48. Levi

Ipace the sterile hospital room, each step echoing my guilt. I've been a storm of harsh words, a relentless tempest that's battered Brielle down. The memory stings, sharp and unwelcome. My chest clenches with regret.

"Shouldn't have said it like that," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. I thought I was protecting myself—us—from getting too deep, from the burn of feelings that could scald us all. But now, seeing her here, vulnerable, I'm scorched by the truth. I care. Deeply.

I stop my pacing and look at her, lying there so still on the hospital bed. Her chest rises and falls, the only sign she's with us. Tubes snake from under the sheets, and machines beep in a steady rhythm. It's all so cold, so mechanical.

"Come on, Brielle," I whisper, my voice barely a thread of sound.

My hands find hers, fingers laced tight like vines clinging for life. Her skin is warm, soft—real in a way nothing else feels right now. I hold on, as if I could keep her here, anchor her to this world.

"Please, wake up." The words are a prayer, a plea shot through with fear and hope.

The door creaks, but I don't turn. Conrad, Grayson—they're here too, somewhere behind me, a silent vigil. We're all bound together, tethered to Brielle, waiting for her eyes to open, for her to come back to us.

Eyelids flutter. A soft moan escapes her lips.

"Brielle?" My voice breaks the silence, hope surging like a tidal wave. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes crack open, a sliver of vibrant green. Relief crashes into me, strong enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

"Hey," she whispers, her voice raspy.

"Hey yourself." I manage a shaky laugh. Conrad and Grayson crowd closer, their faces alight with the same joy that's warming my chest.

"Water?" Her voice is a thread, barely there.

"Right here, sweetheart." Grayson's already pouring a glass, his hand steady as he slips a straw between her lips.

"Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?" Conrad's hovering at the bedside button, ready to summon help.

"Slow down, guys," she murmurs, taking a careful sip. "I'm okay."

That's when she sees it—the worry written on our faces, the tight grip we can't seem to loosen on her hands.

"Guys, I'm so sorry about Sierra—about everything. I never meant for—" Her words are a floodgate opening, but I can't let her drown in guilt.

"Stop, Brielle." I squeeze her hand, needing her to feel the conviction in my touch. "None of this is your fault. You hear me? We're in this together, no matter what."

She looks at me, searching my face for the truth I'm laying bare. And in that moment, all the harsh words I once hurled into the space between us dissolve into nothing.

"Levi's right," Conrad chimes in, his gaze locked with hers. "We've got you, Bri."

"Always," Grayson adds, a fierce protectiveness in his eyes.

Brielle's breath catches, her eyes glistening. And just like that, we're more than a tangle of arms and shared kisses. We're an unbreakable unit, poised to weather any storm.

The door swings open with a creak that slices through the murmurs of our cocooned world. Brielle's father stands on the threshold, his presence like a cold draft. He's a towering figure, dressed in a suit that looks out of place against the sterile white of the hospital room. His eyes scan over us, a scowl etching deep lines around his mouth.

"Jim," I breathe out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Dad," Brielle rasps, her fingers tightening around mine. Conrad's brow furrows, and Grayson's posture stiffens. There's an unspoken understanding that this man's arrival changes everything.

"Didn't expect to find a party," Jim says, his tone laced with sarcasm as he strides into the room. The tension ripples, a tangible force that threatens to choke us.

"Sir," Grayson starts, but Jim holds up a hand.

"Save it."

Before any of us can speak again, the door opens a second time. A nurse, clipboard in hand, steps in. She wears a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, glancing at the array of faces before her. "But we need to update our records. Can anyone tell me who the baby's father is?"

Silence falls heavy, a blanket smothering the room. The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as if suspended by the collective shock that grips us.

Each of us exchanges glances, unreadable emotions flickering across our faces. Brielle's grip on my hand slackens, her breath hitching in her throat.

"Excuse me?" Conrad's voice finally breaks the stillness, yet it's void of its usual confidence. The nurse looks between us, unaware she's dropped a bombshell that now sits ticking in the center of the room.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the fog of confusion. "What do you mean?" I manage, my voice a mere rasp.

"Brielle fainted because she's…she's seven weeks pregnant."

The words sound foreign to my ears, a secret spilling out that wasn't meant to be shared.

The nurse blinks at us, her smile waning. She checks her clipboard again as if it holds some kind of truth that can clear this mess. But nothing changes. The question remains, a gaping hole in the middle of the room we're all tiptoeing around.

Brielle's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. They dart from face to face—Conrad's stoic mask, Grayson's clenched jaw, back to mine. A silent scream echoes in her gaze, a tumultuous storm of emotion that she had planned to weather with us in private.

"Levi…" Her whisper is barely audible, a plea for understanding or maybe forgiveness. Her shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has settled upon them, crushing her with the enormity of what lies ahead.

"Is it true?" Jim's voice booms, shattering the fragile quiet. "All of you?"

My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I glance at Conrad; he steps forward, a shield of calm.

"Yes, sir." Conrad's voice is even, respectful. "It's true." He holds Jim's gaze, unflinching. "We all care for Brielle deeply. There was never any intention of disrespect."

The air hangs heavy. Tense. Waiting. Brielle's breath hitches, a sound that tugs at my insides. Her father's eyes are storms, swirling with confusion, betrayal, a hundred unspoken questions.

"Care?" The word is a bullet, fired with disbelief. "You call this caring?"

Conrad doesn't waver. "Yes, we do." He looks at Brielle then, his commitment a silent vow. "More than anything."