23. Grayson

I'm still catching my breath, the sheets twisted around my bare legs. Brielle's head rests against my chest, her soft curves melding into me like we're two pieces of a puzzle that just found their perfect fit. I can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing, a soothing rhythm that lulls me into a state of tranquility.

Levi, he's another story—standing across the room, slipping into his jeans. No lingering gazes or tender touches from him. He's all about the heat of the moment, the chase, the thrill. But once the fire burns out, he's ready to move on, leaving the embers to cool without a second glance.

"Levi," I call out with a chuckle, "you ever gonna stick around long enough for a cuddle?"

He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder, that all-too-familiar glint in his eyes. "You know that's not my style, Grayson."

I turn back to Brielle, her golden-brown hair fanning out on the pillow, a stark contrast to the white cotton.

I hadn't thought that anything would happen between us again, but I'm so happy it did.

"Hey," I murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Brielle's face. "I'm still wondering how the two of you ended up in bed together? Last I checked you two couldn't even stand to look at each other."

Her eyelids flutter open, revealing pools of green flecked with gold. There's a story there, in those depths, something that explains the magnetic pull that drew us together despite all reason.

"Grayson, it's?—"

Her words are cut short as my phone blares from the nightstand. The sharp ring slices through the quiet aftermath of our passion, demanding attention. I reach for it, the device cold and impersonal in my hand, an unwelcome intruder in this intimate space.

"Damn timing," I mutter, thumbing the answer button after seeing Conrad's name written across the screen.

"Conrad?" I answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Gray, you gotta—" His voice is a garbled rush of panic, syllables tumbling over each other in their urgency.

"Whoa, slow down, man." I prop myself up with one elbow, the sheet slipping from around my waist. Brielle's gaze lingers on me, her concern mirroring mine, while Levi pauses, one arm through his shirtsleeve, watching.

"Sorry, it's just—it's my sister, Nina," Conrad manages, his breath hitching. "She's been?—"

"Take a breath, Con. What happened?" I urge him gently.

"Hit by a car. She's at the hospital. Gray, I—" He chokes on the words, the vulnerability in his voice something I've rarely heard from him.

"Hey, hey, I'm on my way." The promise slides out without hesitation. I throw the covers off and stand, all thoughts of lingering warmth and soft skin evaporating as cold reality sets in.

"Thanks," he says, a whisper of relief audible even through the static.

"Of course," I reply, ending the call. My mind races with images of Conrad's younger sister, always bright and full of life, now laid up in a sterile hospital room.

"What's going on?" Levi asks.

"Conrad's sister, Nina," I say, my voice low, shaking with the effort to keep it level. "Hospital. Car accident." The words feel like lead in my mouth.

"Shit," Levi hisses, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "He seemed off last night."

"Off doesn't even start to cover it now." My hands clench into fists. "We've gotta go to him. Brielle, we can drop you off first?—"

"Wait." Brielle's voice cuts through the tension, soft yet insistent. She's on her feet too, a determined glint in her eye. "I'm coming with you."

Levi's skepticism is almost tangible, clouding the air between us. "Brielle, this isn't?—"

"Isn't what?" Her challenge is fierce, her stance unwavering. "Isn't my business? Isn't important? Because it is. To all of us." She moves closer, her touch electric as her fingers graze my arm, urging me to see reason.

"Levi," I interject, "Conrad might enjoy seeing her."

"Fine," he relents, but the lines of concern don't fade from his brow.

"Let's go then." My voice is steady now, fueled by a new urgency.

* * *

The hospital'ssterile scent hits me as we step through the sliding doors.

We find Conrad hunched over in one of the unforgiving plastic chairs that line the corridor, his tall frame making it look like a child's seat. He looks up, and there's this moment—a flash of relief that cuts through the shadows under his eyes. He stands, and I see it, the weight he's been carrying.

"Hey," I say, voice rough with worry.

His response is a tired smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks for coming." His gaze drifts to Brielle, then to Levi, settling on each face as if they're anchors keeping him from drifting away.

"The doctors—they won't let anyone in yet," he explains, voice tinged with frustration.

"Have they said anything else about her condition?" I ask, leaning in closer.

Conrad runs a hand through his hair, the gesture painfully familiar. "Just that she's stable. They're cautious. Hopeful." The word seems to get stuck in his throat, lodged between hope and despair.

Brielle steps forward, her presence all warmth and comfort. She touches Conrad's shoulder gently, grounding him. "She's strong, Conrad. She'll pull through."

I watch them, and something stirs inside me—this tangle of emotions where relief meets desire. They look good together, natural and caring. It's a scene that shouldn't fit into the complicated puzzle of our lives, yet somehow it fits perfectly.

"Conrad!" The familiar voice slices through the air. "I came as soon as I heard." It's Jim, Brielle's father—no, our best friend.

"I'm here for you, man," Jim says, but his voice trails off, his composure slipping when he spots his daughter among us.

Fuck. This would be the worst possible time for the truth to come out.

What will Jim say when he finds out we've deflowered his daughter and have been having sex with her ever since?

Brielle releases her grip on Conrad's shoulder. "Dad—" she starts, but the words hang there, unfinished.

Jim's frown deepens, his gaze sharpening. "Brielle? What are you doing here?"