Broken play, p.27
Broken Play, page 27
Kael sits on the floor at her feet, his back against the couch, one arm resting on the cushion near her knee like he needs to be anchored to her.
It should look crowded.
It doesn’t.
It looks... right.
She blinks slowly, lashes brushing her cheek, and Finn’s fingers twitch like he wants to touch her hair but is too afraid to overstep.
She notices anyway.
Her voice is quiet. “You can.”
Finn’s breath catches. “I—are you sure?”
She nods.
So he does.
He lifts his hand—hesitant, reverent—and runs his fingers gently into her damp hair, brushing it back from her temple. She exhales shakily, eyelids fluttering closed.
My heart clenches so hard I have to look away.
Kael watches them with a calm I know is fake. His jaw flexes every so often, the only tell that he’s not nearly as steady as he looks.
Wren shivers once.
Without thinking, I move.
I pull a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it around her shoulders, letting it fall across her lap. My fingers brush her arm. Her breath stutters at the contact.
I pull back too quickly.
Coward.
But then—
She reaches out.
Her hand finds mine where it hovers uselessly between us, and her fingers slide into my palm like she didn’t think twice. Like it’s natural. Like this is where my hand should be.
My entire body locks.
She doesn’t squeeze.
Just holds.
Barely.
But I feel it everywhere.
Her warmth.
Her trust.
Her weight leaning just slightly into my side now, not Finn’s.
Finn sees.
Kael sees.
Neither of them moves or speaks.
This... whatever this is... is ours to figure out. Together.
Her head slowly shifts from Finn’s shoulder until it finds the space between us, her cheek resting half on me, half on the pillow.
I don’t breathe.
“Atlas?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“You’re warm.”
That shouldn’t undo me.
It does.
Finn’s hand still strokes her hair, softer now, like she might break if he presses too hard. Kael shifts closer on the floor, resting one hand on her shin over the blanket—protective, quiet, present.
She is surrounded.
Not trapped.
Surrounded.
Held in the safest cage three men could ever build.
Her hand squeezes mine faintly.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?” Finn murmurs.
“For coming for me.”
Kael lifts his head slightly. “We always will.”
Her lips tremble. “I know.”
Finn’s breath shudders.
Kael’s eyes close briefly.
Something deep and raw twists in my chest.
I lift my free hand—slowly, deliberately—toward her face. My fingers graze her cheekbone, brushing away a tear she didn’t notice.
She leans into the touch instinctively.
Not flinching.
Not afraid.
Trusting me.
Something inside me breaks open so quietly it feels like it’s been cracking for weeks.
“We’re not leaving,” I say.
Finn nods, voice barely audible. “Not ever.”
Kael’s tone is steady, but the emotion beneath it is a pull I can feel in my own ribs. “Sleep, Wren. We’ve got you.”
Her eyes drift closed.
Finn’s fingers in her hair slow their tempo, becoming rhythmic and soothing, and her breathing begins to even out.
Kael reaches for her other hand where it rests on the blanket and places his palm over it—soft, silent.
Mine is still intertwined with hers, her fingers curled into my palm like she’s holding onto me through the dark.
Minutes pass.
Or hours.
Time dissolves.
Finn is the first to fall asleep, head tilted back against the couch, arm still around her.
Kael stays awake longer, watching her face with the kind of quiet devotion that makes something sharp bloom in my chest.
Eventually his head tips forward. His hand stays where it is.
I do not sleep.
I stay awake.
I keep watch.
She breathes.
I breathe.
The night stretches and bends around us.
Every time her fingers twitch in mine, every time she shifts closer, every time she sighs in her sleep—
I fall a little harder.
My eyes stay on the door.
The windows.
The shadows.
But my heart stays on her.
When dawn finally touches the room in pale gold, she’s still nestled between us—my hand still holding hers, Finn’s arm around her shoulder, Kael pressed close at her knees.
Safe.
All night.
She doesn’t wake yet.
But when she does... nothing will be the same.
Not for her.
Not for us.
Not for me.
Because somewhere between the fear and the breaking and the silence—
She became ours.
And I don’t think any of us are ever giving her back.
Chapter 56: Kael
The sun shouldn’t be this bright.
Not after a night like that.
Not after watching Wren break in front of us.
Not after watching her fall asleep between us like she was finally safe for the first time in weeks.
She’s still sleeping when I slip out from under her knees and ease myself off the couch. Finn stirs but doesn’t wake. Atlas hasn’t slept at all—his eyes stay fixed on the door like if he blinks, something will get in.
There’s no danger now.
But try telling that to Atlas’s nervous system.
He doesn’t move when I leave the room to take a call. The hallway feels too small for news like this.
Santos from Ops speaks fast.
“We need statements. All of you. ASAP. Security wants a full rundown of last night.”
My jaw clenches. “She’s resting.”
“We need her too.”
“She’s resting,” I repeat, sharper.
A pause.
Then: “Okay. Noon?”
I exhale through my nose. “Make it one.”
“Done.”
I hang up and turn back toward the living room. Atlas is exactly where I left him—arms folded, foot tapping once every ten seconds like a timer ticking down to something he’s not ready to admit.
When he notices me, his gaze sharpens.
“What’d Ops say?”
“One. They want statements. All of us.”
His jaw flexes. “She’s not walking into that alone.”
“She’s not doing anything alone,” I say.
He nods once.
Movement draws my attention—Wren sits up slowly, hair tangled, eyes groggy. The blanket slips off her shoulder before she catches it, pulling it tight around herself.
Before I can move, Finn is already awake, sliding a hand to her back.
“You good?” he murmurs.
She blinks. “I’m okay.”
Her voice is hoarse.
Not weak.
Used.
She looks around the apartment, confusion flickering across her face before memory settles in. A small tremor runs through her fingers; Finn catches it and covers her hand with his.
Atlas steps forward. “You hungry?”
Wren nods once, small. “Yeah. A little.”
I grab her backpack, the one Finn haphazardly stuffed last night, and set it beside her. “We have to go in today.”
“To the rink?” she asks.
“And Ops.” I sit on the edge of the coffee table across from her. “They want statements.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “All of us?”
“Yes.”
She exhales through her nose. “Okay.”
“You don’t have to talk yet,” Finn says quietly. “We can tell them first—”
“No.” Wren shakes her head, a flicker of steel returning to her voice. “I’ll give my statement.”
Atlas frowns. “Wren. You don’t have to—”
“I do.” She swallows. “Last night... happened to me. I’m telling them myself.”
I look at her—really look.
She’s tired.
Shaken.
Not steady yet.
But she’s choosing to stand anyway.
A spark of pride hits my chest hard.
“Then we’ll be there with you,” I say.
She nods, eyes softening.
***
The rink is already buzzing when we walk in.
Too many voices.
Too many eyes.
Too much tension in the air for a normal morning.
Wren walks between us—Finn on her left, Atlas on her right, me half a step ahead. Not shielding her. Surrounding her.
She keeps her gaze straight ahead, jaw set, posture controlled.
The moment we cross the threshold toward the players’ hallway, the room shifts.
Conversations stop.
Stares lock onto her.
Every guy on the team freezes like someone cut the power.
Rowan is the first to speak.
“What the hell happened?” he asks, eyebrows drawn low.
“She okay?” another player mutters.
“Why was Kael texting us at two in the morning?”
“Did someone try something?”
“Is she safe?”
“Do we need to handle something?”
Wren stops.
She stands straighter.
Shoulders back.
Chin lifted.
Finn tenses beside her.
Atlas looks ready to throw anyone who gets too close out a window.
I keep my voice steady. “Give her space.”
But before I can say more, Wren steps forward.
She faces the players directly, eyes steady.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Something happened, but I’m here, and I’m still doing my job.”
The room stills.
She swallows, chin tightening. “I’m not quitting.”
A ripple moves through the team.
Not just shock—respect.
Rowan nods slowly. “We’ve got your back.”
“Always,” another player adds.
Atlas shifts, barely, but enough that I can see the tension bleed from his shoulders.
I lean close to her. “You don’t have to talk to anyone else.”
“I want to,” she says.
I believe her.
***
Ops pulls us into the conference room.
Santos, Leung, and three security personnel sit waiting. Papers. Screens. Tense faces.
They expect fear.
Silence.
Me talking for Wren.
They don’t get that.
Wren sits between Finn and Atlas, hands clasped loosely in her lap. I sit beside Atlas, bracing for the moment she breaks.
She doesn’t.
Santos clears her throat. “Wren, we can walk you through this gently if it’s too fresh.”
Wren shakes her head. “It’s okay. I know what happened. I can talk.”
Finn’s knee bumps hers. Atlas lays his hand over the back of her chair. I keep my gaze on her, ready to step in if she falters.
She doesn’t falter.
“He was in my apartment,” she says, voice even. “He came through the door. I didn’t know he was there until I left the shower.”
The air tightens.
“He didn’t touch me,” she continues. “But he blocked the hall. He talked. He told me to get dressed. Then he heard something and left through the back window.”
Her voice shakes once.
Just once.
My hand curls into a fist.
Santos nods, typing. “Do you know how he got in?”
“He must’ve picked the locks,” Wren says. “All three.”
Atlas growls low in his throat. Finn’s jaw works. I place a hand on the table to ground myself before I break it in half.
Leung leans forward. “You did everything right.”
Wren swallows. “I don’t feel like I did.”
“You came here today,” I say quietly. “That’s more strength than most people ever find.”
She looks at me like she hears something deeper in my voice. Maybe she does.
***
When the statements end, Ops dismisses us.
Wren stands slowly, exhaling like she’s been holding her breath for hours.
Finn hovers at her side, gaze searching her face.
Atlas steps close, lowering his voice. “You did good.”
She meets his eyes. “Thank you.”
She turns toward me.
And the look she gives me is something I’ll remember for a long time—fragile, strong, trusting, broken, rebuilt.
“Kael,” she says softly, “I’m not leaving.”
“I know.”
“This is my job.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not letting him take that from me.”
Something shifts inside my chest.
“Good,” I whisper.
Finn touches her wrist gently. “We’ve got you.”
Atlas nods. “All the way.”
Her breath shakes.
And for the first time since last night—
It shakes with relief.
Chapter 57: Wren
Night feels different after everything.
Not heavy like last night.
Not suffocating.
Just quiet.
Settled.
Like the air is letting me breathe again.
Atlas’s place is dim—just a few lamps on the far wall. Finn sits beside me on the couch, knee pressed to mine lightly, like he’s making sure I don’t drift too far away. Kael leans against the counter, arms crossed, gaze warm even in the shadows. Atlas stands near the window, still in protector mode even hours later.
It should feel overwhelming.
Three men.
Three sets of eyes.
Three different flavors of worry.
But it doesn’t overwhelm me.
It grounds me.
I’m wrapped in one of Atlas’s sweatshirts, sleeves swallowing my hands. My hair is still damp from the shower I took here—my second one today—and there’s a quiet fatigue in my bones that feels unfamiliar.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Just the weight of everything settling.
I tuck my knees to my chest and look between them. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Finn tilts his head. “For what?”
“For staying,” I say. “For everything.” My throat tightens. “For last night.”
Kael’s voice is soft. “You don’t have to thank us for that.”
But I do.
They saved me.
Not in a dramatic, kick-down-the-door kind of way—though they did that too—but in the quieter ways. The ways that matter more. The ways that sink deep.
Atlas turns from the window slowly and walks toward us. He doesn’t sit. He lowers himself to the floor at my feet, fingers brushing against my ankle in the gentlest, smallest touch.
“You look tired,” he says.
“I am.” My smile is small. “But I’m okay.”
Finn shifts closer, draping an arm across the back of the couch behind me. “You seemed strong today.”
“I didn’t feel strong.”
“You were,” Kael says from the counter. “Stronger than any of us were ready for.”
My throat warms. The tears that threatened earlier don’t come now. Instead, something gentler blooms behind my ribs.
Soft.
Steady.
Brave.
I look at all three of them slowly.
Finn’s soft eyes.
Kael’s calm steadiness.
Atlas’s warm, heavy presence.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.
Finn leans in slightly. “Do what?”
“This.” My voice breaks a little. “Us. You. All of you. I don’t know where this is going or what it’s supposed to be.”
Kael takes one step forward from the counter, like he doesn’t want to miss a single word.
Atlas’s eyes darken—not with anger, with intensity.
Finn’s breath catches.
And I keep going.
“I just know...” I swallow. “I need you. All three of you. And I don’t want to pretend I don’t.”
The silence that follows is not silent at all.
It buzzes.
It thickens.
It shifts.
Something electric moving between them.
Between us.
Atlas is the first to speak.
“Then that’s what you’ll have.”
His voice is low, certain, a vow in one sentence.
Finn exhales, almost a laugh, almost a sob. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Kael’s gaze softens in a way that unravels me completely. “Then stay with us.”
My chest feels full. Too full.
“I want to,” I whisper. “I want to stay.”
Finn’s hand finds mine, warm and gentle.
Atlas rests his palm on my shin, thumb brushing absent circles.
Kael steps close enough that his thigh touches the side of the couch.
They’re right there.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to breathe in the same space.
Close enough that I feel held without anyone pulling me in.
“Wren,” Finn says softly, “you don’t have to choose.”
“I know.” My lips tremble. “That’s what scares me.”
Atlas lifts his head slightly. “We don’t scare you.”
“No,” I whisper. “That’s the problem.”
Something tender cracks across Atlas’s face, so fleeting and soft I almost miss it.
Kael kneels beside the couch, resting a hand next to my hip. “Then let us be what you need. That’s all we’re asking.”
“But what if I mess everything up?” I ask.
Finn squeezes my fingers. “Then we’ll fix it.”
