Page 171 of Filled

“Whatever happens,” he states. “This was worth it.”

Then he’s gone, and it’s Dakota and me. I pull her closer. Breathe her in. Memorize the weight of her against my ribs, the ache of three men still living in my body, the proof I asked for and got.

I don’t know how many mornings like this are left.

All I know is I’m not ready for it to be over.

And I’ll fight like hell to make sure it isn’t.

40

BRADY

Ileave Cruz’s apartment before sunrise, before anyone else stirs.

Dante’s arm slides off my chest when I ease out from between him and the headboard, and he mumbles a sound that isn’t a word. Dakota’s curled against Cruz on the other side of the bed, her face peaceful in a way it hasn’t been since Gerald showed up. Eli sleeps on the edge.

I stand in the doorway longer than I should, memorizing them.

Then I go, because if I stay I’ll start crying, and I don’t want the last thing they remember about this night to be the sound of me falling apart.

The drive home takes twelve minutes. My shoulder aches from how I slept, wedged against the headboard with Dante’s weight on me, and I press my thumb into the sore spot at a red light just to feel a pain that has a source. A cause. A location. Everything else hurting inside me has no edges. It just spreads.

Twenty-four hours. That’s what Victor gave him.

At home I stand in my kitchen and stare at the refrigerator like it’ll spit a meal out at me. I pull out eggs. Put them back. Pour a protein shake and don’t drink it. The clock onthe microwave reads 9:14, then 10:02, then 11:37, and I don’t remember any of the minutes in between.

At 11:58, the group chat lights up.

Eli: I’ve resigned. Effective immediately. Victor has agreed not to make it public yet while I figure out next steps.

Eli: I love you. All four of you. This is the only way I can protect you.

Eli: Don’t contact me for a few days. Please. I need to sort out what comes next, and I can’t do that if I hear your voices.

I read it four times. The shake sits untouched on the counter, separating into layers.

Nobody responds. Not even Cruz, who fills every silence with noise because silence is uncomfortable for him. Not Dante, whose steadiness usually shows up first in a crisis. Not even Dakota.

Not me.

What do you say to a man who just burned down his own life so yours could remain untouched?Thank youis obscene.Don’tis too late.I love you toojust twists the knife he already put in himself.

I set the phone facedown and slide down the kitchen cabinet until I’m sitting on the floor, and I stay there while the light changes across the linoleum.

The two weeks that follow are the longest of my life. Training without him running the floor. Group texts that die after two messages. Cruz showing up smelling like last call, Dante going quieter by the day, Dakota’s eyes flattening out a little moreevery morning. We orbit each other and pretend it’s holding, and every day the hole where Eli used to be gets harder to look at.

Dakota calls at two.

“Brady.” Her voice is scraped thin. “I can’t. Cruz had to go to the gym. Appearances. Dante’s with his lawyer friend. I’m alone and I keep seeing Eli’s face and?—”

“I’m coming. Fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Angel. I’m already grabbing my keys.”

The drive across town feels wrong the whole way. Incomplete. We’re supposed to be five. We’ve been five since it started, learning the geometry of it, the way five people fit into beds and booths and each other’s lives, and now there’s a hole and the phantom pain is excruciating.