AVERY'S POV

The room fell into complete silence. Every single pair of eyes locked onto Rick the moment he stepped in, his presence sucking the air out of the place. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The weight of his stare was enough to make most men shrink. But not Thomas.

Thomas smirked, leaning back like he owned the fucking place. "Well, look who finally decided to show up. What, Rick? Took you this long to crawl out of whatever hellhole you came from?"

That did it.

The rage that had been simmering in my veins exploded. Before I even realized it, I lunged at Thomas again, my fist flying toward his smug face.

"Fucking bastard!"

I didn't care about anything else right now. Not the people in the room. Not the consequences. All I wanted was to shut him up. To make him pay for every damn word that had come out of his filthy mouth tonight.

Rick moved fast, stepping between us before I could do more damage. His arm hooked around my waist, pulling me back, but I fought against him, my body twisting in his grip.

And then—

Thomas opened his mouth again.

"Feisty little thing. Wonder if you moan just as loud when—"

I didn't hear the rest.

Rick's hands vanished from my waist. He let go.

Just like that. No restraint. No warning.

I didn't waste a second. My fist slammed into Thomas's face, hard enough that he staggered back, cursing. The satisfaction of hearing his pained grunt fueled me, and I moved to hit him again, but suddenly, I was lifted off the ground.

Rick's arms locked around me, dragging me away as I thrashed against him.

"Let me go!"

I screamed, my hands clawing at his grip, but he didn't budge. Not even a little. He carried me out of the room, ignoring my kicks, my struggles—hell, even the venom spilling from my mouth.

His grip stayed firm. Dominating. Unshaken.

As Rick carried me out, my eyes flickered toward the others. Fred stood frozen, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. His mouth was slightly open, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Bryce, on the other hand, looked impressed as hell. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze shifting between me and Thomas, like he was mentally replaying the punch in slow motion for his own entertainment.

And then there was George—his face twisted in disbelief, hands pressed to his temples as if he had a goddamn headache. His eyes darted to Rick, then back to me, and I swore I saw his lips move in a silent What the actual fuck?

None of them dared to step in.

Not with Rick like this.

Not with the way his grip never loosened, his expression unreadable as he dragged me down the hall.

I barely registered the sound of a door slamming before I was thrown onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to shut me up. I pushed myself up, breathless, still fueled by adrenaline, but Rick was already there—looming over me, his face unreadable, his eyes dark as the fucking abyss.

"What the fuck happened?"

I swallowed hard, my chest still rising and falling from the fight. I couldn't look away from him.

"Thomas," I muttered, my voice hoarse.

"He—he told me things. About you. Your past. How you were as a kid."

Rick stiffened.

The shift was subtle, but I caught it. His jaw locked, his fingers twitched at his sides. For the first time since I had met him, he looked... shaken.

Without a word, he turned to leave.

No.

I shot forward, grabbing his wrist before he could escape, before he could bury this like he did everything else.

He stopped and turned around.

I stepped closer, my chest rising and falling in sync with his. My fingers twitched before I finally reached up, brushing my hand against his cheek. His skin was warm, rough from his stubble, and solid beneath my touch. But he didn't move. Didn't say a damn thing. Just stood there, watching me like he was daring me to keep going.

So, I did.

My fingers traced the sharp edge of his jaw, dragging lower, softer, until my thumb skimmed over his lips.

His breath hitched. Just for a second. But I felt it.

His lips parted slightly under my touch, the warmth of them making my stomach tighten. His gaze was locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, but I could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the restraint in his stance.

I leaned in, slow, deliberate.

Close enough for our breaths to mix.

Close enough to make him think I was actually going to do it.

His hands twitched at his sides, his whole body locked in place, waiting. I could feel the heat rolling off him, the silent challenge in his stance.

And just when he thought I would close the distance—

I didn't.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Rick didn't react at first. He stayed rigid, unmoving, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"I don't think I ever thanked you till now," I whispered against his chest, my voice soft. "So... yeah. And thanks for the flowers."

For a second, I thought he was going to push me away.

But then, just barely, I felt it. The way his muscles loosened, the way his arms, hesitantly at first, but then fully, wrapped around me. He didn't speak. Didn't move.

He just stayed there, holding me.

As I held onto him, something in my chest ached.

Thomas's words replayed in my head, each one cutting deeper now that I had seen Rick like this—still, quiet, unreadable, but not unaffected. No matter how much he tried to hide it, I knew. I felt it.

He had been through hell. Not just now, not just tonight, but for years. Probably his whole damn life. And the way Thomas spoke about it—mocking, cruel—like Rick was nothing. Like he wasn't even human.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I tightened my arms around him, pressing myself closer.

Not because I wanted comfort.

But because he deserved it.

I didn't know how long we stood like that, but eventually, I pulled away.

His expression was unreadable again, but his eyes—God, his eyes—held something softer. Something I couldn't quite place.

I swallowed, forcing a small smile.

"Good night, Rick."

He didn't reply. Just lingered for a moment longer before finally turning around and walking out of my room.

Leaving me standing there, heart racing, thoughts a mess.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Rick's POV)

I stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click. The house wasn't silent—not completely. The faint sounds of movement, low murmurs, and the occasional rustling of fabric reached my ears.

They were still there.

As I walked down the hall, I found them exactly where I had left them—Fred, Bryce, George... and Thomas.

Fred was crouched beside him, pressing a wad of tissue to his busted lip, his expression somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. Bryce sat on the armrest of the couch, arms crossed, while George stood off to the side, rubbing his temples like he still couldn't process what the fuck had just happened.

And Thomas?

Thomas just grinned the moment he saw me.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice muffled slightly by the blood on his lip. "Looks like the girl's got a soft spot for you." His eyes glinted with something smug, something knowing. "Did you see the way she jumped at me?"

I didn't say anything. Just stared.

Thomas chuckled, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He winced slightly but didn't stop smirking. "And guess what? I think the stone-faced Rick also has a soft spot for her." He turned to the others, his amusement growing. "Did you guys notice that? He let her hit me when I slut-shamed her."

Bryce let out a small huff of laughter. Fred smirked. George sighed like he wanted to evaporate from existence.

I just rolled my eyes and kept walking.

I wasn't in the mood for this.

By the time I reached my room and shut the door behind me, the tension that had been gripping my chest only tightened.

Fuck.

I pressed a hand to my face, exhaling slowly. My body was still on edge, my mind still racing. But not because of the fight. Not because of Thomas.

Because of her.

Avery.

For a moment back there, I thought she was going to kiss me.

She had leaned in, her fingers tracing my jaw, her thumb brushing against my lips. Her eyes locked onto mine, unreadable, dark, pulling me into something I wasn't ready for.

I had felt the warmth of her breath, the quiet tension in the space between us, and for the first time in a long time, I fucking wanted it.

And then she didn't.

She hugged me instead.

That was worse.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

Because fuck—why did that hug feel like it mattered more than a damn kiss?

It had been twenty fucking years.

Twenty years since anyone had hugged me like that.

Since anyone had held me like that.

Not since my mom.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

I had spent years keeping people at arm's length, making damn sure no one got close enough to touch me—physically, emotionally, any of it. And yet, she had just walked right past every single fucking wall I had put up and hugged me like—like she actually meant it.

Like she actually saw me.

I exhaled sharply, trying to shake off whatever the hell this was.

And then another thought crept in.

Avery had thanked me.

For the flowers.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

She knew.

How the hell did she figure it out?

I didn't give any hints. I didn't tell her shit.

Unless...

My eyes narrowed.

Bryce.

That bastard must've told her.

I closed my eyes, the weight of the night pressing down on me.

That hug. That thank you. That goddamn moment.

I didn't know what to do with it.

Didn't know what to do with her.

But I knew exactly what to do with Bryce.

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