JAY'S POV —
Peralta Hospital smelled like antiseptic and restraint.
Bright lights. Quiet urgency. The kind of place that patched you up without asking what you'd done to deserve it.
David stayed close.
Too close to be coincidence. Too steady to be fooled.
I sat on the edge of the bed while the nurse wrapped my knuckles, her movements brisk and efficient. The sting throbbed under the gauze—sharp enough to keep me present.
"You get into trouble often?" she asked.
"Only when I don't plan to," I replied.
She huffed softly and finished the wrap. "Try not to punch furniture. It always wins."
My shoulder was bruised. Nothing fractured. The story held.
"Take it easy," she said, already stepping away. "Ice. Rest. No heroics."
If only she knew.
David waited until we were back in the car before speaking.
The city slid past in streaks of amber and shadow as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose but ready—like everything about him.
"Jay," he said quietly.
I turned my head.
"What happened after they took us out?"
There it was.
Not sharp. Not accusing.
Just… aware.
I exhaled slowly.
"I knew one of them," I said. "Kyle."
David's grip tightened almost imperceptibly.
"From where?"
"Before," I replied. "A long time ago."
He glanced at me briefly, then back to the road. "He didn't act like an old friend."
"No," I admitted. "He owed me."
Silence filled the car again—thick, weighted.
"And Kaizer?" he asked after a moment.
"He crossed people who don't forgive," I said carefully. "That's all you need to know."
David didn't like half-answers.
But he respected boundaries.
He nodded once. "You ever need help—real help—you call me."
I met his gaze.
"I know."
He dropped me off at my condo without another word.
The building felt hollow when I stepped inside.
Too quiet.
Too still.
"Percy?" I called.
Nothing.
I checked my phone.
Percy: Had to fly to NYC urgently. Company issue. Lock up and rest. I'll explain later.
Of course.
I replied: Okay. Be safe.
The shower burned against my bruises, grounding me. By the time I crawled into bed, exhaustion wrapped around me like a weight.
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Firm.
My eyes opened instantly.
No panic.
Just instinct.
I moved quietly, checked the camera feed on my phone.
And there he was.
Keifer.
Standing outside like he'd refused to leave the night behind.
Hair messy. Knuckles bruised. Eyes dark with worry and something heavier.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
He looked up immediately.
Relief flashed across his face—quick, uncontrolled.
"You're okay," he said, like he needed to say it out loud.
"I am," I replied softly.
His eyes dropped to my bandaged hand.
His jaw clenched.
"Come in," I said quietly.
He hesitated only a second.
Then crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind him.
And with it—
The space between truth and lies grew thinner than ever.
He didn't ask permission.
Keifer just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me like he'd been holding himself together with sheer will until this moment.
Careful.
Too careful.
Like I might break.
I froze for half a second—then melted into him.
His arms were warm. Solid. Real. His heartbeat was fast against my cheek, like it hadn't slowed since the house. Since the guns. Since thinking he'd almost lost people he loved.
I rested my forehead against his collarbone.
"I'm okay," I murmured.
He didn't answer.
His hand slid to my bandaged knuckles, hovering instead of touching. The muscles in his jaw flexed, anger tightening his face into something sharp and dangerous.
"What did they do to you?" he asked quietly.
I shrugged, forcing lightness into my voice. "Nothing dramatic. They hit me. I hit back. Furniture intervened."
I tried to smile.
He didn't.
His eyes darkened, stormy, and I could almost hear the violence he was swallowing down.
"I should've—" he started.
"You did enough," I cut in gently. "We all walked out."
That was the truth I wanted him to hold onto.
I guided him to the couch, sat beside him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then something shifted in him—something brittle.
"You asked earlier," he said suddenly. "About my dad. About the inheritance."
I turned fully toward him.
He stared at the floor.
"My mom's name was Serina Watson," he said. His voice didn't shake—but it was close. "She wasn't supposed to die. She wasn't sick. She wasn't weak."
My chest tightened.
"My grandfather knew Kaizer," Keifer continued. "Knew what he was capable of. So when I was still a kid, he moved everything. The money. The power. All of it."
He let out a breath that sounded broken.
"To me."
I sucked in a quiet breath.
"She died protecting that transfer," he said. "Protecting me. Protecting Keiran and Keigan. Making sure Kaizer could never touch it."
His hands clenched in his lap.
"I turn eighteen soon," he went on. "And suddenly my dad remembers he has sons. Suddenly he wants Keiran. Wants leverage. Because if he controls one of us, he thinks he controls everything."
His voice cracked then.
Just once.
"I watched my mom die," he whispered. "And now every time he looks at my brothers, all I can think is—what if I fail them?"
That did it.
I pulled him into me without thinking.
His forehead dropped to my shoulder, breath hitching as something he'd held back for years finally slipped free. He didn't sob—Keifer wasn't like that.
But he shook.
And I held him.
My hand slid into his hair, slow and grounding. "You didn't fail anyone," I said softly. "You're still here. They're still here."
He nodded against me, fingers gripping my shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
After a while, the storm eased.
We stayed there—quiet, close—until his breathing evened out. His arm draped around my waist, mine tucked under his chin. The city hummed faintly outside, distant and indifferent.
Normal.
I glanced at the time.
Too late.
"You should go," I said gently.
He didn't move.
Instead, he tilted his head just enough to look at me—eyes soft now, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed.
"Can I stay?" he asked, voice low. Almost shy.
I smiled despite myself. "No."
He frowned instantly.
"You're brothers need you," I added, amused.
He hesitated. Then—very quietly—
"And I need you."
That did something to me.
Something reckless.
Something warm.
I leaned in before I could overthink it.
Kissed him.
Soft at first—surprised breaths brushing, the moment stretching just long enough for him to realize it was real.
Then he kissed me back.
Careful.
Like I was something precious.
I pulled away first, forehead resting against his. "Now go," I said, smiling.
He pouted.
Actually pouted.
"You're cruel," he muttered, standing reluctantly.
I laughed. "Goodnight, Keifer."
He paused at the door, glanced back once more like he was memorizing the sight of me.
"Goodnight, Jay."
Then he left.
The door closed.
The apartment fell quiet again.
I touched my lips.
And for the first time that night—
I let myself breathe...