One too Many

Chapter 38

Asher

I watch Samara from across the kitchen, my chest tight with a mixture of frustration and worry that refuses to ease. She's sitting on the couch, the tiny form of Johan curled up in her lap, his breathing soft and even as he sleeps peacefully. The contrast between her calm exterior and the storm I know is raging inside her is unbearable. It's like watching someone drown slowly while all I can do is stand at the edge of the water.

The guys are scattered around the kitchen, each of them doing their best to act normal, but none of us are. None of us have the ability to ignore what happened today.

Ian's at the stove, stirring something in a pot, his focus sharp as he cooks for us. He's always been the one to take charge when it comes to feeding us, but right now, I can't even remember the last time I truly tasted something. The hunger has faded from my body, replaced by this constant, gnawing worry.

"She's not herself," I say, breaking the silence that has settled over us.

Dominic leans against the counter, his hands folded across his chest. "I know. I can see it too. She's been... different since the whole ordeal started."

Ian looks over his shoulder, his brow furrowing as he watches her for a moment. He's quiet for a beat, his jaw tight as he turns back to his cooking. "She's hurting. I can see it in her eyes, man. Every time she looks away, I see it. It's like she's shutting down on us."

Cale, who's been leaning against the door frame, his eyes distant, finally speaks up. "That man has broken her. It's killing her inside. She's pretending to be fine for us, for Johan. But I see it. She's barely holding it together."

We all fall quiet again, the weight of our thoughts hanging in the air. I'm not the only one who knows exactly how much it's eating at her. We see the cracks, and we feel it in every breath she takes. She's not okay, and I don't know how much longer she can keep pretending she is.

She deserves so much better than the life she's had, and every day, I want to rip apart anyone who's ever hurt her. But the hardest part? It's watching her feel like she can't tell us. Watching her close off every time she gets close to breaking.

Before I can say anything more, a soft, unexpected cough catches my attention.

I whip my head towards the living room, my heart leaping into my throat.

Samara's hand is at her chest, her breath shallow as she coughs again. She tries to stifle it, but it's clear it's more than just a simple cough. It's painful.

"Angel?" I murmur, already pushing off the counter and moving toward her.

"Fuck," Dominic growls, his eyes wide with alarm as he pushes past me.

We all converge around her, the panic rising in the air like a thick fog. But Samara, despite the weak tremor in her voice, offers us a soft smile.

"I'm fine," she says, her voice hoarse. "Just exhausted. It's nothing."

I kneel in front of her, my hands resting on her knees, my heart pounding in my chest as I meet her tired eyes. "You're not fine, Samara. Let us help you."

"I'm okay," she whispers again, but this time, the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze flickers down at Johan, who's still peacefully asleep in her lap. "He's just fine. And I'm fine too."

I want to argue. I want to pick her up and carry her to bed myself, but I see something in her eyes—a quiet plea for us to stop. She needs space. She needs time.

"I want to tell you all something," she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands gently stroke Johan's hair as she looks down at him, her fingers trembling slightly. "Something I've been keeping inside. I don't want secrets between us anymore. I don't want to hide anymore."

She looks up at us, her gaze steady despite the exhaustion lining her features. Her eyes are filled with both vulnerability and strength.

"I want to tell you everything," she adds softly, her words hanging in the air, heavy and unspoken.

The silence that follows her words is suffocating, the weight of her confession crashing down on all of us. We know there's more she hasn't said, more she's kept locked away from us. But now? She's ready.

I nod, my heart thundering in my chest. "You don't have to tell us everything if you're not ready, Angel," I say gently. "But we'll be here when you're ready."

"I need to," she insists. "I need to share it. I don't want any more walls between us."

"Then we'll listen," Cole says quietly, stepping forward, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with quiet understanding.

Dominic nods, his jaw set in determination. "We'll be here, Samara. You're not alone."

"I'm going to take Johan to bed," Ian says softly, his voice gentle as he looks at her. "Let me handle him."

She nods gratefully, her hands slowly moving to adjust Johan, gently lifting him from her lap. His tiny face scrunches in his sleep, but he doesn't wake up as Ian carries him to the bedroom.

Once Ian is gone, the air shifts. It feels heavier now, like the calm before the storm. Samara sits there, her posture slumped, her fingers curling against her own legs as if to keep herself grounded. Her gaze flickers from one of us to the next, as though she's searching for something.

I move closer to her, resting a hand on her cheek, the weight of it offering comfort. Without a word, the other guys crowd in around her. There's nowhere for her to go, nowhere for her to hide. And she doesn't want to anymore.

"We're ready, baby," I say quietly when Ian descends downstairs, my voice thick with emotion, my chest tight with a hundred different feelings I can't quite name.

And then, Samara begins.

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Author Note:

Soooo what do you think so far??? Give me your opinions (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Thank you for reading!!! :))