes in through the back door and sees me doubled over in pain. “He might of broken a rib,” I cough out.

“We should get you to the hospital,” Alec nervously says.

“No, no hospitals,” I can hardly speak. No one is going to touch me at any hospital or question what’s going on here.

Alec is about to cry, so I use the wall to help myself stand and hobble over to him. “Take us to Greya’s house,” I instruct him.

Part-20

Greya’s POV…

I’ve been impatiently waiting for Becker’s call. I hate knowing that I was right about his dad. Granted, I don’t know the whole story, but knowing that he abuses Becker kills me. No wonder Becker doesn’t like anyone touching him, he associates touch with pain.

Pacing around the house, I have no idea what to do. What do Cohen and Declan do? Why hasn’t anyone helped him get away from that awful man? There’s more to his story that I need to know before judging anyone.

Chase is sleeping peacefully in his bed when I check on him. I couldn’t imagine anyone putting their hands on this sweet boy, I would protect him with my life. I can somewhat understand Becker’s protective instincts over Alec… and me. He wanted to protect me, even if it meant him getting hurt. I feel tears escape my eyes. I can’t take this waiting any longer.

I’m just about to text Cohen or Declan when I hear a knock at my front door. It’s dark and late, who could that be? I grab the baseball bat I keep near the door and peek through the side window.

Dropping the bat to the floor, I yank open the door when I realize Alec is standing there with Becker’s arm around his shoulder. I can’t see Becker’s face because he has his head hanging while his other arm is holding his side.

I can’t help the tears from flowing again when Alec speaks, “Can we come in? Becker told me to come here.”

“Of course you can.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “B, talk to me, how can I help?” I show them to the couch in the living room.

Becker releases a dreadful moan when he sits back onto the cushions. “He can’t speak…my…my father choked him and his neck is swollen,” Alec nervously informs me. “And he doesn’t like to be touched, so I don’t know what we should do,” Alec’s voice is calm yet pleading at the same time.

“I know Alec, it’s ok, I can help. How about you go grab a bunch of ice packs from the freezer?” I instruct him. If I keep Alec busy he’ll believe that he’s helping.

I crouch down in front of Becker, keeping my movements slow so I don’t scare him. “B, please look at me.”

His eyes slowly drift up to my face. I can see his neck now and I can see the red marks around his throat where I assume his father grabbed him. I can’t even make out where his adam’s apple would be with all the swelling around it.

Becker continues to look at me. His dark eyes are glossy and his brows scrunch together while he winces in pain. “It’s ok, don’t try to talk… I’ve got you,” I give him a small smile.

Alec comes back into the room with ice packs and I grab one from his hands. Alec remains behind me, watching my every move. “I think he might have a broken rib too,” he says concerned.

I move my hand up with the ice pack closer to Becker and I notice him holding his breath. “Here, hold the ice pack.” His eyes never leave mine when his shaky hand reaches for the pack.

I bring a chair over to the couch and sit on it right in front of him so we are almost eye level. Slowly, I raise my hand and Becker inhales another breath to hold, his hand shaking even more now.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alec whispers .

Ignoring his concern, I gently place my palm on Becker’s cheek and he immediately closes his eyes and leans into my touch. He likes when I cup his face in my hand, it seems to comfort him, so that is what I always do first before attempting anything else.

He’s still not breathing so I try and encourage him. “B, focus on my hand, know that it feels safe…and breathe,” I softly tell him. “My hands will never hurt you,” I remind him. He needs to know that not every human touch will bring him pain.

I feel him release his breath slowly, his chest rising and falling at a more steady rhythm now.

“Put the ice pack that’s in your hand over your injured ribs,” I instruct him. He does what I say and sucks in the pain. I can tell he’s holding back tears. I want to show him it’s ok to be vulnerable, when he wants to be strong.

“I’m going to hold an ice pack to your neck now,” my words cause him to look at me with panic again.

Keeping one hand on his cheek, I use my other to gently hold the ice pack to his throat, applying as little pressure as possible. We sit like this for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. His showing me all his fears and mine hopefully showing him compassion.

Alec finally takes a seat next to him on the couch and leans his head back against the pillows. He eye lids close, his facial features relaxed. He’s relieved.

After about ten minutes, I remove the ice pack from Becker’s throat and slowly stand up. Again, my actions cause both of them to worry. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen and an ace bandage for your ribs,” I let them know. “Keep the ice on your ribs until I come back,” I smile.

“She’s going to take care of us,” I hear Alec’s hopeful voice whisper to Becker.

A few minutes later I return to the living room to see Alec sitting back with his eyes closed again. “Alec, why don’t you go upstairs and sleep. There is a spare bedroom, 2nd door on the right,” I say to him. He’s unsure of what he should do so I reassure him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

Alec gives me a nod, “Thank you Greya,” he says before walking up the stairs.

Becker is in the same position I left him. “We need to get your shirt off so I can wrap your ribs.” He gives me the ok and tries to lift his shirt on his own. Pain shoots through his right side when he attempts to lift his right arm, so he gives up and looks at me in defeat.

“Can I help you?” I ask and he nods his approval.

He helps by lifting his left arm as I pull his shirt up over his head and carefully slide it off his right arm. His stare on me is constant. He’s not yet comfortable putting all his trust in me.

I go to his left side and sit by him. “Put your arm around me and I’ll help you stand.” He does what I ask and the second his bare skin comes into contact with mine, instant goosebumps erupt all over my body. A jittery sensation takes over my insides and I need a moment to collect myself before we stand up. He feels it too, by the look on his face. All I can do is shy away from his glance and help him stand up.

Once standing, he removes his arm from me and watches as I grab the ace wrap and position myself in front of him. His smooth skin and rippled abs have me pause what I’m doing. I avert my eyes back to his and for the first time tonight he has a smirk on his face.

I nervously clear my throat, “Um…so I’m going to wrap this around you.” He’s still smirking at me until I tell him to lift his arms a little and pain takes over his features. “I’m sorry this is painful, you’ll feel a little better once you’re wrapped up.” I don’t bother to look at him and get right to work.

He watches me intently while I slowly wrap the bandage around his body and secure the ends. At least he’s breathing this time, which is progress.

When I’m finished, I hand him some ibuprofen and water. “Are you able to swallow these?” I ask and he nods.

I grab a blanket from the reclining chair and fix a few pillows on the couch while he stands still, focusing on every step I take.

“Lay down on the couch and try to get some rest,” I motion for him lay back onto the pillows. It’s a slow and painful process watching him try to get comfortable on the cushions.

I remain extra cautious while I cover him up with the blanket. He doesn’t need me to make any sudden movements when he’s just beginning to feel comfortable with me helping him.

“Do you need anything else?” I ask him before going up to my room. He slowly shakes his head no.

“I’ll be upstairs, first room on the left if you need me,” I tell him as I start to walk away.

He grabs onto my wrist before I can get too far and I halt. He half crackles, half whispers, “Please stay.”

He tries to move over on the couch, but just shifting his body causes him agony. “Hey, don’t try to move. I’ll sit here on the floor next to you until you fall asleep.”

Thankfully he stops moving and lays his head back onto the pillow. A grunt escapes his lips when he turns his face towards me and tries to hold out his right hand. I sit on the carpeted floor and lean my body against the couch and slide my hand into the one he’s holding out for me. His fingers intertwine with mine and he allows his eyes to drift shut. For a moment he looks peaceful.

I’m comforted by the way his fingers tenderly trace my palm for a while and know that he’s finally fallen asleep when his hand goes limp.

I gingerly slide my hand away and stand up without causing him to stir. Quietly, I make my way up to my bedroom and crawl under my covers.

As soon as my head hits my pillow, something inside me escapes. All of the stress from tonight cause me to full on sob. I don’t hold them back. I finally cry. I cry for my grandmother, I cry for Chase and I, and I cry for Becker and Alec. For the first time in a very long time, I allow myself to be vulnerable, I allow myself to grieve.