20 😟

In the intro the Brand New Day we see Peter going full SpiderMan mode (working), stalking Ned on his social media (staring at his phone) and constantly visiting May's grave (thinking about the bad things he has done).

Black Widows were trained to easily read people, so the moment Peter walked into Yelena's "office" she clocked the same depression that tormented her for so long. Her comment about him being a "sad man" wasn't thrown randomly, she knew that it was true.

Saw the new spider and let me tell ya something…

Masterlist

Summary: You were stranded at the library in the pouring rain, the last shuttle bus had left just as you got there, you text your brother, Garrett Graham, if he could pick you up after practice. You'll never guess who he sends instead.

Warnings: none

Your hand wouldn’t work.

Logan looked at you.

“I can answer.”

You shook your head.

You picked up the phone.

Pressed the button.

Held it to your ear.

No speaker.

Not yet.

Garrett was breathing on the other end.

You heard people moving behind him.

A door.

Someone speaking somewhere farther away.

“Garrett?”

His breath broke.

Your stomach dropped.

Then your brother spoke.

“Guilty.”

Everything stopped.

Your mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Garrett was crying now.

You could hear it.

“Y/N.”

You stared straight ahead.

The television audience applauded again.

“Guilty on the stalking charge.”

Your hand started shaking.

Logan saw your face.

His entire body went still.

Garrett continued.

“And the unauthorised access.”

A sob broke somewhere inside your chest.

“And harassment.”

You covered your mouth.

Logan moved closer.

Not touching yet.

Waiting.

Garrett’s voice cracked completely.

“They believed you.”

That was what broke you.

Not guilty.

Not the charges.

Not Ryan.

They believed you.

A sound escaped you that was somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

Logan’s arms opened.

You fell into them.

The phone stayed pressed between your ear and his chest.

Garrett was still crying.

So were you.

Logan held you so tightly you could feel his heart pounding against your cheek.

“They believed me.”

“I know.”

You weren’t sure whether you were speaking to Logan or Garrett.

Maybe both.

“I told the truth.”

Garrett answered through the phone.

“Yeah.”

You closed your eyes.

“All that time.”

Your voice broke.

“All that fucking time he made me think I was crazy.”

Logan’s hand cradled the back of your head.

Garrett’s voice came quietly through the phone.

“You weren’t.”

The tears came harder.

Not happy tears.

Not entirely.

Grief.

Relief.

Anger.

Years of being told your reality couldn’t be trusted finally colliding with twelve strangers saying that it could.

Logan pressed his lips against your hair.

You clung to him.

“What did Ryan do?” you whispered.

Garrett was quiet.

“Nothing.”

Your chest tightened.

“He just sat there.”

Of course.

Calm.

Always calm.

Then Garrett added, “Until they took him down.”

“What?”

“Judge remanded him until sentencing.”

You stopped breathing for a second.

“He’s not leaving?”

“No.”

Garrett’s voice shook with relief.

“He’s not walking out today.”

The sentence settled deeper than everything else.

You looked towards the windows.

Towards the front door.

For months, every sound outside had carried the possibility of him.

Every unknown car.

Every footstep.

Every vibration of your phone.

Tonight, Ryan wasn’t somewhere out there.

Waiting.

Watching.

He was in custody.

Your body didn’t understand yet.

It would take time.

But for the first time, the danger had a door between you.

One you hadn’t needed to lock yourself.

“When are you coming home?”

“Now.”

“Okay.”

Garrett hesitated.

Then said, “I love you.”

Your eyes closed.

“I love you too.”

You ended the call.

The phone slipped from your hand onto the sofa.

For several seconds, you stayed pressed against Logan.

Neither of you spoke.

Then you pulled back.

His eyes were wet.

“You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“Something in my eye.”

“Both of them?”

“Very aggressive dust.”

A laugh burst out of you.

It collided with another sob.

Logan smiled through tears of his own.

“They believed you.”

You nodded.

The words still didn’t feel real.

“They believed me.”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him.

He had been there through nearly every part.

The first fear.

The phone calls.

The photographs.

The nights you couldn’t sleep.

The court.

The moments you believed Ryan more than yourself.

Logan had never once demanded that you believe him instead.

He had simply stayed until you were able to believe yourself.

Your hand moved to his face.

His smile faded.

Something shifted between you.

Quieter than everything else.

More frightening in an entirely different way.

That almost-word from the morning returned.

Love—

Logan looked at you like he remembered it too.

“I almost said something earlier.”

Your heart started beating faster.

“I know.”

He laughed nervously.

“Of course you noticed.”

“You stopped halfway through a word.”

“Maybe it was lunch.”

You stared at him.

“‘Lunch you’?”

“I panicked.”

Despite everything, you smiled.

Logan’s thumb brushed across your wrist.

His expression became serious.

“I don’t want today to be about me.”

“It isn’t.”

“And you don’t have to say anything back.”

Your breath caught.

“Logan.”

“I just…”

He looked down briefly.

John Logan.

Confident, irritating, flirtatious Logan.

Nervous.

Actually nervous.

When he looked back at you, there was no joke left.

“I love you.”

Three words.

Simple.

Quiet.

No grand speech.

And somehow they felt bigger than the verdict.

Your eyes filled all over again.

Logan immediately panicked.

“You absolutely don’t have to—”

“I love you too.”

He stopped.

Completely.

“You do?”

A laugh broke through your tears.

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Oh, you’re repeating it.”

“Logan.”

“I’ve waited months.”

“You nearly said it this morning.”

“I’ve emotionally waited months.”

You laughed.

Really laughed.

Logan’s face broke into a smile so wide it almost looked painful.

Then his expression softened.

Logan kissed you gently.

Not desperately.

Not like the first night at the party.

There was no rush.

No secrecy.

No fear of Garrett opening the door.

Just Logan’s hand against your cheek and your fingers curling into his shirt while everything that had happened seemed, for one moment, to move farther away.

When you separated, his forehead rested against yours.

“You know Garrett’s going to hate that our first ‘I love you’ happened while he was gone.”

You smiled.

“He’ll survive.”

“He might not.”

“He survived you dating his sister.”

“Barely.”

The front door opened downstairs.

Garrett’s voice carried through the house.

“Y/N?”

You pulled away from Logan.

Then stopped.

For the first time, you didn’t feel embarrassed to have been caught close to him.

You didn't move away.

“I’m here!”

Footsteps came quickly towards the living room.

Garrett appeared first.

Dean and Tucker behind him.

Garrett looked at your face.

Then Logan’s.

Then the suspiciously small distance between the two of you.

His eyes narrowed.

“No.”

You started laughing.

Garrett pointed at Logan.

“Whatever just happened, undo it.”

“You can’t undo feelings, Graham.”

“I can undo your face.”

Dean groaned.

“Can we have five minutes before the threats start?”

Tucker held up the paper bag from the courthouse café.

“I brought cake.”

You stared at them.

Your brother.

Your friends.

Logan beside you.

The ridiculous hockey house that had somehow become home.

Then something settled over you.

You had expected the verdict to feel like an ending.

It didn’t.

Ryan would still need to be sentenced.

Mason still had consequences to face.

You still had therapy.

Nightmares.

Bad days.

There would probably be mornings where your phone vibrating made your stomach drop.

A guilty verdict didn’t erase what happened.

But maybe endings weren’t supposed to erase anything.

Maybe they simply created room for what came after.

Garrett crossed the room and held out his hand.

You took it.

He pulled you to your feet and immediately wrapped you in a hug.

Dean joined without being invited.

Then Tucker.

Logan got dragged in last because apparently boundaries had temporarily ceased to exist.

You laughed against somebody’s shoulder.

“Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Family moment,” Dean announced.

“You’re crushing me.”

“Worth it.”

Garrett’s voice came from somewhere near your ear.

“You’re okay?”

You thought about it.

Really thought.

Then you answered differently than you usually did.

“Not completely.”

Garrett’s arms loosened slightly.

You smiled.

“But I think I will be.”

Nobody told you that you definitely would.

Nobody promised everything would be easy now.

They just held you for another second.

And for once, uncertainty didn’t feel frightening.

Because whatever came next...

Ryan wasn’t choosing it.

You were.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the silence.

Not the absence of noise. The hockey house was never actually silent.

Somewhere downstairs, a cupboard slammed. Pipes groaned inside the wall. Someone—probably Garrett—walked down the hallway with all the subtlety of an elephant in hockey skates.

But inside your head?

Quiet.

You lay on your side beneath Logan’s blankets, staring towards the curtains.

For months, waking up had come with an automatic inventory.

Where’s my phone?

Is the door locked?

Did anything happen overnight?

Is there someone outside?

Did Ryan contact me?

Every morning, fear arrived before you were properly conscious.

Sometimes you woke already reaching for your phone.

Other times, you would lie completely still and listen for sounds outside the room, trying to convince yourself that footsteps in the hallway belonged to someone you knew.

This morning, your eyes opened—

and nothing happened.

You waited for it.

The knot in your stomach.

The quickened heartbeat.

The horrible impulse to check the window.

It didn’t come.

Not immediately, anyway.

Then the memory of yesterday returned.

Guilty.

The jury had found him guilty.

Ryan had been taken into custody.

He wasn’t walking around campus.

He wasn’t sitting in a car somewhere outside.

He wasn’t waiting at the library.

He wasn’t outside your dorm.

You knew where he was.

For the first time in months, you knew where he was.

And it wasn’t anywhere near you.

You stared at the ceiling.

Something wet slid towards your hairline.

You frowned.

Then realised you were crying.

“Seriously?”

Your own whispered voice sounded ridiculous in the quiet room.

You wiped the tear away.

Another immediately followed.

You laughed softly.

Apparently this was happening.

Beside you, Logan stirred.

His hand moved across the mattress in that half-asleep way he had developed since you started staying over more often, searching automatically until his fingertips found your waist.

He exhaled.

Then went still.

A second later, his eyes opened.

“You’re crying.”

His voice was rough with sleep.

You wiped your face quickly.

“No.”

Logan blinked at you.

“You have tears on your face.”

“Could be anything.”

“Like?”

You considered it.

“Allergies.”

“In November?”

“Seasonal.”

“To what?”

“You.”

He stared at you for a second.

“Cruel.”

A tiny laugh escaped you.

Then another tear fell.

Logan’s teasing disappeared.

He rolled onto his side, but he didn’t immediately reach for your face.

“Bad crying?”

You thought about it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

You looked towards the curtains again.

“He can’t come here.”

Logan was silent.

“Not today,” you whispered.

Your throat tightened.

“He can’t just decide to drive over.”

“No.”

“He can’t wait outside.”

“No.”

“He can’t follow me to class.”

“No.”

Your voice cracked.

“He can’t find some stupid excuse for accidentally being wherever I am.”

Logan’s eyes softened.

“No.”

The crying got worse.

You covered your face with both hands, embarrassed even though there was nobody in the room except him.

“I should be happy.”

“You can be happy and still cry.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You also feel everything before breakfast.”

You lowered your hands enough to glare at him.

He smiled faintly.

“Just an observation.”

You turned onto your back.

Logan stayed beside you.

“I thought I’d feel different.”

“After the verdict?”

“Yeah.”

You stared upward.

“I thought I’d wake up and feel…”

You searched for the word.

“Free.”

Logan considered that.

“Do you?”

You hesitated.

“A little.”

That surprised you.

You swallowed.

“Is that horrible?”

“Why would it be horrible?”

“Because he hasn’t been sentenced yet. And there’s appeals and Mason and all the other stuff.”

“None of that means you can’t feel relieved.”

You looked towards him.

“What if I get used to feeling safe and then something changes?”

There it was.

The real fear.

Safety was temporary.

Everything good was temporary.

You knew how quickly it could be taken away.

Logan reached towards you slowly.

You moved into his hand before he needed to ask.

His palm settled against your cheek.

“Then we deal with what changes when it changes.”

“I hate that answer.”

“I know.”

“I want you to say nothing will change.”

“I could.”

His thumb moved gently beneath your eye.

“But you’d know I was lying.”

You sighed.

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m painfully honest.”

“You once told Dean the scratch on his car came from a shopping cart.”

“It basically did.”

“You were driving the shopping cart.”

“That detail wasn’t relevant.”

You laughed.

It came out through the last of your tears.

Logan smiled.

“There.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He looked at you for another second before his smile softened.

You remembered yesterday.

His face.

The tears in his eyes.

The nervous way he’d looked down before finally saying it.

I love you.

Your stomach fluttered.

Different nerves.

Better ones.

Logan seemed to realise what you were thinking at exactly the same time.

His ears went slightly pink.

You stared at him.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I said something very emotionally mature yesterday.”

“You panicked halfway through saying it on the phone.”

“I recovered.”

“You tried to claim you were saying ‘lunch.’”

“It was a strong recovery.”

You smiled.

“Lunch you too, Logan.”

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

You laughed properly.

“I'm never letting that go.”

“I take it back.”

Your laughter stopped.

Logan lifted his head.

Your eyes narrowed.

“You what?”

His mouth twitched.

“The lunch part.”

“Good recovery.”

“I thought so.”

You rolled your eyes.

Then his expression became quieter.

“I don’t take the other part back.”

Your heart thudded.

You stared at him.

“I meant it.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to say it every time I do.”

“I know.”

“And you never have to—”

“Logan.”

He stopped.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

For some reason, saying it this morning felt different.

Yesterday had been overwhelming.

A verdict.

Tears.

Relief.

Months of emotions breaking open at once.

Today there was no courtroom.

No phone call.

No dramatic moment.

Just messy hair and morning breath and Logan lying beside you with a crease from the pillow across his cheek.

And somehow—

this version meant more.

His smile appeared slowly.

“Again.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I said it.”

“I was distracted.”

“You were staring directly at me.”

“Emotionally distracted.”

You shoved his shoulder.

He caught your wrist gently and tugged you closer.

You went willingly.

Your forehead rested against his chest.

Logan’s arm wrapped around you.

“I love you too,” he murmured against your hair.

You smiled into his T-shirt.

“I heard you that time.”

“Good.”

—

Downstairs, Garrett was making pancakes.

Or attempting to.

You stopped in the kitchen doorway beside Logan.

There was flour on the counter.

Eggshell on the floor.

Smoke rising faintly from a pan.

Dean stood several feet away with his arms crossed, looking personally offended.

Tucker had his head in his hands.

“What happened?”

Four heads turned towards you.

Garrett immediately pointed the spatula at Tucker.

“He interfered.”

Tucker lifted his head.

“You put pancake batter in a dry pan on maximum heat.”

“That's how cooking works.”

“No,” Tucker said slowly. “It genuinely is not.”

Dean noticed you properly.

His eyes narrowed.

Then moved towards Logan.

Then back to you.

A slow smile appeared.

You immediately knew.

“Don't.”

Dean’s grin widened.

“I haven't said anything.”

“You're about to.”

Garrett looked suspicious.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Dean nodded.

“Nothing at all.”

Garrett stared between you and Logan.

You could practically see his older-brother instincts beginning to activate.

“What happened?”

“Breakfast happened,” you said quickly.

“No. Something else happened.”

Logan shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Nothing happened.”

Garrett pointed the spatula at him.

“You look smug.”

“I always look like this.”

“Exactly.”

Tucker’s eyes moved between the two of you.

Then understanding appeared on his face.

“Oh.”

You closed your eyes.

Garrett turned towards him.

“Oh what?”

Tucker immediately looked down at the pan.

“Pancakes.”

Dean bit down on his bottom lip.

Hard.

Garrett looked at you.

Then Logan.

Then you again.

“You told her.”

Logan froze.

Your eyes widened.

Dean made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

Garrett dropped the spatula onto the counter.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked, far too innocently.

Garrett looked offended.

“You think I didn't hear him yesterday?”

Logan rubbed a hand over his face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“You nearly said it on speaker.”

“I forgot you were there.”

“You forgot her brother was on the phone?”

“There was a trial happening, Graham. My attention was divided.”

Garrett stared at you.

“You said it back?”

You folded your arms.

“This is none of your business.”

His mouth dropped open.

“Oh my God. You did.”

Dean finally lost the battle and burst out laughing.

Garrett turned towards Logan.

“No.”

Logan frowned.

“No what?”

“No love.”

You started laughing.

“You can't ban love.”

“I absolutely can.”

“You're insane.”

“My sister was supposed to have casual feelings.”

Logan looked at him.

“She launched herself at me after four days apart.”

Garrett pointed aggressively.

“I'd forgotten about that.”

“How?”

“I buried the memory.”

You moved towards the counter and grabbed a pancake from the plate.

Garrett slapped your hand away.

“Those aren't done.”

You stared at the blackened edges.

“Are you sure?”

Tucker quietly slid a different plate towards you.

“These are mine.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Behind you, Garrett was still staring at Logan.

“You love my sister.”

Logan’s expression changed.

The humour faded slightly.

“Yeah.”

The room became quieter.

Garrett obviously hadn't expected the answer to be that straightforward.

He looked at Logan for several seconds.

Then at you.

Something softened.

Not enough to stop him being Garrett.

Never that much.

But enough.

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“Okay?”

Garrett picked up the spatula.

“Yeah.”

Logan looked equally suspicious.

“That's it?”

“No.”

There it was.

Garrett pointed at him again.

“If you break her heart, I break—”

“Every bone in my body,” Logan finished. “We've covered this.”

Garrett nodded.

“Good.”

Dean leaned towards you.

“Beautiful family moment.”

You shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth.

—

Breakfast lasted nearly an hour.

Mostly because Tucker confiscated the frying pan and started over.

You sat between Logan and Garrett at the kitchen island while Dean told a story you had already heard twice and somehow still made entertaining.

At some point, you realised nobody was talking about the trial.

Nobody was talking about Ryan.

No updates.

No evidence.

No lawyers.

You looked towards the window.

Morning sunlight spilled across the garden.

Your eyes automatically checked the street beyond the fence.

Nothing unusual.

A woman walking a dog.

A delivery van.

Someone cycling past.

Your body tensed.

Then relaxed.

You didn't get up to check.

You didn't ask Logan whether he recognised the car.

You just turned back around.

Logan was stealing food from your plate.

You slapped his hand.

“Get your own.”

“You're not eating that.”

“I was.”

“For ten minutes?”

“I was pacing myself.”

He stole it anyway.

You stared at him.

“Thief.”

“You love me.”

Heat rushed into your face.

Dean’s head snapped towards you.

“Oh, we're saying it casually now?”

Garrett groaned.

“This is going to be unbearable.”

You looked at Logan.

He grinned around the stolen piece of pancake.

Something warm settled into your chest.

Not the dramatic rush from yesterday.

Something steadier.

Maybe this was what freedom actually looked like.

Not waking up fearless.

Not forgetting what happened.

Not suddenly becoming the person you had been before Ryan.

Maybe freedom was waking up and having other things matter more.

Burnt pancakes.

Dean being annoying.

Garrett threatening Logan over breakfast.

Tucker complaining about the state of his kitchen.

Being told I love you without wondering what you owed in return.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Your body reacted.

A small jump.

A tight breath.

Everyone noticed.

Nobody reached for it.

Logan didn't ask if you wanted him to check.

Garrett didn't stand.

Dean didn't stop talking.

You looked at the screen yourself.

A message from Hannah.

Hannah: How are you this morning? ❤️

You stared at it.

Then typed.

You: weirdly okay

You hesitated.

Then added:

You: actually... I think I'm good

You sent it.

Put your phone face down.

And returned to breakfast.

Logan's knee bumped yours beneath the counter.

You looked at him.

He smiled.

“You good?”

For once, the answer arrived without needing to be examined first.

“Yeah.”

You smiled back.

“I am.”

And this time, when you said it—

you weren't trying to convince anyone.

Masterlist

Summary: You were stranded at the library in the pouring rain, the last shuttle bus had left just as you got there, you text your brother, Garrett Graham, if he could pick you up after practice. You'll never guess who he sends instead.

Warnings: none

Closing arguments began the following afternoon.

You didn’t go.

You tried.

That was the part nobody could say you hadn’t done.

You got dressed that morning. You put on the same black trousers you had worn when you testified, then immediately changed them because the fabric against your legs reminded you too much of standing in the witness box. You changed into jeans instead, then stood in front of the mirror for almost ten minutes trying to decide whether jeans looked disrespectful for court.

Eventually, you realised you were crying over trousers.

That was when Logan found you.

He had knocked first.

Twice.

When you didn’t answer, he called through the door.

“You okay?”

You stared at your reflection.

Your eyes were red.

Your hair was only half done.

One shoe was on.

The other sat upside down near the wardrobe.

“No.”

There was a pause.

“Want me in?”

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah.”

The door opened slowly.

Logan stepped inside already wearing his suit, although his tie hung loose around his neck and his jacket was still downstairs.

He took one look at you.

Then at the clothes scattered across the bed.

Then back at you.

“You don’t want to go.”

It wasn’t a question.

You shook your head.

“I thought I did.”

“That’s okay.”

“I said I wanted to hear the closing arguments.”

“You changed your mind.”

“But—”

“You’re allowed.”

The immediate answer frustrated you for reasons that had nothing to do with him.

You turned back towards the mirror.

“I’m so tired of changing my mind.”

Logan stayed near the door.

“You’re allowed to do that too.”

“I wanted to be there when the prosecutor talks about everything.”

“Okay.”

“And I want to hear what Ryan’s barrister says.”

“Okay.”

“But the thought of sitting in that room again makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Then maybe you don’t go.”

You looked at him through the mirror.

“What if I regret it?”

“You might.”

The honesty made you turn around.

Logan shrugged slightly.

“You might regret going too.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I know.”

He came closer, stopping near the end of the bed.

“But there probably isn’t a choice here that feels completely good.”

Your throat tightened.

He was right.

Going meant Ryan.

The courtroom.

The defence.

The photographs.

Not going meant giving up the chance to hear the last arguments before the jury began deciding.

There wasn’t a safe option.

Only different kinds of difficult.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Logan held out his hand.

Not towards you.

Palm upwards between you.

You looked at it.

“You don’t have to decide this second.”

“I’ve got twenty minutes.”

“Twenty whole minutes.”

You gave him a look.

“That isn’t long.”

“It’s enough to put your other shoe on.”

You glanced down.

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped.

Tiny.

Exhausted.

But there.

Logan smiled.

“Come here.”

You crossed the room and slipped your hand into his.

His fingers curled around yours.

“I’m scared if I don’t go, it means he’s still stopping me doing things.”

Logan’s expression softened.

“Not everything you choose not to do because it hurts is Ryan controlling you.”

You stared at him.

“Sometimes you’re just allowed to not put yourself through something.”

Your eyes filled.

“But how do I know the difference?”

“I don’t think you always will.”

He squeezed your hand.

“But ask yourself something.”

“What?”

“If Ryan didn’t exist, would you want to sit through two lawyers arguing about the worst year of your life?”

You snorted through the tears.

“No.”

“There you go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No.”

His thumb moved across your knuckles.

“But it doesn’t have to be complicated enough to punish yourself either.”

You looked down.

Your socked foot pressed against the carpet.

One shoe.

One bare foot.

Half-done hair.

You suddenly felt ridiculous.

“I want Garrett to go.”

“He’s already planning to.”

“And you.”

Logan studied your face.

“You want me there?”

You nodded.

“You need someone to tell you what happened.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t look disappointed.

He didn’t tell you he would rather stay.

He simply nodded.

“Then I’ll go.”

Your throat tightened.

“And Dean and Tucker can stay here.”

Logan smiled faintly.

“You sure you can survive that?”

“Probably not.”

“Brave.”

You rolled your eyes.

Then bent down and took off the shoe you had managed to put on.

The relief was immediate.

Small, but immediate.

You weren’t going.

And once the decision was made, your body seemed to know before your brain did that it was the right one for today.

—

Garrett called from the courthouse before proceedings began.

“You good?”

You were curled into the corner of the sofa wearing Logan’s hoodie and fluffy socks, which was about as far from courtroom clothing as physically possible.

“No.”

“Same.”

You smiled faintly.

“Did Logan tell you?”

“That you’re staying home? Yeah.”

“You’re not mad?”

Garrett sounded genuinely confused.

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know.”

“You testified.”

“I know.”

“You sat through hours of that shit.”

“I know.”

“So stay home.”

The bluntness helped.

You tucked your legs tighter beneath you.

“You’ll tell me what they say?”

“As much or as little as you want.”

“Don’t edit it because you think it’ll upset me.”

Garrett went quiet.

You immediately knew.

“You were going to.”

“I was considering summarising.”

“Garrett.”

“I know.”

His voice softened.

“Your choice.”

“Thank you.”

A door opened somewhere behind him.

You heard voices.

Then Logan.

“We’re about to go in.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Put me on speaker.”

There was movement.

Then Logan’s voice came through more clearly.

“Hey.”

You closed your eyes.

“Hey.”

“You sure?”

You knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t spend the whole time watching Ryan.”

A pause.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You absolutely were.”

Garrett muttered something you couldn’t make out.

Then Logan sighed.

“Fine.”

“Listen to the lawyers.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t get yourself thrown out.”

“That feels more directed at your brother.”

“It applies equally.”

Garrett sounded offended.

“I was excellent yesterday.”

“You threatened a vending machine.”

“It stole my dollar.”

You laughed.

For a second, the courthouse seemed far away.

Then an usher called something in the background.

Garrett’s voice changed.

“We have to go.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“Okay.”

Logan spoke quietly.

“We’ll call when they break.”

You nodded before remembering.

“Okay.”

“Love—”

He stopped.

Complete silence came through the line.

Your heart stopped with him.

Garrett didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

Logan cleared his throat.

“I’ll call you later.”

The line disconnected.

You stared at the phone.

Dean, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, slowly lowered the cereal bowl he had been eating from.

Tucker looked up from the kitchen table.

Nobody spoke.

You stared at the screen.

“Was he about to say what I think he was about to say?”

Dean put another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“I value my continued survival.”

“Dean.”

He chewed.

Swallowed.

“I heard nothing.”

Tucker nodded solemnly.

“My hearing stopped approximately thirty seconds ago.”

You pressed both hands against your face.

Heat flooded your cheeks.

“Oh my God.”

Dean grinned.

“That’s an interesting development.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I smile naturally.”

You threw a cushion at him.

Dean caught it.

And for several minutes, the trial disappeared entirely.

—

The prosecution spoke first.

Logan had expected something dramatic.

A sweeping speech.

Anger.

Something that matched the enormity of what the last few months had felt like.

Instead, the prosecutor was calm.

Almost painfully so.

She stood in front of the jury with only a thin collection of notes and reminded them that the case did not depend on whether they liked you.

It did not depend on whether you had stayed too long.

Whether you had returned to Ryan.

Whether you had sent messages saying you loved him.

Whether you cried while giving evidence.

It depended on what Ryan had done.

Logan felt Garrett go completely still beside him.

The prosecutor walked through the evidence one piece at a time.

The software on your phone.

The account receiving information.

The searches performed on Ryan’s computer.

The location records.

The payments to Mason.

The messages instructing Mason where to wait.

The photographs.

The burner phone.

New phone suits you.

Every piece on its own could be explained away, she said.

A payment could be a loan.

A photograph could be coincidental.

A location could be shared voluntarily.

But the jury had not been asked to consider each event in isolation.

They had been asked to consider the pattern.

Logan looked towards Ryan.

He was staring straight ahead.

His face gave nothing away.

The prosecutor read one of his messages to Mason.

Wait until Logan leaves.

Logan’s hands clenched.

He forced them open.

Beside him, Garrett noticed.

Neither spoke.

The prosecutor continued.

She reminded the jury of Ryan’s own evidence.

That he knew you were distressed by people connected to him watching you.

That he knew Mason’s presence would frighten you.

That he nevertheless instructed Mason not to be seen.

Then she said something that made Garrett lower his head.

“Concern seeks reassurance. Control seeks access.”

Logan looked towards him.

Garrett’s jaw was tight.

The prosecutor continued.

“Concern stops when someone says no. The evidence in this case is that the defendant did not.”

Logan swallowed.

He thought of you standing in the witness box.

Because he taught me that saying no didn’t make him stop.

The prosecutor didn’t repeat your words dramatically.

She didn’t need to.

By the time she sat down, the courtroom was completely silent.

—

Ryan’s barrister began after a short break.

He spoke longer.

More carefully.

He reminded the jury that Mason had admitted his own involvement and had reasons to shift blame.

That relationships could become unhealthy without becoming criminal.

That hindsight could cause ordinary arguments to take on different meanings.

That Ryan’s searches were suspicious but not proof, by themselves, that he had installed anything.

That the prosecution’s case depended upon interpretation.

Logan hated every word.

Not because the barrister was cruel.

Because he made it sound reasonable.

Again.

The same thing Ryan had always done.

Take something ugly and sand down the edges until you wondered why you were afraid of it.

Garrett shifted beside him.

“Breathe,” Logan whispered without looking over.

Garrett gave him a sideways glare.

“I am breathing.”

“Like a bull.”

“Shut up.”

The barrister moved to you.

He said there was no dispute that you had been frightened.

Logan’s stomach turned before the next sentence even came.

But fear, he argued, did not prove Ryan intended to cause it.

Your interpretation of an encounter was not the same as Ryan’s intention.

A message might appear threatening to someone already anxious while being intended differently by the sender.

Logan thought of the burner phone.

New phone suits you.

His jaw clenched.

He remembered your face when you saw it.

The colour leaving your skin.

Your hands shaking.

Ryan’s barrister continued.

He reminded the jury that you relied heavily upon Logan after Ryan returned.

That your fear might have been reinforced by the reactions of people around you.

Garrett moved.

Barely.

Logan’s hand shot out and caught his wrist against the seat between them.

Garrett looked down at it.

Then at Logan.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You’re about to climb over the bench.”

“I’m considering it.”

“Don’t.”

Garrett looked back towards the barrister.

“I hate him.”

“He’s doing his job.”

“I hate his job.”

That, Logan couldn't argue with.

The barrister spoke about the absence of physical violence.

The prosecutor objected once.

The judge intervened.

Then came the line Logan knew would follow.

Ryan made mistakes.

He was jealous.

Heartbroken.

He had struggled to accept the end of the relationship.

But bad behaviour, the barrister said, should not automatically be interpreted as criminal intent.

Logan looked at Ryan again.

For one brief second, their eyes met.

Ryan smiled.

Tiny.

Almost imperceptible.

Logan looked away.

Not because Ryan had won anything.

Because you had asked him not to watch.

—

The judge began directing the jury shortly after lunch.

That was when your phone rang.

You had been sitting at the kitchen table with Tucker, peeling the label from a bottle of water piece by piece.

Dean answered the first ring of his own phone, listened, then passed it to you.

“Logan.”

You took it.

“Hey.”

“Closing arguments are done.”

Your stomach tightened.

“How bad?”

He exhaled.

“Both sides did their jobs.”

“That bad?”

“Pretty much.”

You pushed the remaining pieces of label into a small pile.

“What did the prosecutor say?”

Logan gave you the shortened version.

The evidence.

The pattern.

Concern seeks reassurance. Control seeks access.

You went quiet.

“That’s…”

“Yeah.”

You pressed your lips together.

“What did his barrister say?”

Logan hesitated.

You noticed.

“Tell me.”

“He said Ryan was jealous and handled the breakup badly, but that doesn’t necessarily mean everything had criminal intent.”

Your fingers stopped moving.

“He talked about me being afraid.”

“Yeah.”

“And you.”

Another pause.

“Yeah.”

You closed your eyes.

“What did he say?”

“That your fear could’ve been reinforced by how protective we were.”

There it was again.

The fear that had been sitting quietly beneath everything.

Maybe Logan had made things worse.

Maybe Garrett had.

Maybe you had surrounded yourself with people who believed you so completely that none of you could see clearly anymore.

Then Logan spoke.

“Before you start.”

Your eyes opened.

“How do you know I was starting?”

“I know you.”

You didn’t answer.

“He also had to explain two hundred photographs.”

Your throat tightened.

“He had to explain the software.”

A pause.

“The searches.”

Another.

“The burner phone.”

Logan’s voice remained steady.

“He can talk about me as much as he wants. I’m not the evidence.”

You stared at the scraps of plastic beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t cause any of this.”

“I know.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

You gave a shaky laugh.

“You’re stealing your own trick.”

“It’s effective.”

You took a breath.

“You didn’t cause it.”

“Again.”

“Logan.”

“One more.”

You closed your eyes.

“Logan didn’t cause Ryan to stalk me.”

“Thank you.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m incredibly helpful.”

“Debatable.”

You heard Garrett in the background.

“They’re coming back.”

Logan’s tone changed.

“The judge is finishing directions.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“The jury is about to go out.”

The words made the room feel suddenly colder.

Already.

You knew this was coming.

Still, you weren’t prepared.

“How long?”

“No idea.”

Hours.

Days.

The question nobody could answer.

Your chest tightened.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait.”

“I hate waiting.”

“I know.”

There was another murmur on his side.

Then Garrett’s voice.

“We’ll come home once they send them out.”

You swallowed.

“What if they decide before you get back?”

“Then we turn around.”

“What if—”

Logan interrupted gently.

“One thing at a time.”

You pressed your palm against your forehead.

“One thing.”

“The jury goes out.”

You repeated it.

“The jury goes out.”

“We come home.”

“You come home.”

“Then we wait.”

Your stomach twisted.

“And then we wait.”

“Exactly.”

Simple.

Horrible.

But simple.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.”

The call almost ended.

Then you said his name.

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

Your heart stumbled.

The almost-words from that morning came back.

Love—

You weren’t ready to ask.

Not today.

“Drive safely.”

A pause.

Something soft entered his voice.

“Always.”

—

The jury retired at two thirty-seven.

Garrett sent you the time.

You stared at the message until the numbers became meaningless.

2:37.

At 2:38, nothing had happened.

At 2:45, nothing.

At 3:00, you checked your phone even though you knew someone would call if there was news.

By 3:16, Dean took the clock off the living-room wall.

You stared at him.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve looked at this thing twelve times in six minutes.”

“I need to know the time.”

“You have a phone.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

“Dean.”

He held the clock above his head.

You stood.

He was significantly taller.

The bastard.

“Give me the clock.”

“You’re going to torture yourself.”

“It is my right to torture myself.”

“Not with my home decor.”

“This isn't about your decor.”

“It matches the room.”

Tucker walked through carrying mugs.

“It doesn’t.”

Dean looked offended.

“You picked it.”

“I was being polite.”

You stood between them, staring.

Then, somehow, you started laughing.

Maybe it was exhaustion.

Maybe it was Dean standing there clutching a cheap wall clock to his chest like you were attempting to steal a family heirloom.

Whatever it was, the laugh grew.

You sat back onto the sofa because your legs weakened with it.

Tucker started laughing too.

Dean looked between both of you.

“I’m glad my suffering is amusing.”

That made it worse.

By the time Garrett and Logan walked through the front door, you were wiping tears from your cheeks for an entirely different reason than they expected.

Garrett stopped.

“What happened?”

“Dean stole the clock,” you managed.

Logan looked towards the empty patch on the wall.

Then at Dean.

“Why?”

“She was clock-watching.”

“So you physically removed time?”

“Exactly.”

Logan nodded slowly.

“Seems healthy.”

“Thank you.”

Tucker pointed at him.

“He’s being sarcastic.”

“I know that.”

For five minutes, everything felt almost normal.

Then everyone remembered.

The jury was out.

The laughter faded naturally.

Garrett sat on the floor in front of the sofa.

Logan dropped beside you.

Dean returned the clock but placed it face down on the bookshelf.

Nobody objected.

—

The first hour passed slowly.

Then another.

You tried television.

Nobody watched.

Tucker started dinner and forgot what he was making halfway through.

Dean opened his laptop, closed it, then opened it again.

Garrett paced until you threatened to tie him to a chair.

Logan stayed beside you.

At four fifty-eight, you looked at him.

“What if they’re taking this long because they don’t believe me?”

“No.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, I mean we’re not doing this.”

You frowned.

“Doing what?”

“Guessing what the time means.”

“But—”

“They could be discussing one charge. All of them. Lunch.”

“It’s nearly five.”

“Maybe someone talks slowly.”

You stared at him.

“That’s your reassurance?”

“I’m running low.”

A reluctant smile appeared.

Then disappeared almost instantly.

“I’m scared.”

Logan shifted towards you.

“I know.”

“What if they come back not guilty?”

Nobody in the room moved.

You hadn’t asked it out loud before.

Not like that.

Garrett stopped pacing.

Dean looked up from his laptop.

Tucker turned away from the stove.

Logan didn’t tell you it wouldn’t happen.

He knew better.

“Then tomorrow morning, you still wake up as the person who told the truth.”

Your eyes burned.

“That won’t feel like enough.”

“No.”

The answer hurt.

“But it’ll still be true.”

Garrett came closer and sat on the coffee table opposite you.

“A verdict can decide what happens to Ryan.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

“It doesn’t decide what happened to you.”

You looked at your brother.

“What if people think it does?”

“Some might.”

Dean closed his laptop.

“People think stupid shit constantly.”

Tucker nodded.

“Dean is walking proof.”

“Unnecessary.”

You almost smiled.

Garrett continued.

“We know.”

He gestured around the room.

“You know.”

His eyes held yours.

“And he knows.”

Ryan.

The one person who had spent years telling you nothing happened.

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

“That’s why he worked so fucking hard to hide it.”

Something inside you settled.

Not enough.

But something.

Logan reached for your hand.

This time, you grabbed his before he finished asking.

—

At five twenty, the phone rang.

Nobody moved.

It was Garrett’s.

The sound seemed impossibly loud.

He stared at the screen.

You stared at him.

“Who?”

His face had lost all colour.

“The prosecutor.”

Your heart stopped.

Logan’s fingers tightened around yours.

Garrett answered.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Every person in the room watched him.

Garrett listened.

His eyes found yours.

Then he said, “Okay.”

One word.

Nothing else.

Your stomach rolled.

“What?”

Garrett held up one finger.

You wanted to scream.

He listened for another few seconds.

“Yeah. We can be there.”

He ended the call.

Nobody breathed.

You stood.

“What?”

Garrett swallowed.

“The jury has a verdict.”

The room disappeared.

Not literally.

But the walls seemed farther away.

The sounds muffled.

Your fingers went cold inside Logan’s.

“Already?”

Garrett nodded.

“They want everyone back at court.”

Tucker turned off the stove without looking.

Dean was already reaching for his jacket.

Logan stood beside you.

You didn’t move.

A verdict.

There was one now.

Twelve strangers had gone into a room with everything you had given them.

Your messages.

Your photographs.

Your fear.

Ryan’s explanations.

Mason’s confession.

Garrett’s guilt.

Logan’s presence.

And they had decided something.

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t.”

Logan immediately turned towards you.

“You don’t have to go.”

“But I need to know.”

“You can know from here.”

“What if it’s guilty?”

Garrett stepped closer.

“What if it isn’t?”

Your voice cracked.

Nobody answered.

You stared at Logan.

“I don't know where I want to be.”

“Then don’t decide based on the verdict.”

“I don’t know the verdict.”

“Exactly.”

His hands came up but stopped.

You reached for them.

He held both of yours.

“Where do you want to hear it?”

The question cut through everything.

Not where should you be.

Not what looked brave.

Where did you want to hear the decision that would close one part of the worst period of your life?

You pictured the courtroom.

Ryan.

The wooden witness box.

The crooked clock.

Then you pictured the hockey house.

Dean’s stupid wall clock lying face down.

Tucker’s dinner abandoned on the stove.

Garrett beside you.

Logan’s hand in yours.

Home.

“I want to stay here.”

Logan nodded.

“Then we stay.”

Garrett’s eyes widened slightly.

“You want me to—”

“Go.”

His face fell.

You immediately reached for him.

“No. Garrett.”

“I can stay.”

“I know.”

You squeezed his hand.

“But one of us should be there.”

“Why me?”

The question held fear.

Not reluctance.

You looked at your brother.

“Because when this started, you were the person I was most afraid to tell.”

Garrett’s face changed.

“And now I want you to hear the end.”

His eyes filled immediately.

He looked down, blinking hard.

“Jesus Christ.”

Dean glanced towards the ceiling.

Tucker suddenly became interested in the stove.

Garrett pulled you into his arms.

You held him tightly.

“Call me.”

“The second they say it.”

“I don't care what it is.”

Garrett’s arms tightened.

“I’ll call.”

When he released you, his eyes were red.

Dean and Tucker chose to go with him.

Not because you wanted fewer people around.

Because none of you wanted Garrett sitting in that courtroom alone.

That left Logan.

He didn’t even ask.

The moment the front door shut behind the others, you looked at him.

“You're staying?”

He stared at you like the question was absurd.

“Yeah.”

“But—”

“No.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“You picked where you wanted to hear it.”

His hand found yours.

“I pick where I want to be.”

Your throat tightened.

“Here?”

“With you.”

The almost-confession from that morning flashed between you again.

Neither said it.

Not yet.

There was already too much sitting inside the room.

You sank onto the sofa.

Logan sat beside you.

The house felt enormous without the others.

Too quiet.

You reached for the television remote and turned it on.

Some game show appeared.

A woman was trying to answer a question about European capitals.

You stared at it without hearing a word.

Logan sat close enough that your thighs touched.

Your phone rested between you.

Waiting.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Your knee began bouncing.

Logan placed his hand over it.

Not forcing it still.

Just there.

“What if—”

“No.”

You looked at him.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You started with ‘what if.’”

“Fair.”

He intertwined your fingers.

You leaned into him.

His shoulder pressed against yours.

The woman on television won three thousand dollars.

An audience applauded.

Your phone remained silent.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“Say something.”

“What?”

“Anything.”

Logan thought.

Then said, “Tucker puts mayonnaise on hot dogs.”

You pulled back.

“He does not.”

“I saw it.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“I was protecting you.”

You laughed once.

Weakly.

Then leaned back into him.

“Another.”

“Dean sleeps with an eye mask.”

“That isn’t surprising.”

“It says princess.”

You snorted.

“You’re lying.”

“I swear on my life.”

“Picture?”

“I didn’t take one.”

“Then I don’t believe you.”

Logan kept talking.

Stupid things.

Stories from freshman year.

Garrett getting his skate caught in the boards.

Tucker accidentally locking himself outside in nothing but shorts.

Dean convincing half the team that the hockey house was haunted.

You knew what Logan was doing.

You let him.

His voice filled the silence where the verdict wanted to live.

Then your phone rang.

The sound cut him off mid-sentence.

Neither of you moved.

Garrett.

If we need someone to do a job, that job is a role in the community and deserves not just a salary but cultural respect for the role.

"high" ambition jobs are all jobs that involve domineering and controlling others. "low" ambition jobs are all jobs that involve service to others. Have you noticed? Because I have noticed.

is actually more needed

than controlling them.

Ass or tits? TITS.

Headcannons of Johnny being an absolute tit guy with his partner.

CW: SMUT, mating press, motorboating, tit-job, blow-job, overstimulation, tit-sucking, perversion

Johnny is so into tits.

He doesn’t give a fuck how they look. if you’ve got ‘em, he’s lookin’.

He likes a-cups, g-cups, pecs, whatever. He does not care.

His favorite way to appreciate tits is to fuck in a mating press so however much tit you’ve got is squished against his face so he can motorboat while fucking you into whatever surface he laid you on.

He adores straddling your waist to have your tits cushion his fat cock while you suck him off.

He’s elated by how sensitive you get when he traces your chest with a vibrator. Giggling with glee when you whine at his kisses to them.

He love also extends outside of sex.

If you’re cuddling up and his mind starts to wander, he’ll mindlessly mouth at your chest over your shirt until you push him off or let him stick his head under to suck on your nips.

If you decide to go to the gym with him, he’ll insist on doing a jog on the treadmills just so he can watch your chest bounce with every step.

Masterlist

Summary: You were stranded at the library in the pouring rain, the last shuttle bus had left just as you got there, you text your brother, Garrett Graham, if he could pick you up after practice. You'll never guess who he sends instead.

Warnings: none

The next morning, the defence called Ryan to the witness box.

Ryan chose to testify.

You found out at eight-fifteen the next morning while standing barefoot in the hockey-house kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

The prosecutor had called Garrett before court began. He took the call in the living room, speaking too quietly for you to make out anything beyond brief, careful replies.

When he returned, his face told you it wasn’t a routine update.

Logan sat at the island beside you, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. Dean had stopped searching through the cereal cupboard. Tucker stood at the stove with a spatula suspended above a pan of eggs.

Everyone looked at Garrett.

He looked only at you.

“Ryan’s giving evidence today.”

The kettle clicked off.

For a second, nobody moved.

You stared at your brother as if he had spoken in a language you didn’t understand.

“He’s allowed to do that?”

Garrett nodded slowly. “He doesn’t have to, but his barrister told the court he’s going to.”

Your stomach tightened.

“What’s he going to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know something.”

“The prosecutor thinks he’ll deny installing the spyware and say Mason acted without his knowledge.” Garrett hesitated. “He’ll probably say he was worried about you.”

A bitter laugh left you.

There it was again.

Worried.

A word Ryan had stretched until it covered everything he wanted to do.

Reading your messages had been worry.

Taking your keys had been worry.

Following you across campus had been worry.

Sending Mason to stand outside your dorm had been worry.

Even fear became care when Ryan was the one explaining it.

“Is he going to talk about me?”

Logan’s hand shifted on the counter, closer to yours.

Garrett looked uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

The answer settled heavily.

Of course he was.

Ryan could not explain himself without building another version of you.

One who was unstable.

Confused.

Cruel after the breakup.

One who needed him even when she said she didn’t.

You turned away and reached for the kettle.

Your hand shook as you poured the water. Some splashed onto the counter.

Logan moved instinctively, then stopped before taking it from you.

“You want help?”

“No.”

You finished pouring, placed the kettle down and wiped the spill with the sleeve of your jumper.

“You’re using your clothes as a towel,” Tucker said carefully.

“I know.”

“There’s a cloth beside you.”

“I know.”

He nodded as though the matter had been resolved and turned back to the stove.

You stared into the mug.

The teabag floated on the surface because you had forgotten to stir it.

“Are you going?” you asked.

Garrett looked towards Logan before answering. “I was planning to.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“You already testified.”

“I know.”

“You could stay here.”

Garrett’s expression softened.

“Do you want me to?”

You considered it.

Part of you wanted everyone in the house. Curtains closed. Doors locked. The television loud enough to drown out the knowledge that Ryan was speaking about you somewhere else.

Another part needed someone inside that courtroom who knew the difference between Ryan’s voice and the truth.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

You rubbed your thumb against the edge of the mug.

“Will you tell me everything he says?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I think it is.”

Logan turned slightly towards you. “Think, or know?”

You glanced at him.

It wasn’t a challenge.

Just a question.

“I won’t know until I hear it.”

His mouth tightened with understanding.

“You can change your mind halfway through.”

You nodded.

“Both of you go.”

Garrett studied your face.

“You sure?”

“No.”

Dean finally closed the cereal cupboard.

“She said go, Graham.”

Garrett glanced at him.

Dean’s tone had been casual, but his expression wasn’t.

“She knows how to call you if she needs you back.”

Garrett looked at you again.

You nodded.

“I’ll call.”

He accepted it reluctantly.

Logan stood and stepped closer, stopping beside your stool.

“I can stay.”

“I know.”

“I don’t care about hearing Ryan.”

“I know.”

His eyes moved across your face.

You touched his wrist.

“I need you to hear him.”

Something shifted in his expression.

Not jealousy.

Not anger.

Understanding.

You needed Logan to hear the version Ryan gave the court because some small part of you was still afraid Ryan might be convincing enough to change the shape of what happened.

Logan turned his hand over and caught your fingers.

“Okay.”

—

You stayed with Dean and Tucker again.

This time, neither of them suggested a film.

Tucker made breakfast you barely touched. Dean sat at the kitchen island pretending to answer emails while checking you every few minutes over the top of his laptop.

You lasted almost half an hour before snapping.

“You can stop looking at me.”

Dean immediately lowered his eyes to the screen.

“I wasn’t.”

“You’ve read the same sentence six times.”

“It’s a complex email.”

“It says your package has been dispatched.”

“There are implications.”

You gave him a tired look.

Dean closed the laptop.

“Sorry.”

The apology disarmed you.

You rested your elbows on the counter and pressed both hands against your face.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Apologise because you’re uncomfortable.”

You lowered your hands.

Dean leaned back on his stool.

“We’re all uncomfortable.”

Tucker placed a plate of toast between you.

“Some of us cope by baking.”

Dean gestured towards himself. “Some of us cope through natural charisma.”

“You’ve been reorganising your inbox by sender,” Tucker replied.

“It needed doing.”

You looked between them.

“How are you both acting normal?”

Dean’s expression softened.

“We’re not.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“We’re acting like us.”

Something inside your chest loosened slightly.

Tucker slid the plate closer.

“You don’t have to eat all of it.”

Dean reached for a slice.

Tucker slapped his hand away.

“It isn’t for you.”

“I’m also under stress.”

“You’ve already eaten.”

“I continue to exist, Tucker. My needs are ongoing.”

A reluctant smile touched your mouth.

Dean noticed but, for once, didn’t point it out.

You took half a slice of toast.

Then waited.

—

Ryan began his evidence shortly before ten.

Garrett called during the first break.

You answered from the living-room sofa with Dean on the floor nearby and Tucker sitting in the armchair. Neither spoke when Garrett’s name appeared.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

His voice sounded controlled.

Too controlled.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Getting water.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around your waist.

“What did Ryan say?”

Garrett released a breath.

“He said your relationship was intense.”

You closed your eyes.

“What does that mean?”

“He said you both had tempers. That you argued, but it went both ways.”

Of course.

Ryan had always liked to make everything mutual.

He took your phone, but you had raised your voice.

He blocked the door, but you had tried to leave during an argument.

He frightened you, but you made him angry first.

“What else?”

“He said you gave him your passcode because you wanted complete honesty in the relationship.”

“I gave it to him once.”

“I know.”

“He kept demanding it after I changed it.”

“I know.”

“Did anyone say that?”

“The prosecutor will.”

It wasn’t enough.

You hated that he was allowed to speak uninterrupted first.

Allowed to place each lie carefully before someone came along to challenge it.

Garrett continued.

“He admitted knowing your location sometimes, but he said you shared it voluntarily.”

“For emergencies.”

“I know.”

“I turned it off.”

“He claims he thought it was a technical problem.”

You sat forward.

“A technical problem that lasted for months?”

“I know.”

“Stop saying you know.”

Garrett fell silent.

Regret arrived immediately.

You pressed one hand against your forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re right.”

His voice softened.

“You don’t need me agreeing after every sentence.”

You swallowed.

“What did he say about the spyware?”

“He denied installing it.”

“And the account?”

“He said Mason helped him set up a shared cloud account when the two of you were together. He claims he didn’t know information from your phone was being sent there.”

You laughed.

The sound was sharp and humourless.

“He didn’t know.”

“That’s what he said.”

“He mentioned private calls.”

“I know.”

“He found me.”

“I know.”

You stopped yourself before snapping again.

Dean remained still on the floor, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

Tucker watched you without staring.

“What did Ryan say about Mason?”

Garrett hesitated.

“He said Mason became obsessed with your breakup.”

You frowned.

“What?”

“He claims Mason thought he could help repair the relationship. That Mason watched you without Ryan asking him to.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No.”

“There are messages.”

“Ryan says they’ve been misinterpreted.”

You stood abruptly.

The blanket fell to the floor.

“Misinterpreted how?”

“He said when he asked Mason to check on you, he meant to make sure you were safe.”

“By hiding outside my dorm?”

Garrett didn’t answer.

Your breathing sharpened.

“By taking two hundred photographs?”

“He said he never asked for that many.”

“Oh, so there was an acceptable number?”

Dean stood slowly but didn’t come closer.

You paced towards the window, then stopped before reaching it.

Even now, you couldn’t comfortably stand in front of uncovered glass.

Ryan had done that.

No technical error.

No misunderstanding.

He had changed how you moved inside rooms.

“Did he say why Mason was paid?”

Garrett was quiet for too long.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was lending Mason money.”

You stared at the curtains.

“Several thousand dollars?”

“Yeah.”

“For food and rent.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

Every piece of proof had been given another name.

Payments became loans.

Instructions became concern.

Surveillance became friendship.

Ryan had always been good at that.

He didn’t deny the individual parts when denying them became impossible.

He renamed them.

“I need to stop.”

Garrett answered immediately. “Okay.”

“Don’t tell me any more right now.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

You closed your eyes.

“Are you angry with me?”

Your brother’s voice softened completely.

“No.”

“I sent you there and now I don’t want to know.”

“That’s allowed.”

“You’ll tell me later?”

“If you ask.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“Okay.”

“Do you want Logan to come home?”

Your first instinct was yes.

Immediate.

Desperate.

Then you imagined Logan leaving the courtroom because you were frightened, missing the rest of Ryan’s evidence, and some ugly part of your mind whispered that Ryan would call it proof.

Proof you couldn’t function without him.

Proof Logan reinforced your fear.

The defence barrister’s words had found somewhere to live.

“No.”

Dean’s expression tightened.

Garrett heard something in your voice too.

“You sure?”

“No.”

You gripped the phone.

“But I want him to stay.”

“Why?”

You didn’t answer.

Garrett waited.

“Because Ryan’s barrister said I depend on him too much.”

Dean’s jaw hardened.

“That’s bullshit,” he said from across the room.

Garrett must have heard him.

“Dean’s right.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You looked down at the rug.

“I don’t know.”

Garrett breathed out slowly.

“Do you want Logan here?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask him to come home.”

“But—”

“There is no but.”

His voice remained gentle.

“You don’t prove Ryan wrong by denying yourself something you need.”

Your eyes burned.

“You said that believing you made me look terrible,” Garrett continued. “Remember?”

“Yes.”

“I still did it.”

You swallowed.

“Needing Logan doesn’t prove Ryan right. It proves Ryan hurt you, and Logan helps.”

The tears came before you could stop them.

You turned away from Dean and Tucker, embarrassed even though both had seen you cry before.

“Put Logan on.”

You heard movement.

A few seconds later, his voice came through.

“Hey.”

One word.

That was all it took for your chest to ache.

“Can you come home?”

“I’m already walking to the truck.”

You closed your eyes.

“Garrett told you?”

“No.”

“Then how—”

“I heard enough.”

His voice was closer now, as though he had left the corridor and stepped outside.

“I was going to call and ask.”

“You’ll miss the rest.”

“I don’t care.”

“You said you would listen.”

“I did.”

“To all of it.”

“I’ve heard enough to know he’s lying.”

A sob caught in your throat.

Logan continued before you could apologise.

“I’m coming home.”

“Okay.”

“Dean there?”

“Yeah.”

“Put him on.”

You looked towards Dean.

“He’s asking for you.”

Dean crossed the room and accepted the phone.

“Yeah?”

He listened for several seconds.

His eyes moved towards you.

“I’ve got her.”

Another pause.

“No, Graham’s still there.”

Dean’s expression darkened.

“I said I’ve got her, John.”

Your throat tightened at the use of Logan’s first name. Dean only did that when he was completely serious.

“I know. Drive carefully.”

He ended the call and placed your phone on the coffee table.

You stared at him.

“What did he say?”

“That if you apologise for asking him to come back, I’m supposed to confiscate your phone.”

Despite the tears on your face, you let out a weak laugh.

“He can’t do that.”

“I’m bigger than you.”

“That isn’t how consent works.”

Dean nodded solemnly.

“Excellent point. I’ll tell him.”

He sat beside you, leaving a space between your bodies.

“You want to know what I think?”

“Probably not.”

“Fair.”

He leaned forward, forearms on his knees.

“I think Logan being here isn’t about whether you can survive without him.”

You wiped beneath your eyes.

“It’s about the fact that you don’t have to.”

You looked at him.

Dean shrugged lightly.

“People love making independence sound like never needing anyone. That’s miserable.”

Tucker nodded from the armchair.

“He’s right.”

Dean glanced at him.

“You should record that.”

“I’m not saying it again.”

A faint smile moved across your face and vanished.

“What if Ryan believes I’m weak?”

Dean’s expression changed.

“Who cares?”

“I do.”

The admission embarrassed you.

“I hate that I still care what he thinks.”

“That doesn’t mean his opinion matters.”

“It feels like it does.”

“I know.”

Dean looked towards the curtained window.

“He spent years teaching you that the way he saw you was the truth.”

Your throat tightened.

“It’s going to take longer than a trial to unlearn that.”

You folded your arms over your stomach.

“What if the jury believes him?”

Nobody answered immediately.

Tucker stood and came closer, sitting in the chair opposite you.

“They might believe some of what he says,” he said carefully.

Fear twisted through you.

Tucker didn’t retreat from it.

“People can believe parts of someone’s story and still see the whole thing doesn’t add up.”

You looked at him.

“Ryan has an explanation for everything.”

“So do most people who’ve done something wrong,” Dean said.

“That doesn’t make the explanations good.”

You rested your head against the sofa.

The uncertainty remained.

It would until the verdict.

Maybe after.

But the panic had stopped climbing.

—

Logan returned twenty-seven minutes later.

You knew because you had watched the clock from the moment the call ended.

The front door opened.

Footsteps crossed the entrance.

Then he was in the living room, tie loosened, suit jacket hanging from one hand. His hair had been disturbed as though he had dragged his fingers through it repeatedly during the drive.

His eyes found you immediately.

He dropped the jacket onto a chair.

You stood.

Neither of you spoke.

Logan stopped in front of you, breathing slightly harder than usual.

“Can I—”

You stepped into him before he finished.

His arms closed around you.

The relief was so sharp it hurt.

You pressed your face against his chest, breathing in cold air, rain and the faint trace of his aftershave.

“I’m sorry.”

One of his hands moved to the back of your head.

“Dean.”

“I tried,” Dean said. “She’s fast.”

Logan pulled back enough to look at you.

“You don’t apologise.”

“I said you could go.”

“You changed your mind.”

“You missed his evidence.”

“I heard enough.”

“What if he says something important?”

“Garrett is still there.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt.

“You wanted to hear it yourself.”

“I wanted to know what happened.”

He brushed his thumb beneath your eye.

“I know what happened.”

The certainty in his voice made you cry harder.

Logan brought you back against him.

“He made everything sound reasonable,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. He—he made the payments sound like loans, and the photographs were Mason’s idea, and the account was an accident—”

“I heard him.”

You went still.

Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.

“I heard the way he did it.”

His voice had changed.

Not loud.

Not angry in a way that frightened you.

But stripped of its usual warmth.

“He spoke like none of it mattered.”

You closed your eyes.

“Calm.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how he always sounded afterwards.”

Logan held you tighter.

“Like you were the only one being emotional.”

You nodded against his chest.

For so long, you had struggled to explain that part.

The switch.

Ryan’s ability to frighten you in private and become composed the second someone else appeared.

Now Logan had heard it.

Not the cruelty beforehand.

But the voice that came after.

The one that made you doubt yourself.

“You believe me?”

Logan pulled back sharply.

The hurt on his face made you regret the question before he answered.

“Always.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You looked down.

“I’m trying.”

His expression softened.

He lifted your chin only after you leaned into his fingers.

“Ryan could stand in that courtroom and tell them the sky is green.”

A watery laugh escaped you.

“He’d probably have an explanation.”

“Doesn’t make it green.”

You rested your forehead against his chest.

“He looked at you when he talked about me.”

Logan went still.

“You saw?”

“I saw him look at the gallery.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing obvious.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

“He wanted to see my reaction.”

You swallowed.

“Did you give him one?”

“I looked at the judge.”

The answer filled you with a small, strange pride.

“You did?”

“Crooked clock wasn’t available from my seat.”

A laugh broke through your tears.

Logan smiled faintly and kissed your forehead.

“He doesn’t get anything from me.”

—

Garrett returned near four.

By then, you had moved to the sofa with your legs across Logan’s lap. Dean and Tucker had retreated into the kitchen to argue over dinner, giving the two of you some privacy without making it obvious.

The sound of the front door made Logan’s hand pause on your ankle.

Garrett entered alone.

His face looked exhausted.

“How bad?” you asked.

He took off his coat.

“For him?”

Garrett’s mouth twisted.

“Worse after the prosecutor got up.”

You sat straighter.

“What happened?”

He looked towards Logan.

“You want everything?”

You considered it.

“Not every word.”

Garrett nodded and sat in the armchair.

“The prosecutor asked why Ryan kept checking the account if he didn’t know your information was being sent there.”

Your heart beat harder.

“What did he say?”

“He claimed he only logged in to access his own photographs.”

“But they can see what he opened.”

“Yeah.”

Garrett leaned forward.

“The forensic examiner recovered records showing he accessed your location data multiple times.”

You stared at him.

“Did he admit it?”

“He said he clicked the files without understanding what they were.”

Logan made a quiet, disbelieving sound.

Garrett continued.

“Then the prosecutor showed him searches from his laptop.”

Your stomach tightened.

“What searches?”

Garrett’s gaze softened with concern.

“Do you want to know?”

You nodded.

“How to hide an application on a phone.”

The room went very still.

“How to remotely access location history. How to stop someone seeing devices connected to their account.”

You felt Logan’s fingers tighten gently around your ankle.

“They were dated around the time the software was installed.”

Garrett paused.

“Ryan said they were for a cybersecurity assignment.”

You stared at him.

“Did he have one?”

“No.”

A laugh escaped you.

Not amused.

Almost disbelieving.

After every careful explanation, something that simple.

No assignment.

No reason.

Only a search history that existed before Ryan knew anyone would look.

“What about Mason?”

“The prosecutor showed Ryan the messages.”

Garrett’s expression darkened.

“He denied asking Mason to follow you until she read one aloud where he told Mason which door you used after your late lecture.”

Your skin prickled.

“What did he say then?”

“That he wanted Mason to make sure you got home safely.”

Logan’s jaw clenched.

Garrett leaned back.

“So the prosecutor asked why Mason needed to stay out of sight.”

Your breath caught.

“And?”

“Ryan said you became distressed whenever you saw people connected to him.”

“He knew it frightened me.”

“Yeah.”

Garrett’s voice softened.

“The prosecutor said that.”

You pulled your legs closer.

“What exactly did she say?”

Garrett looked at you.

“She asked, ‘So you knew being watched by your friends would frighten her, and you told Mr Cole not to be seen?’”

The room seemed to disappear around the edges.

“What did Ryan say?”

“He tried to explain.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Garrett held your gaze.

“He said yes.”

The word landed quietly.

No dramatic collapse.

No sudden relief.

Just one answer.

One truth Ryan had spent the entire trial trying to avoid.

He knew.

Ryan knew you would be frightened.

He knew Mason’s presence would distress you.

He knew secrecy was necessary because you did not want to be watched.

And he arranged it anyway.

You stared down at your hands.

“He admitted it.”

“Part of it,” Garrett said carefully.

“But he admitted he knew.”

“Yes.”

Your eyes burned.

Logan’s hand moved from your ankle to yours.

You held on.

“What happened after?”

“The prosecutor asked about the burner phone. Ryan said he only wanted to apologise.”

You thought of the message.

New phone suits you.

No apology.

No concern.

A reminder that even replacing your device had not put you beyond his reach.

“She made him read the message out loud,” Garrett said.

Your stomach twisted.

“He had to say it?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he sound like?”

Garrett was quiet for a moment.

“Not calm anymore.”

You looked up.

“He started getting angry. Said everyone was twisting things.”

That was the Ryan you knew.

Not the neat suit.

Not the measured voice.

The man beneath it, furious when his version stopped controlling the room.

“The judge had to tell him to answer the questions,” Garrett continued. “He argued with the prosecutor twice.”

Logan’s thumb moved over your knuckles.

You pictured the jury watching Ryan’s patience wear thin.

Watching the careful mask slip when someone refused to accept his explanation.

You didn’t feel triumphant.

Mostly, you felt tired.

But somewhere beneath it was relief.

Other people had seen him change too.

It no longer existed only in your memory.

“Did he look at you again?” you asked Logan.

He shook his head.

“I wasn’t there for that part.”

The guilt returned immediately.

“You should’ve stayed.”

Logan’s expression hardened.

“No.”

“But you would’ve seen—”

“I came home because you asked me to.”

“I took you away from something important.”

“You were important.”

The answer stopped you.

Logan turned his body towards you.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Turn asking for help into something you did to me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I chose to come home.”

“But—”

“No.”

His voice remained gentle, but firm.

“You gave me the choice. I made it.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

Garrett watched the exchange quietly.

Then he said, “For what it’s worth, I was there.”

You glanced at him.

“And I’ll tell you whatever you decide you need.”

The old Garrett would have told you everything before you could ask.

This one waited.

You squeezed Logan’s hand.

“Was that the end of Ryan’s evidence?”

Garrett nodded.

“The defence might call one more witness tomorrow. Then closing arguments.”

Your stomach sank.

“And after that?”

“The judge gives the jury directions.”

“The verdict.”

“Eventually.”

No one knew how long eventually would be.

Hours.

Days.

Long enough for every possible outcome to grow teeth inside your mind.

You leaned back into the sofa.

“I thought him admitting it would feel better.”

Garrett’s expression softened.

“What does it feel like?”

You thought about it.

“Like I wasn’t wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

“I know.”

This time, the words felt slightly more believable.

You looked at your brother.

“I know.”

Garrett’s face changed.

Only slightly.

Enough.

Logan lifted your hand and pressed his lips against your knuckles.

Ryan had spent the morning trying to turn every deliberate choice into an accident.

But accidents didn’t require burner phones.

Concern didn’t require hiding.

Care didn’t require hundreds of photographs taken from across the road.

And for one moment under questioning, Ryan had been forced to admit the thing you had known all along.

He understood you were afraid.

He had not stopped.

He had used it.

Masterlist

Summary: You were stranded at the library in the pouring rain, the last shuttle bus had left just as you got there, you text your brother, Garrett Graham, if he could pick you up after practice. You'll never guess who he sends instead.

Warnings: panic attack aftermath, court

Garrett called just after two.

By then, the film had ended and Dean had started another one without asking. You couldn’t have said what either had been about. Something involving cars, explosions and a man surviving several injuries that should have killed him.

Your attention had remained on the phone beside you.

Every time the screen lit up, your stomach tightened.

Most of the notifications were harmless. An email from one of your lecturers. A message from Hannah asking whether you needed anything. A reminder about a library book you had already returned.

None of them were Garrett.

Until finally, his name appeared.

The sight of it made you sit upright so quickly that the blanket slid from your legs.

Dean reached for the remote and muted the television. Tucker stopped halfway through carrying empty mugs into the kitchen.

You answered immediately.

“Hey.”

For a second, all you could hear was breathing.

Then Garrett said, “They’re calling me in.”

His voice sounded steadier than it had earlier.

Not calm.

Prepared.

There was a difference.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Right here.”

You heard movement, followed by Logan’s quieter voice in the background.

“I’m here.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders.

Garrett cleared his throat.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“That’s okay.”

“They said they’ll start with when you and Ryan were together. Then Mason.”

You pulled the blanket back over your legs, needing something around you.

“Are you scared?”

A small laugh came through the phone.

It held no humour.

“Yeah.”

Garrett almost never admitted fear before it had already turned into anger. Hearing it now made your chest ache.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I know.”

He paused.

“I keep thinking they’re going to ask why I didn’t see it.”

“They probably will.”

“I know.”

“And you tell them the truth.”

Garrett was silent for a moment.

“That I trusted the wrong person?”

“That Mason lied to you.”

“I still believed him instead of asking you.”

The guilt in his voice was so familiar now that you could almost picture the exact expression on his face.

Jaw tight.

Eyes lowered.

One hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“You did ask me sometimes,” you said.

“Not enough.”

“I lied to you too.”

“Because you were frightened.”

“And you believed Mason because you thought he was your friend.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No.”

You wouldn’t give him empty forgiveness just because he was scared. Garrett had made mistakes. Some of them had hurt you deeply.

But mistakes were not the same as intention.

That distinction had become one of the most important things you had learned.

“You should’ve kept asking,” you said.

“I know.”

“You should’ve come over when I stopped answering.”

“I know.”

“You should’ve trusted that something was wrong, even when I told you it wasn’t.”

His breathing hitched faintly.

“I know.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat.

“So tell them that.”

Garrett went quiet.

“You don’t have to make yourself look like the perfect brother,” you continued. “You weren’t.”

“Ouch.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“You’re still annoying.”

“Better.”

“But you loved me.”

His breathing changed again.

“You were manipulated too.”

The corridor noise on his end of the call seemed to fade.

“And you came when I finally told you the truth.”

“I should’ve come before.”

“Probably.”

Garrett laughed once, quietly.

Then you said, “But you’re here now.”

The words sat between you.

Not absolution.

Not an erasure of everything that had happened.

Just truth.

Garrett had arrived late to parts of your pain.

He had still arrived.

“I’m here now,” he repeated.

“Tell them that too.”

A door opened somewhere near him.

Someone spoke softly, too far from the phone for you to understand.

Garrett exhaled.

“That’s me.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Okay.”

“I’ll call when it’s done.”

“You don’t have to call straight away.”

“I will.”

“Garrett.”

“I know what you mean.”

His voice softened.

“If I need a minute, I’ll take one.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Then, more quietly, he asked, “Are you proud of me?”

The question almost broke you.

It sounded nothing like Garrett Graham, the confident hockey player who believed he could handle anything if he hit it hard enough.

It sounded like your brother.

The boy who used to sit outside your bedroom after your parents argued.

The teenager who burned toast every Mother’s Day and insisted it was meant to be that dark.

The person who had failed you in places and loved you through all of them.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

Garrett breathed out slowly.

“Okay.”

Logan’s voice appeared faintly in the background.

“Ready?”

“No,” Garrett replied.

Then, after a beat, “But let’s go.”

The call ended.

You held the phone against your chest for several seconds.

Dean remained beside you, silent.

Tucker placed the mugs on the coffee table rather than carrying them away.

Neither asked what had been said.

Eventually, Dean nudged your foot beneath the blanket.

“He’ll do okay.”

“I know.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I don’t know what okay means in there.”

Dean considered that.

“Maybe it just means he tells the truth and comes home.”

You looked at him.

His expression was unusually serious.

“That’s what you did.”

Your throat tightened.

“I had a panic attack in the car park.”

“After you told the truth.”

“I cried through half my evidence.”

“While telling the truth.”

“I nearly threw up on Logan.”

Dean’s mouth twitched.

“That would’ve improved his suit.”

You laughed weakly.

Dean reached for the remote and lowered the volume even though the television was already muted.

“You keep treating everything that happened afterwards like it cancels out what you did inside.”

You looked down at your hands.

“It doesn’t.”

“No.”

He leaned back against the sofa.

“It just means doing something hard was hard.”

The simplicity of it caught you off guard.

You stared at him.

Dean frowned.

“What?”

“That was surprisingly intelligent.”

“I’m deeply intelligent.”

“You asked how many Fast and Furious films there were this morning.”

“They keep making them without consulting me.”

Tucker returned to the kitchen, muttering something about Dean being beyond help.

You smiled, but your eyes stayed on the dark phone screen.

Garrett was inside now.

Sitting in the same witness box.

Looking at the same crooked clock.

Answering questions about the same years that had already been pulled apart in front of strangers.

There was nothing you could do for him from the hockey house.

You hated that.

Then you remembered what you had asked from him so many times.

Stay.

Wait.

Trust me to speak for myself.

So you did the same for him.

—

Garrett’s testimony began with your childhood.

That was the part he hadn’t expected.

The prosecutor asked how close the two of you had been growing up. Garrett answered that you had fought constantly, which earned a small ripple of laughter from the gallery.

Then he added that he had still checked your bedroom every night after your mother died.

The laughter disappeared.

Logan sat behind him in the public gallery, close enough that Garrett knew he was there but far enough that turning around would have been obvious.

He didn’t look back.

He kept his eyes on the prosecutor.

“Did your relationship with your sister change while she was dating the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Garrett swallowed.

“She stopped calling.”

“Entirely?”

“Not at first.”

He rested both hands against the front of the witness box.

“She’d call and then say she had to go after a couple of minutes. Or she’d cancel plans. Eventually she stopped answering altogether.”

“Did you ask her why?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“That she was busy. That Ryan needed her. That I was making things difficult.”

The prosecutor paused.

“Did you believe those explanations?”

Garrett looked towards the jury.

“At the beginning.”

“What changed?”

“I started noticing she didn’t sound like herself.”

“In what way?”

The question made him hesitate.

How did you explain that someone could use the same voice and still sound completely different?

“She used to argue with me.”

A faint smile touched the prosecutor’s mouth.

“And she stopped?”

“Yeah.”

Garrett’s own mouth tightened.

“I’d ask if she was okay and she’d say yes straight away. Like she’d practised it. She’d agree with whatever ended the conversation fastest.”

The prosecutor glanced down at her notes.

“Did you raise your concerns with anyone else?”

“Mason Cole.”

The name changed the air around him.

Garrett’s hands tightened against the wooden rail.

“Why Mason?”

“He was my friend. He spent time with Ryan. I thought he’d tell me if something was wrong.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That my sister was happy.”

Garrett’s voice turned flat.

“That Ryan was good to her. That they argued because she was stubborn and I made it worse whenever I interfered.”

“Did you accept that?”

“Yes.”

The admission hurt.

He let it.

“I wanted to believe it.”

“Why?”

“Because the other possibility meant my sister was in trouble and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

The prosecutor allowed the silence to sit.

Garrett stared at the clock on the wall.

Crooked.

You had told him about it afterwards. How you used it to keep yourself grounded.

He understood now.

“Did you stop checking on her?” the prosecutor asked.

“Not completely.”

“But less frequently?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Mason said I was damaging her relationship.”

Garrett’s throat tightened.

“He said every time I confronted Ryan, my sister paid for it afterwards.”

The prosecutor’s expression sharpened.

“Did he explain what he meant by that?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“That they fought because I made Ryan feel unwelcome.”

Garrett shook his head faintly.

“I thought staying away was helping.”

The shame threatened to rise.

He pressed his feet firmly against the floor.

Blue carpet.

Grey marks.

The same ones you had counted.

“I was wrong,” he said.

The prosecutor looked towards him.

“About what?”

“Staying away.”

His voice cracked.

“It didn’t help her. It helped Ryan.”

—

The questioning moved to the day you finally left.

Garrett described the missed calls.

The panic when you didn’t answer.

The conversation with Mason.

“How did Mason respond when you told him your sister had left the defendant?”

“He said Ryan didn’t know where she was.”

“Was that true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Mason offer to help find her?”

“Yes.”

Garrett gave a humourless laugh.

“He said he’d ask around.”

“Did he later provide you with any information?”

“No.”

“Did your sister eventually contact you?”

“Yes.”

Garrett’s voice softened.

“She called from a motel.”

“Did she tell you where it was?”

“Not until I promised I wouldn’t bring anyone else.”

“Why did she make you promise that?”

“Because she thought I’d bring Ryan.”

The words struck with the same force now as they had then.

The prosecutor stopped.

“She believed you might bring the defendant to her location?”

“She thought I’d confront him and he’d follow me.”

Garrett looked down.

“She didn’t trust me to keep her safe.”

“That upset you?”

“Yes.”

“Was she wrong?”

The question was careful.

Garrett answered honestly.

“No.”

A murmur moved faintly through the room.

Garrett continued before he could lose his nerve.

“I would’ve gone after him.”

He looked towards the jury.

“I would’ve made it about what I wanted to do to Ryan instead of what she needed from me.”

The prosecutor remained still.

“And what did she need?”

“For me to come alone.”

His fingers loosened slightly around the rail.

“So I did.”

—

Ryan’s barrister stood after the break.

Garrett had spent the fifteen minutes outside with Logan.

Neither of them spoke much.

Logan bought him water from a machine in the corridor, and Garrett drank half before realising his hand was shaking.

“You don’t have to hide that,” Logan said.

Garrett looked at the bottle.

“I’m not.”

“You’re squeezing it like it insulted your mother.”

Garrett loosened his grip.

“You heard her in there.”

It wasn’t a question.

Logan nodded.

“All of it?”

“Most.”

Garrett looked towards the closed courtroom door.

“How did she do that?”

Logan understood what he meant.

How had you stood there while someone asked why you hadn’t left earlier?

How had you heard Ryan call you dramatic and still finished?

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted.

Garrett gave him a tired look.

“That’s helpful.”

“She was terrified.”

“I know.”

“She did it terrified.”

Garrett looked down at the water bottle again.

“You can too.”

The usher opened the door before Garrett could answer.

—

Ryan’s barrister began exactly where Garrett expected.

“You have described yourself as a protective older brother.”

“Yes.”

“Some might say overprotective.”

Garrett glanced towards Ryan before stopping himself.

“Probably.”

“You disliked the defendant from the beginning.”

“No.”

The barrister lifted one eyebrow.

“You approved of him?”

“At first.”

“So when did your opinion change?”

“When my sister started disappearing from my life.”

“Did you blame the defendant for that?”

“I suspected him.”

“Before having any evidence.”

“I knew my sister.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

“No. I didn’t have evidence.”

“You confronted the defendant on several occasions.”

“Yes.”

“Threatened him.”

“Yes.”

“Attempted to intimidate him.”

“I told him to stay away from my sister.”

The barrister looked down at his papers.

“You told him, and I quote, that you would break every bone in his body.”

Garrett felt Logan go still somewhere behind him.

“Yes.”

“You accept that is a threat of serious violence.”

“Yes.”

“Did you intend to carry it out?”

The prosecutor shifted.

Garrett stared at the barrister.

At another point in his life, pride might have made him say yes.

Might have made him believe admitting restraint meant weakness.

He thought of you in the driveway, asking him to be your brother instead of your bodyguard.

“No.”

The barrister paused.

“You didn’t?”

“I wanted him to believe I would.”

“So you attempted to frighten him.”

“Yes.”

The admission sounded ugly.

Garrett didn’t soften it.

“Would it be fair to say you were hostile towards the defendant before these allegations were investigated?”

“Yes.”

“Would it also be fair to say you encouraged your sister to view him negatively?”

“No.”

“No?”

“She was already scared of him.”

“According to her.”

“According to the way she reacted every time his name came up.”

The barrister tilted his head.

“You are not a psychologist.”

“No.”

“You cannot interpret another person’s physical reactions with any clinical certainty.”

“No.”

“So your belief that she was frightened was merely your interpretation.”

Garrett’s anger stirred.

He felt it in his chest.

In his jaw.

In the urge to speak faster and louder.

Instead, he looked at the crooked clock.

One second.

Then another.

“I watched my sister stop eating whenever he was around.”

The barrister’s expression didn’t shift.

“I watched her apologise before she’d even done anything.”

Garrett kept his voice level.

“I watched her check her phone every thirty seconds and panic if she missed a call.”

His throat tightened.

“I didn’t need a qualification to know something was wrong.”

The courtroom fell quiet.

The barrister turned a page.

“You say Mason Cole misled you.”

“Yes.”

“Mason is now giving evidence for the prosecution in exchange for consideration in his own case.”

“I know.”

“He is therefore motivated to minimise his responsibility.”

“Probably.”

The barrister looked up, apparently surprised by the answer.

Garrett continued.

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t lie to me.”

“But it means his evidence should be treated cautiously.”

“That’s for the jury.”

A small sound came from the gallery.

Quickly suppressed.

The judge looked towards Garrett.

“Please confine yourself to answering counsel’s questions.”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

Garrett almost heard your voice telling him not to be a smartass.

It helped.

—

Then the barrister asked the question Garrett had been dreading.

“You have repeatedly said you should have recognised what was happening.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you did not.”

“No.”

“You were, by your own account, extremely close to your sister.”

“Yes.”

“Closer than anyone else?”

“At the time, I thought so.”

“Yet she never disclosed any abuse to you during the relationship.”

“No.”

“She actively denied it.”

“Yes.”

“She told you the defendant treated her well.”

“Yes.”

“She asked you to stop interfering.”

“Yes.”

The barrister paused.

“Is it possible that you now feel guilty for failing to prevent the breakdown of your relationship with your sister?”

Garrett looked down at the rail.

“Yes.”

“Is it possible that guilt has influenced the way you interpret past events?”

The trap was obvious.

If he said no, he looked defensive.

If he said yes, the barrister would use it to undermine everything.

Garrett took a breath.

“It’s possible guilt changes some things.”

The barrister waited.

“But it didn’t write Ryan’s messages to Mason.”

A faint tension entered the room.

“It didn’t install the software on her phone.”

Garrett’s voice shook, but he didn’t stop.

“It didn’t take the photographs.”

“Mr Graham—”

“And it didn’t make my sister afraid.”

The barrister’s mouth tightened.

“I suggest that your guilt has led you to support allegations against a man you already disliked.”

Garrett stared at him.

“No.”

“You wish to repair your relationship with your sister.”

“Of course.”

“And agreeing with her account assists you in doing so.”

Garrett’s anger rose again.

This time, beneath it, there was something steadier.

Understanding.

The barrister thought belief was a gift Garrett had chosen to give you.

Something convenient.

Negotiated.

He didn’t understand that believing you had cost Garrett the version of himself he preferred.

The good brother.

The protector.

The one who would always know.

“I don’t believe her because it makes me look good,” Garrett said.

The barrister paused.

“It makes me look terrible.”

His voice broke.

Garrett let it.

“I believe her because she’s telling the truth.”

He looked towards the jury.

“I should’ve seen it. I didn’t. That’s something I have to live with.”

His eyes burned.

“But I’m not going to make her carry my shame by pretending she’s wrong.”

The courtroom stayed completely silent.

Garrett looked at the clock again.

The second hand continued moving.

So did he.

—

He returned to the hockey house shortly after six.

You heard the front door open from the living room.

The television was playing quietly, but no one had been watching for the last hour. Dean had gone into the kitchen to start dinner. Tucker had set the table, then reset it after deciding the plates were too close together.

You stood before Garrett appeared in the doorway.

Logan came in behind him.

One look at your brother’s face told you everything.

His eyes were bloodshot.

His tie had been pulled loose.

He looked more exhausted than you had after your own testimony.

Neither of you spoke.

Garrett dropped his jacket onto the nearest chair.

Then he opened his arms.

You crossed the room.

He caught you against him, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades.

For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything.

Then his breath broke.

“I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes.

“For what part?”

A wet laugh left him.

“All of it.”

You held him tighter.

“I heard your voice in my head.”

You pulled back slightly.

“That sounds terrible.”

“It was incredibly annoying.”

A small smile touched your mouth.

Garrett wiped beneath one eye.

“His barrister asked if I believed you because I felt guilty.”

Your smile disappeared.

“What did you say?”

Garrett looked towards Logan briefly.

Then back at you.

“I said guilt didn’t create the evidence.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I said believing you makes me look terrible.”

“Garrett—”

“It does.”

His voice stayed gentle.

“I missed things.”

His eyes filled again.

“I listened to Mason when I should’ve listened to you.”

You reached for his hand.

“But you told them?”

“Everything.”

“The motel?”

He nodded.

“The calls?”

Another nod.

“What Mason said?”

“Yes.”

You swallowed.

“And when they asked why I believe you…”

Garrett’s fingers closed around yours.

“I told them I believe you because you’re telling the truth.”

The room blurred.

You pulled him back into the hug before the tears could fall properly.

Garrett rested his cheek against your hair.

“Did I do okay?”

The same question he had asked before going in.

Only now it carried the weight of everything he had said under oath.

You nodded against him.

“You did more than okay.”

A quiet laugh moved through his chest.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

You smiled through your tears.

“Because it’s true.”

Behind him, Logan stood near the doorway, tired and quiet, watching the two of you without intruding.

You held one hand out.

He looked surprised.

Then he crossed the room and took it.

He didn’t join the hug completely.

He simply stood beside you, his fingers threaded through yours while Garrett held you.

The trial wasn’t over.

Ryan’s defence still had evidence to give.

Closing arguments would come.

Then the jury.

More waiting.

More uncertainty.

But tonight, Garrett had walked into the same room that had nearly broken you and told the truth about every way he had failed.

He had not hidden behind anger.

He had not tried to make himself the hero.

He had simply stood there as your brother.

Exactly where you had asked him to stand.