Page 165 of Well That Happened

And more beautiful.

And that terrifies me.

Because love?

That was never part of the equation.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Rilee

I should feel relieved.

Finals are over. The pressure’s off. No more all-nighters or flashcards or crying in bathroom stalls trying to remember the side effects of ACE inhibitors.

But all I feel is… heavy.

Like my bones are made of soaked cotton and my brain is still stuck in test mode, spinning worst-case scenarios on repeat.

What if I failed dosage calculations? What if I bombed my care plan? What if all this effort wasn’t enough?

By the time it’s all over, I’m running on fumes. I try to hide it. Smile. Pretend. But Caleb sees through me in a heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asks gently, brushing a curl from my cheek.

I lie. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hunter calls a house meeting thirty minutes later.

Grayson packs my bag, and Caleb has his keys in hand ten minutes after that.

And now we’re here.

A cabin up north, all dark wood and plaid throw blankets and a fire crackling like it’s been waiting for us. The windows are fogged from the snowstorm rolling in, and the guys are already arguing about board games like it’s their full-time job.

I should feel better.

Instead, I’m curled on the oversized couch, sweater sleeves pulled over my hands, trying not to cry at the smell of hot chocolate.

Hunter notices.

He’s across the room in two strides, crouching in front of me with that rare, fierce tenderness he keeps hidden from the world.

“No one touches her,” he says over his shoulder to the others. “She’s fried. She needs sleep, snacks, and rest.”

“Also a foot rub,” Caleb says, wiggling his fingers like jazz hands. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“She’s not a science project,” Hunter mutters, but he’s already tucking a blanket around me.

Grayson appears a minute later with soup. Like, actual soup. In a mug. “No talking unless it’s about how amazing this tomato bisque is.”

I blink at all three of them, overwhelmed in a different way now.

“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur.

“Too bad,” Hunter says, stroking his thumb along my jaw. “You’re stuck with us.”

Later, we pile on the couch—blankets everywhere, board game boxes abandoned for a movie no one’s really watching. The fire pops and glows, casting everything in gold.

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