Annelly

He’s barely stopped touching me since we left the office. His hand never once let go of mine. Not when he led me upstairs. Not when he quietly guided me into his bedroom. Not even as he locked the door behind us with a deliberate click, like he no longer trusted the empty hallway on the other side.

“Stay here. Away from the windows.” 

That’s all he said. His voice tight and clipped as he sat me down on the edge of the bed, then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

I don’t move. I just sit there—knees pressed together, hands limp in my lap—until my fingers lift to brush my lips, still tingling from our kiss.

I can barely breathe. Not with everything inside me still spinning—my thoughts, my heart, my fear, and the hollow ache of not knowing what any of this means.

The image of him, shattered and sobbing in my arms, keeps replaying in my head. That sound. That wreckage. It’s burned into me now, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t separate it from the way he looked at me right before he kissed me. Like I was the only thing tethering him to solid ground. Like he needed me more than he wanted to need me. Like he wanted me so much it hurt. 

But he still hasn’t told me what happened. What broke him. And that’s what terrifies me more than anything. 

Because I felt it—in every staggered breath, every trembling touch, every brush of his fingers that lingered like he was afraid to let go. Something terrible happened. And whatever it is… I know it in my gut, things are only going to get worse.

When he returns less than a minute later, he looks slightly more put together. His face is freshly washed. His hair is damp from where he’s run water through it. 

But his eyes… 

His eyes are the same. 

Still heavy. Still cracked at the edges like a dam straining under the weight of rising flood waters.

He doesn’t say a word. Just reaches for my hand again, and I let him. No hesitation. No questions. 

As his fingers wrap around mine, I realize why. Because the warmth of his skin against mine is like a balm. A silent, unspoken promise that if we just hold on tight enough to each other… maybe everything will be okay.

He doesn’t speak again until we get to the kitchen.

“Sit,” he murmurs, gently guiding me to one of the island stools. Then he leans down, his eyes meeting mine. “Please. Just this one time, I need you to listen. To do as I ask. For the next few hours, I need you not to fight me.”

Something in his voice—the strain in that desperate, quiet plea—hits me like a blow to the chest. I breathe through the ache and give him a silent nod. Once again, I find myself doing as he asks, only this time it’s not because I’m scared, but because I can see how badly he needs this. 

He’s struggling, and in true James fashion, he’s reaching for the one thing that’s always helped him keep it together—doing. Taking care of things. Providing. Creating order where there is none. Because control has always been his armor, and right now, that sandwich tray he’s about to make is the only thing standing between him and the emotions threatening to break him open.

So I stay seated, letting him have this. 

I watch as he starts building the tray with more food than we could possibly eat. Sandwiches stacked with military precision, each cut on a perfect diagonal. A large salad tossed with careful, practiced hands. A bowl of chips. Sparkling waters from the fridge lined up like soldiers in a row. 

It’s too much food for just the two of us, which tells me what he hasn’t said out loud. We’re not just waiting for Zeb. He’s expecting others—maybe the entire OTS team.

And that sends my heart into a frantic rhythm because it confirms my worst fear. Whatever is coming… my life is about to change. Again.

I stare down at my hands on the table, trying to still the trembling I hadn’t realized had started. It’s partially my fault he hasn’t told me what’s happening. I haven’t asked. Instead, I’ve let the silence linger between us like it could somehow protect me. Protect us. But that was foolish—naïve, even. Now it feels like there’s a fog of unspoken truth between us, tainting the air with a dread neither of us wants to name. 

But for both our sakes, I know I have to ask.

“James?” My voice comes out thinner than I intended, wobbling with the fear I can’t seem to shake. “Will you just… tell me?”

He stills. 

The knife in his hand hovers over the last sandwich. For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. But then he finishes what he’s doing, sets the knife down slowly, and wipes his hands on the towel beside him.

Without a word, he walks around the island and straight towards me. Though his movements are quiet and unhurried, there’s an urgency there. When he reaches me, he doesn’t speak. He just takes my face in his hands and tilts it up until my eyes meet his. 

His touch is warm, almost reverent, as he takes me in. “I don’t want to scare you,” he says gently. “But I also won’t lie to you. Something’s happened. And yes… it’s bad.”

His thumbs brush over my cheeks like he’s trying to wipe away the fear. Then, leaning in, he rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re not alone in this. I swear to you, Annelly. Whatever happens, I’ll get you through it. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

He kisses my forehead and pulls me into his arms. As his warmth surrounds me, I melt into his chest… and for a second, I let myself believe him.

Still, this is another one of those moments where he says so much—and yet nothing at all. I’m on the cusp of asking again, of pushing for answers, when the front door of the upper level creaks open.

Their presence shifts the air immediately. 

I feel it before I hear it—the quiet hitch of someone’s breath, the slight pause in their steps as they take in the scene before them. 

James tenses slightly, but his arms stay locked around me, holding me close. Even as he faces the scrutinizing stare of his guests, he doesn’t let go. 

After a few breaths, he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. And like we’re suspended in that same quiet place where only he and I exist, he whispers, “It’s going to be okay.”

Then, to my complete shock, he leans down and presses the softest kiss to my lips. It’s brief and gentle. Steadying in a way that makes my heart stutter for an entirely different reason. 

When he finally greets the others, he takes my hand and turns me so I’m facing the entryway. Even under the weight of Zeb’s surprised gaze and Ben’s barely restrained glare, he still doesn’t let me go. 

Neither of them speaks. 

One glance at their faces, and my heart sinks.

Zeb gives me a small, almost imperceptible smile—a quiet greeting laced with concern. Ben, however, doesn’t look at me at all. His pointed glare stays locked on James, his eyes tracking down to our joined hands. The muscle in his jaw ticks once. Twice. Then he drops his gaze, shoves his hands into his pockets, and walks into the kitchen. 

Whatever tension had stretched tight between them softens slightly when James clears his throat and gestures toward the food he’s prepared. 

“Help yourselves. There’s plenty.”

Then, grabbing two plates from the stack in the center of the island, he guides me to the end of the counter, gently settling me onto a stool before taking the seat right beside me. 

The other two men move wordlessly, filling their plates and finding their seats. Zeb chooses the stool beside James, along the long side of the island. Ben takes the seat directly across from James and me. His eyes meet mine briefly, just long enough for me to catch the flicker of apology there. Then he looks away.

It sets my teeth on edge.

The silence stretches—thick and hollow—like we’re all just waiting for someone to say it. To confirm what I already know. That my worst nightmare has come true.  

Then, quietly, Ben glances toward James. 

“You sure about this?”

James’s hand flexes around mine beneath the table. His jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice is low and even, but weighted with a gravity that lands in my chest like a stone.

“Yes.” He doesn’t look at me. Just holds Ben’s gaze with guarded resolve. “She deserves to know the truth. All of it.”

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