Page 19 of Shared Obsession

For a heartbeat, the air is thick with things unsaid. She studies my face, searching for judgment, maybe, or just a lifeline. There’s a tension between us—her fear, my hope—and underneath, something warmer, something that could be more if she lets me closer.

“Can you lie with me, please?” she asks, her voice so small it almost breaks me. She sounds desperate not to be alone, and I don’t hesitate for a second. I slide into bed behind her, and she lets me wrap my arms around her, her body trembling against mine. Gradually, I feel her relax, her shaky breaths evening out as I hold her tighter.

“Of course I will,” I whisper, stroking her hair in slow, gentle motions until her breathing settles and I know she’s drifted off again. I stay awake long after she’s asleep, determined to keep the nightmares at bay, even if all I can do is be here and hold her through the dark.

I know I should get up, give her space, be practical, and keep my boundaries clear. I’m not supposed to want this, not supposed to want anything but to help Alex keep her safe. But lying here, I finally understand him. The urge to protect her is overwhelming, bone-deep. I take in her scent, the feel of her warmth pressed against me, and the steady flutter of her heartbeat under my palm. Something about her makes it impossible to let go—makes me want to be a shield between her and everything that’s ever tried to break her. When I hear Zayn and Alex come home, I don’t move a muscle. Ayla is still tucked against me, her breathing finally steady, and I can’t bring myself to leave her side—not after what she’s been through, whatever it is. A few minutes later, their footsteps pause in the doorway. I look up, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake her. “She had a nightmare,” I whisper. “She asked me to stay.”

I feel awkward, like I owe them some bigger explanation, but the truth is simple. I just want to take care of her.

Alex’s expression softens, not a hint of jealousy or anger in his eyes, which honestly catches me off guard. Just honest gratitude. “Thank you, man,” he murmurs. “You stay, then.” His tone is gentle, almost protective. Zayn nods, silent, and together they quietly pull the door shut, leaving me alone with Ayla in the hush of the room.

For a moment, I just listen to her breathing, letting the peace settle in. I’m not here because I want her for myself. I’m here because she needs someone, and right now, that someone is me. That’s all that matters.

Chapter Ten

Alexander

Zayn and I head for the living room, both of us quiet, lost in our own thoughts after what we just saw. Dean curled up with Ayla, the two of them wrapped in silent comfort—it’s not the image I expected to find, and what shocks me most is how little jealousy I feel. Instead, it’s relief. The only thing that matters is that she’s safe, that she’s held by someone who gives a damn, even if it’s not me. It’s a new feeling—one I didn’t expect—but it settles something inside me, as I can finally breathe.

Zayn drops into the recliner, running a hand over his face. “So what do we actually do now, man? We can’t just hide forever. The cops, the Bates family… hell, the whole city is about to start looking.”

I shake my head, tension burning in my jaw. “We can’t stay. We have to move her—soon. I’m not risking her safety just because I want to pretend this is normal.”

Zayn gives me a look and smirks. “And you’re really not pissed about Dean in there with her? Shit, Alex. You were never one to share. That’s always been a me thing.”

I let out a tired laugh, surprised by how easy it is. “Yeah, well, the world’s upside down. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

He grins, nudging my foot with his. “Careful, next thing you know you’ll be letting me pick the playlist and drive your bike.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say, but my smile is real—for a second, the heaviness in the room lifts.

Then I sober, glancing toward the dark hallway. “Seriously, Zayn—if she feels safe, I don’t give a shit who gives it to her. She deserves comfort. She deserves peace. For once, this isn’t about me.”

We lapse into a heavy silence, the weight of everything pressing in. Then, both our phones vibrate at the same time. I glance down, and my stomach drops. A missing person alert flashes across my screen:

MISSING: AYLA BARRON, 20, 5’7”, dark brown hair, brown eyes—fiancée of prominent attorney Derek Bates—last seen at 17 Parkside Lane after Mr. Bates’ body was discovered. Multiple witnesses report Ayla was last seen fleeing the scene on the back of a black motorcycle driven by an unidentified masked man. NYPD has issued a statewide search. Hotlines open. Reward: $100,000 for information leading to her discovery.

The room goes cold. Zayn looks at me, panic and resolve flickering in his eyes. “They’re making her out to be a fugitive. We need to move. Now.”

I nod, the stress thrumming through my veins. Staying put is no longer an option. I make a quick circuit of the house, checking every lock and window. Even as Zayn settles in the recliner, I drift down the hall and pause at the bedroom door. Ayla is curled up with Dean, both of them exhausted, a rare moment of peace amid the chaos. Instead of jealousy, all I feel is gratitude: she’s not alone tonight.

I return to the living room, where Zayn is still awake, tension in his jaw. He glances at me. “We go at dawn?”

“Yeah. First light,” I say quietly. “We’ll pack what we can, get Ayla up, and disappear before anyone’s watching.”

Zayn nods, his eyes already distant with exhaustion and worry. “We’ll make it work, man. We have to.”

I sit in the dark a while longer, listening to the city outside and the quiet in the house, letting the plan settle in my bones. For now, we have a plan. Tomorrow, we run.

Ayla

I wake to the first rays of morning spilling across the room, golden and soft. Dean’s arms are curled protectively around me, and for a moment, guilt snags in my chest—sharp and unwelcome. I shouldn’t want this comfort, not when Alex is just down the hall, not when I know how badly I’ve needed someone—anyone—to make me feel safe. But I do want it. I sink into the warmth and security Dean offers, letting myself pretend, just for a heartbeat, that I deserve it. Carefully, I slip out from under his arm, my movements feather-light, as if I could escape the ache of wanting both safety and something wilder, something more dangerous. Dean stirs awake, blinking up at me with sleep-mussed brown hair and a lazy, genuine smile that makes my heart twist. “Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice honey-thick with sleep. His fingers brush gently through my hair, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine as I sit up—and I wonder, fleetingly, if Alex would notice the difference in the way I smile at Dean, if he’d sense the guilt fluttering behind my eyes.

“Morning,” I reply, but even as I say it, I feel the word falter—a flash of hesitation that I hope he doesn’t catch. I steal a glance toward the door, half-expecting Alex to appear, to see this softness and call me out on it. Dean’s boyishness, the gentleness in his expression, is nothing like Alex’s raw, electric intensity—the kind that makes my skin buzz and my heart race. I shouldn’t compare them, but I do. I can’t help it. Dean’s green eyes are striking, bright and clear, framed by a tumble of brown hair that catches the light. He’s muscular in a quiet, unassuming way—broad shoulders, strong arms decorated with tattoos that peek out from under his T-shirt. The silver barbell in his eyebrow flashes in the morning sun, drawing my gaze, and for just a moment, my heart flutters with want and fear, tangled together. I wonder how much Dean sees—if he can feel the tension coiling between us, or if it’s obvious that I’m already pulled in too many directions.

I realize I’m staring, and heat colors my cheeks. “I’m gonna go find coffee,” I mumble, slipping out of bed. Dean stretches and smiles again, warmth in his eyes. “I’ll follow you, beautiful.”

We make our way to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes drifting down the hall before I even step through the doorway. I brace myself for awkwardness—after everything, how could there not be? But the second I see Alex, all that tension dissolves. He’s at the stove, flipping pancakes with an easy confidence, but when he spots me, he sets the spatula aside and walks straight over, crowding into my space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “Good morning, darling. How did you sleep? How are you?”