Part-41

Becker’s POV…

Greya opens her front door and welcomes Alec and me inside. The sad smile she gives me as I hobble in on crutches makes my chest ache. All this girl has done since we’ve gotten close is mend my wounds—inside and out. It’s embarrassing and frustrating that she’s had to see me like this so many times.

“Alec, is that you? Fynn bought us pizza, and we’re gonna talk about moving to L.A.!” Chase’s voice carries from the kitchen.

Alec grins and walks toward the sound. From the hall, I hear Chase telling him that Fynn’s going to live with them too. Jealousy flares in me instantly. Fynn living with Greya? That’s supposed to be me. Maybe I’ll figure out a way to make it possible.

“How’s your ankle? Do you need to ice it or anything?” she asks softly.

“Thanks, love. I’m good right now—maybe later.” The crutches make everything awkward. I want to hug her, kiss her, something—but my hands are too busy keeping me upright.

“Wanna join them in the kitchen?”

I nod, and we follow the sound of laughter. Chase, Fynn, and Alec are sitting at the table, eating pizza and drinking soda.

“Come eat with us, Becker!” Chase pats the empty chair next to him.

“Thanks, little man.” I ease into the seat and prop my crutches against the wall.

“Did you get hurt in your game?” he asks. My eyes flick up to Greya by the fridge. Her expression is unreadable.

“No, I tripped down the stairs at my house and twisted my ankle,” I say carefully. Her green eyes lock onto mine—full of questions. I can practically see her wondering if Jack pushed me. I’ll explain later.

“Grey, we need more sodas for Alec and Becker!” Chase calls.

Greya grabs a few cans and returns, setting them down with plates for Alec and me. She sits beside me, keeping her smile light for Chase’s sake, though I can sense her unease beneath it.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

She smiles back, that soft, reassuring curve that tells me she’s trying to hold it together.

“So what’s the big news, Chase?” Alec asks.

Chase bounces in his chair. “Greya’s gonna play for UCLA!”

Alec’s grin widens. “No way! Becker wants to play for them too. Maybe you can both play there, and Chase and I can go to the games!”

“Alec,” I warn gently, though I can’t help smiling.

Chase frowns. “But we have to move there. I won’t see you as much.”

I reach under the table and link my fingers with Greya’s. She squeezes back, watching her brother carefully.

“Oh, buddy, I’ll visit. And I’ll come to as many games as I can. I’ll have my license by then,” Alec promises.

“Really? Did you hear that, Grey?”

“I did, buddy.”

“And Fynn will be with us too, so we’ll be fine. I’m great at making new friends!”

“You sure are,” Fynn laughs, ruffling his hair.

Chase looks around eagerly. “Since it’s Friday, can everyone sleep over, Greya?”

We all chuckle.

“Like Ari, I happen to have a date tonight,” Fynn blurts. Greya’s eyes widen in surprise.

“What about Alec and Becker then?” Chase persists.

I glance at Greya. We do have a lot to talk about. And with Jack gone on some cross-country mission to bring home our long-lost mother… there’s no reason not to stay.

She nods, giving Alec the cue.

“Yes! Alec can sleep in my room and we can watch The Hulk again!” Chase jumps up, carefully setting his plate and cup in the sink before darting off.

I start clearing the rest of the table until Greya stops me. Her hand wraps gently around my wrist. “I’ve got this. You need to stay off your ankle.”

“I can at least wash the dishes standing at the sink.”

Her lips twitch. “That would be great, thank you.” She hands me the plates, letting me help—on my terms.

I hobble over, lean my crutches against the counter, and start washing. I’m almost done when I feel her arms wrap around me from behind.

My breath catches. She doesn’t say a word—just waits. Her body fits perfectly against my back.

I drop the dish rag, take both her hands, and pull her tighter against me. The conflict inside me melts away. She feels right—she’s home.

Her head rests against me, sparking something deep and unrelenting. I turn, catching her by surprise, and pull her fully into my arms. My face buries into her neck; her scent grounds me. I can’t let go. She’s the calm in my storm.

“I have so much to tell you,” I whisper against her skin. “And I’m scared of what you’ll think.”

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Whatever it is, it won’t change how I feel about you.”

I kiss her forehead. “Let’s make sure Chase and Alec are set, then… talk?”

She nods. “Okay, love.”

Upstairs, she brings an ice pack while I clumsily follow behind on my crutches. We peek in on the boys—they’re laughing, already picking a movie. Once they’re set, we head into her room.

It’s the first time I’ve been here. The walls are light gray, the curtains and bedding a soft lilac. Photos of her, Fynn, and Ari line her white dresser. I wish there was one of us. That’ll change soon.

In the corner, I spot her trophies and medals. “Why don’t you have these displayed?”

She smiles faintly. “The game itself means more than the wins.”

That’s so her. I grin. “Still, you’ve got a lot of wins.”

She lays a pair of my old sweatpants and a T-shirt on the bed. My pulse quickens—it hits me that we’re sharing this bed tonight. I tell myself I’ll stay awake. I don’t want to hurt her if I dream.

“These were from last time,” she says, catching my look. “Is that okay? You can sleep on the floor if you want—”

“What? No.” I laugh softly. “You’re not sleeping on the floor in your own house.”

I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, then kiss her—gentle and brief. “I’m fine, love. I want to be here. With you.”

I grab the clothes and hop into the bathroom to change. Her voice floats through the door: “There’s an extra toothbrush in the drawer!”

When I return, she’s in cotton shorts and a tee, the covers pulled back and ice pack in hand. Always thinking ahead.

I sit on the bed, unwrap the ace bandage, and she immediately moves closer. “Let me,” she murmurs.

I nod, holding my breath as she lifts my foot and rests it on her thigh, unwrapping the bandage with care before pressing the cold pack against the swelling. “Talk to me, B.”

She sets a pillow beneath my ankle and slides up beside me, offering her hand. I take it, grounding myself in her warmth. Somehow she always knows when I’m spiraling—and how to pull me back.

“I don’t know where to start,” I admit.

“Anywhere,” she says softly.

I exhale. “I’m sorry I hid this from you today. I didn’t want you to worry—or think Jack did this. I just needed time to figure out how to tell you.”

She stays quiet, thumb tracing circles over my hand.

“You can trust me,” she whispers. “I’m right here.”

“When I got home last night, Jack was waiting at the top of the stairs. He had a full bottle of vodka in his hand, but he hadn’t touched it. He was sober—and that scared me more than anything.”

Her posture straightens, attention fully on me now.

“He told me he found my mother. Said he’s bringing her home.” I see her eyes widen, but she doesn’t interrupt.

I tell her everything—about my adoption, my real father, the payments, the blame Jack carries, the reasons Alec’s spared. When I finish, she’s quiet, tears pooling in her eyes. I drop my gaze, guilt twisting my insides.

“Then he started drinking. The bottle shattered against the wall. My mind snapped—I thought he was coming after me. I tripped backwards down the stairs. He just walked past me. Never touched me. So yeah… it’s my fault I twisted my ankle.”

I lower my head, ashamed. My hands tremble in hers. Maybe I should leave—spare her the chaos that follows me.

But her hands lift to my face. I don’t flinch this time. I meet her gaze.

“I love you, B,” she says.

The world stops. My chest tightens. Did I hear that right?

Her thumbs brush away my tears. “I love all of you. I know that scares you—it scares me too. But love means being here for all of it—the good, the bad, the in-between. You’re worth loving, and you need to trust that I’ve got you. Always. Do you trust me?”

Tears blur my vision. I can’t find words, but I nod. My heart knows the truth before my lips can speak it—I love her too. Completely.

“None of what’s happened to you is your fault,” she says firmly. “Not your real father. Not your mother leaving. And definitely not Jack’s abuse. Those are their choices, their consequences.”

I can’t respond. I just breathe her in, the steadiness she radiates.

She lies down and tugs me gently with her. I go willingly, wrapping my arm around her waist. Her fingers thread through my hair, her lips press to my forehead, and my whole body melts.

“Your flaws don’t scare me,” she whispers. “They make you who you are—strong, loyal, kind, brilliant, and so, so good. You make me feel loved too.”

I pull her closer, tangling my leg with hers. There’s only the sound of our breathing now—steady, safe, alive.

“I’m going to keep telling you how much I love you, B,” she says, her voice softening. “Because life’s too short to hold it in. You’re going to know all the love I have to give.”

I kiss her lips—slow, tender, certain.

We stay like that until her body relaxes, her breathing falling into rhythm against my chest.

“I love you, Greya,” I whisper into her hair. “More than I can ever show you.” She doesn’t hear my confession because she’s already fallen asleep.

And for the first time in my life, my heart feels free—because it’s hers.

Part-42

Greya’s POV…

The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth — Becker’s arm heavy around my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. The early morning light filters through my curtains, soft and gold. It feels unreal that after everything last night, he’s still here, still holding me like I’m the safest place he knows.

For a few minutes, I don’t move. I just let myself exist in this quiet peace, his chest rising and falling against my back. I could stay here forever. But then a familiar sound echoes down the hall — Chase’s laughter followed by Alec’s voice.

“Dude, you can’t just pour all the cereal in one bowl!”

I smile and turn my head just enough to see Becker blink awake. His hair is a complete mess, and the sleepy half-smile he gives me nearly stops my heart.

“Morning, love,” he rasps.

“Morning,” I whisper. “Hungry?”

“Only if it involves you and caffeine,” he murmurs.

I laugh, slipping out of bed carefully so I don’t jostle his ankle. “Stay here. I’ll grab the coffee.”

Downstairs, Chase and Alec are already in the kitchen, surrounded by chaos — cereal boxes open, milk on the counter, and what looks like pancake batter splattered across the stove.

“Morning, boys,” I say, hands on hips. “Should I even ask what’s happening here?”

“We’re making breakfast for you and Becker!” Chase proudly announces, a whisk in one hand and syrup in the other. Alec grins sheepishly.

“Correction,” Alec says. “He’s making breakfast. I’m damage control.”

Becker hobbles in a minute later, crutches squeaking against the floor. “Smells like a war zone,” he teases.

Chase beams. “That’s because I made pancakes shaped like footballs!”

We all gather around, laughing as Chase flips one that looks more like a deflated balloon. Becker helps him shape another with a spatula while Alec tries to save what’s left of the counter. By the time we sit down, the pancakes are slightly burnt, but no one cares.

“Best breakfast ever,” Becker says, winking at Chase as he takes a bite. “You’re hired.”

Chase grins so wide I swear his cheeks might split. “So what are we doing today?”

I glance at Becker. We’d both been through so much—he deserves a day that doesn’t revolve around pain or talking about Jack. Just normal. Light. Us.

“How about mini golf?” I suggest. “There’s that place near the boardwalk with bumper cars and ice cream after.”

Chase gasps dramatically. “Yes! Please! Becker, you can still drive the bumper cars, right?”

Becker chuckles. “Uh, maybe not today, little man. But I’ll be your pit crew.”

By late morning, we’re there. The sky is clear, the air smelling like sea salt and sunscreen. Chase, even though the color isn’t something we can see, insists we all get matching bright green golf balls — “for luck.”

Becker leans on his crutches while I line up my shot, his voice playful behind me. “You’re aiming too far to the left, Grey.”

“Do you want to take over?” I shoot back, arching a brow.

“I mean, I am the athlete,” he says, smirking.

I hit the ball. It bounces off the windmill and lands perfectly in the hole. “You were saying?”

Alec bursts out laughing. “She owned you, man.”

“Pure luck,” Becker mutters, though the smile he gives me says otherwise.

After a few holes, we move to the bumper cars. Chase and Alec get in their own cars, trash-talking like pros. Chase doesn’t need his sight to drive one of these around, he can bump into whatever he wants.

Becker and I stand by the railing, cheering them on as Chase’s little car bumps into the corner wall, his laughter echoing through the air.

“This,” Becker says quietly beside me, “is the best I’ve felt in a long time.”

I glance up at him, sunlight glinting off his dark hair, his eyes full of something peaceful. “That’s the point,” I say. “You deserve to feel good, have some fun.”

His hand finds mine, and we stand like that while Chase and Alec spin out of control when they bump into each other, both laughing hysterically.

When their turn ends, we head for ice cream. Becker insists on paying even though I protest, and we sit on a picnic bench near the water. Chase gets chocolate all over his face, Alec tells a ridiculous story about gym class, and Becker keeps sneaking glances at me — the kind that make my heart do that fluttery, unstoppable thing.

By the time the sun dips low and the sky turns orange, Chase leans against me, exhausted, ice cream forgotten. Alec yawns next to him.

“Successful day,” I say softly.

Becker nods. “More than that.”

And when he smiles — really smiles — I realize that this is what healing looks like. Not just the hard conversations or the tears, but the laughter, the sunlight, the way we keep showing up for each other.

Family, in the most unexpected way.

By the time we get home, Chase is half-asleep in the back seat, his head resting against Alec’s shoulder. The ride’s quiet except for the hum of the tires on the road and Becker’s low music playing softly through the speakers.

When we pull into the driveway, Alec carefully carries Chase upstairs while I grab the leftover snacks and water bottles from the car. Becker leans against the side, his crutches propped nearby, watching me with that small, crooked smile I’ve grown addicted to.

“Thank you for today,” he says quietly. “For all of it.”

I close the trunk. “You don’t have to thank me. I needed it too.”

He shifts closer, careful with his ankle. “Still, it felt good—like I got to breathe again.”

I reach up, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “That’s the goal. One day at a time, right?”

He nods, eyes soft. “Right.”

We head upstairs, check on the boys—both fast asleep, tangled in blankets and superhero pillows—and then step into my room. The moonlight spills through the curtains, casting soft silver on the floor. Becker lowers himself carefully onto the bed, his expression thoughtful.

“What’s going on in there?” I ask, sitting beside him.

He shakes his head lightly. “Just thinking. About how weird it feels to actually be happy.”

I take his hand. “It’s not weird. It’s nice. It’s progress.”

He smiles at that—small but real. “Then I guess I’m okay with progress.”

We end up lying together in the quiet, my head resting on his chest, his hand tracing lazy circles against my back. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me until I feel his voice rumble against my ear.

“I think I’m falling harder for you every day, Grey.”

My breath catches.

He laughs softly, presses a kiss into my hair, and that’s how we drift off—peaceful for once, the world outside our little cocoon fading away.

Part-43

Becker’s POV…

It’s Sunday, BBQ day at Greya’s.

The smell of grilled burgers and fall leaves coat the air. Declan’s flipping patties like he’s auditioning for a cooking show, Ari’s laughing so hard she’s crying over something Cohen said, and Fynn’s already started a cornhole match in the middle of the yard.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s the kind of day I didn’t think I’d ever truly fit into.

Alec’s playing catch with Chase, both of them barefoot in the grass. Every time Chase misses, Alec tosses him another with a grin, pretending to be his coach. “Hands up, little man—catch with your fingertips, not your chest!”

The kid giggles and nods like he’s memorizing every word. It’s weird seeing Alec this relaxed. He laughs easier these days, like some of the weight between us has finally started to fade.

I’m sitting off to the side with my leg up, watching them, pretending I’m not jealous that I can’t join in. My ankle’s healing, but it still screams if I move wrong.

Greya sits beside me with a glass of lemonade, her knees pulled up to her chest, the sun turning her hair a golden brown.

I don’t know how I ended up here—surrounded by people who actually want me around. Cohen and Declan have always had my back. But the rest of our small group of friends…they accept me too.

“Becker, catch!” Chase yells suddenly.

The football flies at me before I can even react. It hits my chest with a thud and bounces into my lap. The whole yard bursts out laughing. I can’t help it—I laugh too.

“Smooth,” Alec calls.

“Shut up,” I throw back. “I’m on the injured list!”

Greya’s smiling at me like I just won something. And maybe I did.

After dinner, Declan drags out a cornhole set. “Alright, teams—Cohen and Fynn versus Greya and Becker!”

“Unfair,” Fynn says. “They’ve got the injury sympathy advantage.”

“Then you better not lose,” I shoot back.

Every time I toss a bag, it lands clean on the board. Greya cheers like I’ve hit a game-winning shot, and every single time she does, something inside me twists—good and painful all at once.

By the time we win, everyone’s heckling us, and she’s glowing. It’s stupid how much that matters.

When the sun goes down, we all circle the firepit. Chase sits on Alec’s lap, half-asleep while Declan tells some story about freshman year. I can feel the warmth from the flames, smell burnt marshmallows, and for once, I’m not waiting for something bad to happen.

Cohen leans over and says, “You’re cleared for light drills next week, Beck. That’s great, man.”

I nod, staring at the fire. “Yeah. It is.” My ankle’s feeling stronger. It’s playoffs and I want to be ready, play my best.

I sit back, realizing it’s not just my ankle that’s healing—it’s something deeper, something amazing. I glance at Greya. She’s laughing softly with Ari, her hand brushing against mine every so often like it’s instinct now.

When the night winds down and everyone leaves, Greya offers for Alec and I to stay over again.

Upstairs, Chase is already out cold in his bed. Alec disappears into the guest room down the hall. Greya leads me into hers.

I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling that strange tightness in my chest again. The good kind. The terrifying kind.

She steps closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, though it sounds more like a question. “It’s just… I’m still trying to figure all this out. What this is.”

She tilts her head. “You mean us?”

I nod. “You. Me. People who don’t leave.”

Her smile softens. “That’s all love is, Beck. Showing up and staying. Have I told you how much I love you today?”

I smile. The word love hits me harder than I want it to. It’s so simple when she says it, like it’s not a battlefield I’ve been crawling through my whole life.

I want to tell her I love her. It’s right there on my tongue. But the words feel heavy, like they’d get stuck in my throat if I tried.

Instead, I take her hand. She doesn’t push. She just waits—like she already knows.

I press a kiss to her forehead, then to her lips—slow, careful, everything I can’t say yet.

“I’m trying,” I whisper against her skin.

“I know,” she says. “You’re doing better than you think.”

Suddenly, she removes her shirt and my eyes widen. She’s the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen and she’s lying here with me.

She reaches for my shirt next and I watch her slowly lift it up and over my head. I’ve stopped breathing. My shirt falls to the floor beside hers. And then her warm, soft hand lands on my sternum.

“I love you,” she says again, grabbing my hand and placing it on her chest. My fingers graze her breasts as she holds my hand over her heart.

“Breathe, just like I’m doing,” she reminds me.

“I know you love me too, I’ll wait for you to say it out loud when you’re ready. For now, I can feel your love, like you can feel mine.”

I pull her flush against me, skin to skin, our hearts beating against each others, and I kiss her. I savor her lips for just a moment before I crave more.

Our kiss deepens, our arms enclose around each other, our legs intertwine. And for a few seconds I experience the pleasure I’ve bee wanting and fearing all at once. Her soft skin, her breasts pressing against my chest. Her hands exploring every inch of my exposed back…It’s amazing…it’s overwhelming!

My body begins trembling. My arms shaking around her. My lungs constrict. Damnit!

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I want this, more of this. What if I can’t fix what’s wrong with me? ” I can’t breathe.

Her legs stay wrapped around mine and her hands move to cup my face and she rests her forehead on mine. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she whispers then kisses me, her palms still holding my face. “I love you just the way you are. You’re not broken, you’re scared from years of abuse and you’re learning to push past it. And I’m going to be here, helping you.” she kisses me again and then all the air I was holding slowly releases.

When we finally lie down, my body finally calm, her head rests against my chest. My arm curls around her automatically. I listen as her breathing evens out, and I stare at the ceiling, wondering how something this good can exist.

I don’t say it out loud. I can’t. But the thought echoes anyway.

I love you, Greya.

And maybe for now, that’s enough.

Part-44

Greya’s POV…

This is comforting—like home.

Waking up next to a warm body, my own wrapped in Becker’s arms and legs. We’re tangled completely, his slow breaths brushing over my neck, his head buried against my shoulder. He’s asleep.

It makes me happy knowing he feels safe enough to close his eyes beside me. He trusts me—and that’s an enormous accomplishment for him. I don’t dare move. He needs this.

“Grey, can we have chocolate chip pancakes?”

Oh, Chase.

Becker’s eyes fly open, darting around until they find me. Relief, then amusement, settles in his expression.

“Kids,” I say, smiling.

“Yeah, kids.” He chuckles softly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek before pulling me close again. His hand trails down my arm, his lips grazing my neck.

“How are you this morning? After everything last night?” I ask.

“Better.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m just glad I have you. And that you didn’t ask me to leave.”

My heart tugs. I kiss him back. “I meant every word last night, handsome. I’d never ask you to leave. I want you here, always.”

“Grey?” Chase calls again.

“Coming, Chase!” I yell back, laughing a little.

“We should probably make those pancakes,” Becker says, hugging me one more time before we sit up.

“How’s your ankle?”

“Stiff, but not bad. I think I’ll try walking on it—no crutches.”

I know better than to argue. He’s been through worse, and he knows his limits.

When I head downstairs, Chase is reading Alec one of his comic books at the kitchen table.

“How did you guys sleep?” I ask.

“Great, thank you,” Alec answers politely.

“Yeah, we slept great! Can we have bacon too, please?” Chase adds.

“Sure, buddy. Pancakes and bacon coming right up.

Alec, there’s orange juice in the fridge if you want some.”

“Thanks, Greya.”

As I start cooking, Becker limps in without his crutches. “Don’t worry, Love—it doesn’t feel so bad,” he says, smiling.

He comes up behind me, slides his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck. His hands linger, grounding me. Becker may not be ready to say I love you out loud, but he’s saying it in all the ways that matter.

“Eat up, boys. I made too many,” I announce, setting the pancakes down.

“There’s no such thing as too many pancakes,” Alec says, elbowing Chase.

“Want to stay the rest of the week?” I ask Becker softly.

He rubs my back and kisses my temple. “We’d love to. You and Alec both have practice, and since my ankle isn’t ready yet, I can pick up Chase after school and stay with him until you get home. Give Fynn a break.”

“Yeah,” Alec adds, “I can stop home for clothes and come back by dinner.”

“Yes! Please stay over tonight too, Alec!” Chase blurts, making us all laugh.

“The cook doesn’t clean,” I remind them, handing off plates. “You boys have kitchen duty.”

Alec nudges Chase toward the sink. “Come on, bud. I’ll wash, you dry.”

Becker nods toward the living room. “Can you wrap my ankle, Love?”

I grab the ace bandage and follow him to the couch. Sitting on the coffee table facing him, I gently lift his foot onto my thigh. He doesn’t flinch—just watches me, calm and trusting.

The swelling’s gone down. “Looks better,” I say softly.

“Thanks, Grey. For everything.” His smile is warm and unguarded. I can’t help it—I climb onto his lap, straddling him, my hands on his face as I press my lips to his. The kiss is slow and deep, filled with every unspoken thing between us.

When we break apart, our foreheads rest together.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He smiles. “Is this okay?” I ask, searching his eyes.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect, Grey.”

“You’re perfect to me too, B. I love you for you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Chase and Alec stroll in, and I quickly slide off Becker’s lap. Alec ruffles Chase’s hair. “See you tonight, buddy. We’ll read more comics.”

“Thank you, Greya,” Alec says. “I’ll wait in the car, Beck.”

Chase runs upstairs to grab his backpack. When his door shuts, Becker steps closer, wraps his arms around me, and buries his face in my neck.

“I’ll see you in class,” he murmurs, kissing me once more before leaving.

By the time I get home from soccer practice, the sun’s dipping low, throwing gold light across the living room floor. I hear laughter before I even open the door.

“Wait! Don’t knock that tower down yet—I need two more pieces!” Chase’s voice echoes, high and full of energy.

When I step inside, I stop in the doorway and take in the scene. The living room is completely overtaken by Legos—an entire city sprawled across the carpet. Chase is crouched in the middle of it, his hair sticking up every which way, while Becker sits cross-legged beside him, a bright red brick in hand and the softest smile on his face.

He looks… peaceful. Not guarded or heavy, just happy.

“Wow,” I say, dropping my gym bag by the door. “This is impressive.”

“Grey! Look what we built!” Chase shouts proudly even though he can’t see the mess, he knows him and Becker created something big.

“Becker helped me make the police station and the tower, but I did the garage all by myself!”

I crouch down beside them. “You two have been busy.”

“Yeah,” Becker says, glancing up at me with that half-smile that always melts me. “He’s a good builder. Bossy, though.”

“I’m the architect,” Chase declares, grinning.

I laugh. “And what’s Becker then?”

“My assistant.”

“Assistant?” Becker fakes offense, clutching his chest. “I think I deserve at least co-builder status.”

Chase giggles uncontrollably. I look between the two of them—my little brother and the guy who’s learning how to be whole again—and feel something catch within my soul.

“Alright, architects,” I say softly, “how about we order pizza and leave the cleanup for tomorrow?”

“Best idea ever,” Chase says immediately.

Becker leans back on his hands, smiling at me from across the mess of bricks. “You sure you want to leave this masterpiece out overnight?”

“Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I like seeing what home looks like when it’s lived in.”

His expression softens—something quiet and full of meaning in his gaze—and I know he feels it too. That warmth. That belonging.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.

By the time the pizza boxes are stacked on the counter, Chase is yawning through his second slice. Becker’s helping him with math homework at the table, his head bent close, pencil tapping lightly as he murmurs hints instead of answers.

It’s the kind of quiet evening I used to dream about — no chaos, no tension. Just laughter, small talk, the smell of melted cheese, and the guy I love smiling like he finally believes he belongs here.

“Alright, Chase,” I say, “time for a shower. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Aww.”

Becker grins. “Go on, little man. I’ll guard the Lego city while you’re gone.”

“You promise?” Chase asks, eyes wide.

“Promise,” Becker says solemnly. “Not even one piece will move.”

Chase bolts upstairs, and I sink into the couch beside Becker with a soft sigh. “He adores you, you know.”

He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s easy to adore too.”

“So are you.”

The words make him glance up, startled, but then his expression softens. His fingers brush against mine, tentative at first, then firmer, threading our hands together.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs.

I lean against him, my head resting on his shoulder. “Then do.”

We sit like that for a few minutes, the low hum of the dishwasher in the background, until his phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Then again.

He frowns, pulling it from his pocket. “It’s Alec,” he says quietly.

He answers, and I watch his face change — calm to confusion, then to something else entirely. Fear.

“Alec, slow down,” he says, standing up fast. “Where are you? Who’s with you?”

His eyes dart toward the window, then to me, his breathing quickens. I rise too, heart thudding.

“Becker?”

He presses the phone tighter to his ear, voice low and strained. “Stay there, okay? I’m on my way.”

When the call ends, his hands are shaking.

“What happened?” I ask, stepping closer. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Becker says. His voice cracks a little. “He sounded…” He pauses. “Something’s wrong. I need to go home.”

I grab his wrist before he can move. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“No.” He shakes his head hard, pulling me into his arms. “You need to stay here with Chase. I’ll text you when I get home. I’ll go and take care of Alec and then we’ll be back over, okay?”

My pulse pounds in my ears. “Becker, talk to me. What’s going on?”

He exhales, like it’s taking everything in him to stay still. “I don’t know yet. But Alec and I can handle it.”

His eyes are glassy, scared in a way I’ve never seen before. His words contradict with what I’m seeing.

“Don’t go alone, call Cohen or Declan,” I whisper, tears burning behind my eyes.

He cups my face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the edges of my jaw. “Greya, listen to me.” His voice trembles, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “I need you to hear this.” He swallows hard. “I love you, Greya. I’ve loved you for a long time, since the day we locked eyes in the 7th grade. I didn’t say it before because I didn’t think I deserved to. But I do. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

My tears spill over. “Then stay.”

“I can’t.”

I clutch his shirt, shaking my head. “Please don’t go. Not tonight.”

He presses his forehead to mine. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

He kisses me once—deep, fierce, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. When he pulls away, his eyes linger on me one last second before he turns for the door. “I love you, Grey.”

“Becker—”

He looks over his shoulder.

And then he’s gone.

The house feels too quiet, too still. I stand frozen by the door, staring at the handle he just touched, a cold ache settling deep in my chest.

Because I’m terrified that saying “I love you” he meant goodbye.

Part-45

Greya’s POV…

What do I do?

I’m still standing at my door trying to remember how many minutes have past since he left.

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely type Cohen’s number. The phone slips once before I manage to hit call.

“Hello?”

“Cohen!” My voice breaks, all air and panic.

“Greya? You okay?”

“No—it’s Becker and Alec. Something’s happening at their house right now! We need to go there, Cohen! We need to call the police!”

“Grey, slow down, what’s going on?”

“Alec called Becker while he was here. Alec sounded terrified about something. Becker said he needed to go home, then he said some things to me and left. What he said scares me, Cohen. Something’s not right. We have to help them! I don’t care what anyone says about Jack later—he’s hurting them now!”

There’s a long pause on his end, the kind that means he believes me but doesn’t know what to do.

“Okay,” he finally says, voice shaking too. “Okay, I’ll call the police. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go over there together.”

I hang up and text Fynn with trembling fingers.

“Emergency. Please come watch Chase. Now.”

Seconds later, he bursts through the front door, scanning the room. “What happened?”

“I can’t explain right now,” I cry, throwing on a light jacket. The tears blur everything. Fynn just nods and bolts up the stairs toward Chase’s room. He doesn’t need the details to know this is serious.

I don’t remember getting into the car when Cohen pulls up. Just the sound of my own heartbeat and the tires squealing down the street.

Cohen looks like he threw on the first hoodie he could find, his face pale, eyes wild.

“The cops should be there,” he says as he races down the road. “It’s going to be fine.”

But it’s not. I can feel it. The way Becker said he loved me, the look of pure fear in his eyes.

It takes seven minutes to reach Becker’s street, but it feels like an eternity. When we turn the corner, the sky flashes red and blue. Police lights flicker across the houses, and my stomach drops.

“I’ll pull over here,” Cohen says quickly, voice tight.

We jump out and start walking fast, practically running. Two officers are setting up yellow tape across the entrance of Becker’s driveway. We try to slip past, but one of them steps forward, palms out.

“Stop right there,” he says. “You can’t go in.”

“Why?” I shout. “My boyfriend’s in there! He- he needs help!”

The officer exchanges a look with his partner. “Ma’am, please calm down—”

“Calm down? He was just at my house with me!” My voice cracks. “Less than an hour ago, he was fine. He was, with me! What happened? Why won’t you let us in?”

Cohen moves beside me, shaking his head like he’s trying to piece it together. “Beck just left her house,” he says to the officer. “He said he was going home to help his brother. That was—what? Thirty or Forty minutes ago?”

I nod. “He said he’d text me when he got here but he didn’t text.”

The officer sighs, shifting on his feet. “The chief will speak with you soon. Please wait over there.”

I don’t understand. What could possibly have happened?

“No! I need to see him!” I try to move forward again, but Cohen grabs my wrist, holding me back as another officer steps in front of us.

“Why won’t you let us in?” Cohen demands. “What’s going on? Is Jack Reeves in there? Did he—” He can’t finish.

The door to the house opens. We freeze. Paramedics come out first—followed by an officer with blood on his sleeve.

My heart stops.

Then, the stretcher.

One black body bag.

Then another, covered with a white sheet stained in red.

“No.” My breath leaves me. “No! Becker!”

I lunge forward, but Cohen’s arms wrap around me from behind, locking me in place as I scream. “No! Let me go! Please!”

He’s crying too, his voice cracking into my hair. “Greya, stop—please—”

But I can’t stop. My chest feels like it’s caving in. This can’t be happening. He was just with me. He was in my arms. He kissed me, told me he loved me. He promised to come back.

The world tilts. My knees hit the grass. Everything goes silent except for the ringing in my ears.

Another stretcher rolls out. Three in total. And that’s when I know.

They’re gone.

Becker and Alec are gone. And who ever is lying on the third stretcher.

This isn’t real.

The officers’ voices blur together. Cohen’s still holding me, his arms shaking around me, and I can feel his heart racing as fast as mine. He’s crying.

“Why?” I whisper. “He was just here. He was just here.”

Cohen shakes his head, staring blankly at the flashing lights. “I don’t understand… how? How did this happen?”

Neither of us has an answer.

We collapse together on the damp grass, sobbing, until I feel arms around us—Mrs. Collins. She must’ve followed the sirens. She kneels down, pulling us both close. Mr. Collins stands nearby, jaw tight, eyes glassy.

“He’s gone, Mom,” Cohen gasps out. “They’re both gone.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispers, her tears mixing with mine. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why? How?” I ask her next.

Her hand moves up and down my back, grounding me even as I fall apart. “We need to go now,” she says softly.

“No,” I sob, shaking my head. “I can’t leave him.”

“I know, honey. But you can’t stay here.”

“What about dad?” Cohen asks hoarsely. His dad is walking towards the house.

“He’s staying to help the police,” she says. “He’ll talk to us later.”

But I don’t want to hear what “later” means. Later means the truth. Later means Becker really isn’t coming back.

And then it hits me—Chase.

How am I going to tell him? He loved Alec and Becker. This will destroy him too.

“I can’t go home, Mrs. Collins,” I whisper. “Not tonight.”

“You’ll stay with us,” she says firmly. “You and Cohen both. You need each other now.”

Cohen’s phone rings, loud in the chaos. He answers, and his voice cracks. “We lost him, Declan,” he cries. “Beck and Alec—they’re gone.”

He crumbles, and I catch him, both of us sobbing into each other, the world still flashing red and blue around us—the color of the moment everything changed.

Part-46

Greya’s POV…

Four weeks later…

The five stages of grief will live with me forever — that I’m certain of.

Lately, I’ve resorted to pessimism. Maybe if I stop looking for the good, it’ll never be ripped from me again. I won’t survive another loss like this. I’m not surviving now.

I’m barely carrying on — for the sole purpose of my brother.

It’s been four weeks since a part of me died. It’s almost Christmas, but none of us feel like celebrating. Chase hasn’t even written a wish list. We’re trying, though — we’ll get a tree, put a few gifts beneath it, and pretend for his sake.

So far, all we’ve been told is that Jack Reeves shot his sons, then turned the gun on himself. But none of it makes sense. Jack never hurt Alec before. The stories Becker told me don’t line up with the police report.

We need answers — even if they can’t bring them back.

The sadness has consumed our days and nights, but still, here we are: me, Chase, Cohen, Declan, Ari, and Fynn. Standing together in front of Becker and Alec Reeves’ tombstone.

We’re honoring them the only way we can. There was no wake, no funeral, no family to say goodbye. Just the six of us. It makes everything feel unreal, like they could still walk through the door any moment.

Our school held a vigil, and the soccer teams shared a moment of silence before the last games of the season. That’s all. They deserved so much more. They deserved protection. They deserved love — not the monsters they were born to.

Where was their mother? What part did she play? Jack said he was bringing her home. What happened to that? The police won’t tell us much, and it’s killing me not knowing what Becker went through in his final moments.

Was he protecting Alec? Was he scared and alone? Did he know I loved him — that I still love him? Because I do. I always will. Becker was my first, and he’ll be my last. My heart can’t bear to love anyone else.

The boys’ team hasn’t been the same without him. For the first time in four years, they didn’t make it to playoffs. Cohen and Declan can’t focus; they’ve lost their brother.

We’re family though — all six of us — and somehow, we’re still here for each other.

Chase lays the first rose on their graves. He’s the bravest kid I know.

It took me three days to find the strength to tell him why Becker and Alec never came back that weekend. When I finally did, he locked himself in his room until Ari and Fynn coaxed him out. He cried in my arms for days after that.

Now he stands here beside me, small and strong, whispering a little prayer over the flowers. His whole world’s been flipped again, and somehow he’s the one showing us how to stand upright.

I kneel beside him, holding his hand, silently saying my own prayer. One by one, the others join in, our hands connected over the cold ground — united in loss, promising not to let go of each other.

None of us care where Jack Reeves was buried. His soul can rot in the fires of hell.

“Can I visit Mom and Dad and Grams?” Chase asks softly.

“Sure, little man. I’ll take you,” Fynn says, his voice rough.

“I’ll go too,” Declan adds, and Ari nods beside him.

Cohen stays back with me. Becker was his brother in every way that mattered. He’s lost family, and I’ve lost the person I chose to love. Neither of us will ever be the same.

“How do you do it, Grey?” Cohen asks after a long silence.

“How do you wake up every morning, take care of Chase, go to school, play soccer… How do you still care about everyone when you’ve lost so much?”

I wish I had an answer. I pull him into a hug — because we both need one.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just know Becker would’ve wanted me to keep living. To try. He’d want that for you too.”

I don’t believe my own words yet, but maybe someday I will. Right now, I’m still fighting the five stages — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — though none ever truly leave. Maybe one day I’ll conquer them. Maybe.

Fynn drives us home afterward. The car is silent. No one speaks Becker’s or Alec’s names; we’re all still caught in denial. Mentioning them might send us spiraling into anger or guilt, and I don’t have the strength for that yet.

“I want to move,” Chase says suddenly when we pull into the driveway.

Fynn and I turn to look at him. He’s serious.

“I want to move away from this place — far away. Now.”

I climb into the back seat and take his hand. “Why do you want to leave, Chase?” I ask gently, though I already know.

“Because everything bad happens here. Everyone dies. If we move away, maybe it won’t happen again.”

I pull him into my arms and stroke his hair. “I know, buddy. But a lot of good happened here too — with Mom and Dad and Grams. And you still have me, Fynn, Ari, Cohen, and Declan.”

“But I’m starting to forget them,” he says quietly. “Mom and Dad… and soon Alec and Becker too. I’m too sad here, and so are you.”

“You’re right,” I whisper. “I am sad. But we can’t move just yet. Fynn and I have to graduate first. Then we can go anywhere you want. Can you wait a little longer?”

He nods, his eyes full of determination and loss far too deep for his age. “When you graduate, we’ll go to L.A. I want to go to a real school. I want to start over — with you and Fynn. Near UCLA.”

A small, broken smile pulls at my lips. “That sounds like a good plan, little man,” I tell him. “A new life… that sounds really good right now.”

Part-47

Greya’s POV

Three years later…

Acceptance. Such a complicated word. What it means for one person may not mean the same thing for another.

It’s been almost three years since Becker passed, and I’m still learning what it means to accept it — though deep down, I know I never will.

Cope? Sure. We’re coping. We have no other choice but to live our lives as best we can without the ones we loved living theirs alongside us.

If coping means making mistakes or changing who we used to be, then so be it. At least we’re still trying.

“Chase? You ready? Fynn’s going to drop you off at Parker’s house while I go to my appointment!” I call down the hall.

“Almost!” he shouts back from his room.

Fynn walks into our tiny kitchen, sliding two bagels into the toaster. “You sure you don’t want one?”

“Thanks, Fynn. I’m good. And thanks for bringing Chase to his friend’s.”

“We’re a team, remember?” he reminds me with that half-smile that’s kept me grounded more times than I can count.

We are a team. We don’t always know what we’re doing, but after everything we’ve been through, we’ve figured out how to survive — and raise this kid together.

Poor Chase spent six whole months alternating between anger and tears after Becker and Alec died. I wanted to do the same, but I couldn’t. I had to be strong for him. Crawling into a hole sounded like heaven, but disappearing isn’t an option when someone else depends on you.

So after graduation, I did the only thing that made sense — I sold our family home, packed up our lives, and moved us to Los Angeles.

Chase begged for a new start, and I gave him one. It’s been the best decision I’ve ever made.

My full scholarship pays for our small three-bedroom apartment half a mile from UCLA’s campus. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s ours — and easy for Chase to navigate once he learned the layout.

That first year here was brutal. He insisted on attending a “normal” school, so I enrolled him in a private one. The teachers have been wonderful, and his curriculum is fully accessible in braille. But adjusting was hard — especially while grieving. What happened to Alec and Becker changed all of us.

Therapy helped. Chase and I started seeing a grief counselor together every week, and over time, he opened up more. Now he sees his therapist alone — and so do I. Hence my appointment today.

“I’m ready!” Chase bounces through the kitchen, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Here’s your bagel, let’s go,” Fynn says, then turns to hug me. “See you tonight.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, watching as they leave.

Chase has come so far. He’s laughing again, making friends — Parker, especially. Parker and his parents have been incredible. They treat Chase like family, and they treat me like someone who isn’t broken. It’s nice to be reminded good people still exist.

“See ya, Grey! Parker’s parents will bring me home after dinner!”

“Okay, bud. Have fun! I love you.”

“Love you too, Sis!”

Once they’re gone, I decide to walk to my favorite coffee shop before therapy. It’s a short walk, and walking clears my head — or at least helps me pretend it does. My therapist says I should live one day at a time, not focus on the future. So that’s what I try to do.

One day at a time.

Just Chase. Soccer. School. The people who never left. No dating, no risks. My heart’s been broken enough. Becker took the last piece of it with him.

The café is quiet, only one person ahead of me in line. I order my usual — a salted caramel latte — and turn to find a seat.

Most of the tables are empty except one in the far corner. A guy’s sitting there, hunched over his laptop. Hoodie up over his head. Odd choice in ninety-degree weather.

As I walk past him, he lifts his head slightly — and inhales sharply, like he’s been startled. He twirls a pen between his fingers, and my breath catches.

That movement — that small, familiar habit — knocks the air right out of me.

“Beck…” I whisper before I can stop myself.

My body moves before my mind can process. My heart pounds as I inch closer. There’s a white cane under his table. A brace on his leg. He types with one hand while his other hangs limp by his side. He doesn’t see me.

No. No, no, no. This isn’t real.

I stumble backward, out the door, my latte sloshing in my hand. The sunlight feels too bright, too loud. I can’t breathe.

By the time I reach my therapist’s office, I’m shaking and hyperventilating.

“Greya, what happened?” she asks gently, guiding me to the couch.

Tears sting my eyes, but they don’t fall. They never do. Because if they fall, then Becker’s really gone.

“I saw him again,” I finally say.

Her voice stays calm. “You mean in a dream?”

I almost laugh — a broken, bitter sound. “The dreams never stop. Sometimes he’s alive and happy. Sometimes he’s being murdered. It’s never the same.” I take a shaky breath. “But this wasn’t a dream. I saw him at the coffee shop.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No.”

“What made you think it was him?”

“He was twirling a pen around his fingers. Just like Beck always did when he was thinking.” My throat tightens. “And then I saw the cane and brace, and I realized I was staring at a disabled man — not Becker.”

She nods, patient. “Have you seen anyone else you thought was him recently?”

“Last week. At the library. Same hair. Same build. But I never see his face. Do you think I’m hallucinating because I’m forgetting what he looks like?” My voice cracks. “Because I can’t remember him clearly anymore?”

“How did you handle it that time?”

“Chase was with me. We just… walked away.”

She nods again, jotting notes. “Greya, what you’re describing is normal. You never saw Becker’s body. There was no funeral. Your mind is trying to find closure where it never got any.”

She’s right. Becker and Alec were cremated and buried quietly. No viewing. No goodbye. I never saw he was gone, so a part of me still refuses to believe it.

“If I knew what really happened that night,” I whisper, “maybe I could finally move on.”

“Do you think knowing his final moments — reliving that trauma — would help?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to think about him suffering. He suffered enough when he was alive. I just…” My voice falters. “I just want to stop suffering now. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Greya,” she says softly. “You’ve survived things most people couldn’t. You’re still standing. You’re raising your brother. You’re going to school. That’s not crazy — that’s strength.”

“I don’t feel strong,” I admit.

“You are. It takes time. Everything does.”

I hate that word — time.

She continues, “Let’s adjust your medication. Something better for the anxiety and depression. And remember — for every negative thought, find one positive. You have so many. Chase is thriving. You’re still playing soccer. You’re keeping your grades up. You’re surrounded by people who care about you.”

I nod, though I’m not sure I believe her.

“I hope you’re right,” I say softly.

She smiles. “You’ll get there, Greya. One day at a time.”

Author’s Note

Note….

There is so much more to this story. So much more for Greya to learn. She’s a survivor even when things seem impossible.

Please check out the sequel

“Beyond Grey Shadows”

where the story continues…

Coming soon