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Eli’s face darkens. “And they believed her?”

“Like they’d believe one of their many foster kids over their perfect daughter?”

Jax lets out a bitter laugh. “That's so unbelievably fucked up. “

“They packed my stuff in garbage bags that same night and kicked me out without hearing my side of the story. Her accusations were why I was put in an all-boys home with you.”

“That same girl had a baby nine months after prom, right?” Eli mutters his question.

“That’s the one.”

I don't know what's heavier, finally saying the truth out loud or seeing the anger on their faces. Not anger at me; anger for me. I spent years convincing myself that keeping what happened from them protected the only friendships that ever felt safe. Looking at Eli and Jax now, I wonder if all it did was keep my brothers from carrying a burden they would've shouldered without hesitation.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Jax asks, confirming what I already suspected.

I swallow hard. For a long time, it wasn't the memory alone that haunted me. It was this. Watching the two people I trust most hear the worst thing anyone's ever believed about me.

“Because I couldn't bear the thought of either of you wondering if there was even the slightest chance it was true.”

Jax's expression crumples, his eyes turning glassy. “Ollie…never. Not for one fucking second. We know you. You're the guy who catches spiders and carries them outside because you can’t bring yourself to kill them. You'd never hurt another living creature. We know that.”

Eli's jaw tenses before he reaches across the space between us and squeezes my forearm. “I'm not hurt that you didn't tell us; I’m hurt that someone made you believe you had to carry this alone. You never had to earn our trust, Ollie. You already had it. And I hate that you spent all these years thinking any of this could change the way we see you.”

I duck my head, scrubbing the sleeve of my hoodie across my eyes.

“Back then—” My voice catches. I clear my throat and try again. “I was so damn tired of defending myself. Of people deciding who I was before I even opened my mouth. You two were the only people who looked at me like I was just...me. I couldn't risk losing that because of someone else's lie.”

“I still hate that you carried it alone,” Jax nearly whispers.

I give him a small, tired smile. “We all carried things alone back then. None of us knew how to do anything else. It is what it is. We can't change the past and what happened.”

We don’t say anything else after. We don't have to. We all know exactly where our minds have gone. Senior year. Three angry, scared foster teens landing under the same roof after being constantly bounced around. We'd known each other before then, but that house changed everything and we became family. Looking back now, I don't think any of us realized it was happening. We were just trying to make it through another day. Turns out we were building a safe place in each other instead.

“We all have to start forgiving ourselves for not knowing what only time could teach us,” Eli reminds us.

I wonder what seventeen-year-old me would think if he could see us now. Our trio, who barely knew how to ask for help, sitting around talking about feelings instead of pretending we didn't have any. He'd probably think we'd gone soft. I'd tell him that's the point. That surviving got us this far, but it was never supposed to be the finish line.

“Thank fuck we're not those scared kids anymore. We finally have people worth opening up to, and we’re slowly finding the courage to do it. Maybe that's what healing looks like,” I say after a beat.

Jax exhales, slinging the strap of his Fender over his shoulder. “Okay. Wow. Enough emotional growth for one evening. Let’s play something before I start journaling again.”

“You journal?” I ask, a hint of humor in my voice. After all, my journaling got me the nickname Little Poet Boy back in high school.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

Eli snorts, adjusting his Les Paul into place. I lift my guitar, fingers finding a melody they've known for years. Music spills through the studio, wrapping around us like an old friend, all familiar and safe. And everything else falls away.

23

PEYTON

Amonth ago, I never would've believed my life could look like this; cozy movie nights with a ridiculously attractive man who treats me and my emotions like something sacred instead of inconvenient. Yet here I am, curled up with Ollie for another night in.

“I went a little overboard,” he admits, gesturing at the coffee table in front of us stacked with snacks.

“A little,” I laugh and look at bowls of popcorn, gummy bears, tortilla chips with salsa, and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that he must’ve picked up at the nearby bakery. “What are we watching tonight anyway?”

He hands me the remote. “Your pick.”