FAZER LOGINNOT BROTHERS Rhys and Bash were raised as brothers, bound together by a childhood, neither of them remembers and a dependence neither of them knows how to escape. They share a home, a history, and a bond that has always felt stronger than anything else in their lives. But when Bash meets Julian—a kind, uncomplicated man who makes him feel free—something inside, Rhys begins to unravel. At first, Rhys’s jealousy looks like a concern. His interference looks like protection. His control hides behind years of knowing exactly what Bash needs. Until Bash starts questioning the things Rhys has always made him believe. Because Rhys has never seen Bash as someone he could lose. He has seen him as someone who belongs to him. And if keeping Bash means destroying every chance he has at a life beyond their shared walls, Rhys is prepared to do exactly that. They were raised as brothers. But what happens when love becomes something? Neither of them can call innocent anymore?
Ver maisUnlabeled POV: Bash "You're rubbing your neck again." I dropped my hand from my throat so fast my knuckle hit the edge of the kitchen table with a dull crack. Rhys was standing by the sink, rinsing a glass, his back to me, but he didn't need eyes to catch every tiny glitch in my skin. "It's nothing," I said, which wasn't true, but it was the only word small enough to hand him without handing him everything else underneath it. My coffee had gone cold in the mug in front of me, a thin skin forming on top that I kept meaning to stir away and kept forgetting to. I traced the collar of my shirt instead, the seam scratching faintly against a spot on my throat that felt more sensitive than it had any logical reason to feel. Four stitches along that seam. Five. I counted them without meaning to, the same way I always did when my brain needed somewhere quiet to put itself instead of where it actually wanted to go. I wasn't going to think about his hand. I wasn't going to think about the
A Good Meal POV: Rhys "Sit down before you wear a hole in the floorboards." I didn't look up from the cutting board when I said it, the heavy chef's knife coming down against the wood in rhythmic, clean thuds. Bash was still standing by the hallway threshold, his jacket half-unzipped, looking like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. "I'm fine," he said, which was a lie, the kind he told out of habit more than conviction. "Jacket off, Bash. You're home now." He didn't move at first. I kept working — onions, then peppers, the knife finding its rhythm against the board while the pan on the stove behind me started to warm. I'd started cooking the second I heard the front door not open, the second his footsteps hadn't carried him out into whatever night he'd planned for himself. "You didn't even ask what happened," he said, sitting anyway, some reflex older than his own resistance. "You'll tell me if you want to." I scraped the peppers into the pan, and they hissed
The Collar ButtonPOV: Bash"Third time you've retied those laces, Bash."I didn't look up from the edge of the mattress. My fingers frozen on the black cord. Rhys was leaning against the doorframe, his shoulder blocking half the light from the hallway, his voice entirely devoid of inflexion."They keep coming loose," I said, which wasn't true, not really. I just needed something to do with my hands that wasn't checking the clock for the fourth time in two minutes.I stood up, smoothed down the front of my shirt, and caught myself doing the collar button thing again — undo, redo, undo, redo, three times exactly, because three felt safe and two felt unfinished and four felt like I was drawing attention to the fact that I was doing it at all. I checked my sleeves next, cuffs even, cuffs even, a habit that had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with needing my hands to land on something solid before my brain could spiral any further.The shirt was new. Well, not new, just un
Risk ManagementPOV: Rhys"He was practically glowing when he took the Friday shift off."Eric didn't mean anything by it. He was just leaning against the doorway of the security office, swinging his keys, talking about the shift schedule like he hadn't just placed a bomb on my desk."Who," I said. Not a question. A demand disguised as one."That new guy from the diner. Julian. Asked off Friday specific." Eric shrugged, already moving on to the next line item on his clipboard. "Guess he's got a date or something. Good for him."I didn't respond. My hand stayed exactly where it had been, flat on the desk, and something in the room dropped a few degrees that had nothing to do with the thermostat. Eric kept talking — something about overtime, something about the weekend roster — and I heard none of it. I was already three steps ahead, running the math.Friday. Bash had said five o'clock, same as always, no lunch plans yet decided. That had been a lie. A small one, a careful one, the kind












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