LOGINHome sweet homeJulian POVYears have passed since the hospital room where we first held our daughters. The twins are five going to six now. Maya and Sophie. Loud and curious and completely impossible to keep still for more than thirty seconds.Maya is fearless. Climbs everything. Questions everything. Challenges me on rules with logic I can't always argue against.Sophie is quieter but equally stubborn. She loves books and drawing. Gets lost in her own world for hours until something—usually Maya—pulls her back to reality.Bryson struggles with lingering pain on bad days. His leg aches when weather changes. Mornings require careful stretching before he can move normally.But he walks easily now. Runs when the girls demand races. Carries both of them on his shoulders despite my protests that they're getting too big for that.I'm away often for games. The team travels more than I'd like. But I always come back. is Always make it home for bedtime stories and weekend breakfasts.Our apa
Something WholeBryson POVI finished my last day as an intern on a Friday afternoon.Walk out of the building with a box of personal items and a strange mixture of satisfaction and disbelief sitting in my chest.Monday, I return as a full-time staff member. The title feels strange in my mouth when people ask what I do now."I work in business development."The words sound like they belong to someone else. Someone older and more put-together.But apparently, they belong to me now.The work itself isn't drastically different. Same desk. Same computer. Same projects I've been managing for months.What changes is how people treat me. Younger workers look to me for answers now. Ask for my opinion during meetings. Request guidance on presentations and client calls.I mentor quietly. Share what I've learned. Take phone calls with steady hands even when imposter syndrome whispers that I have no idea what I'm doing.At night I tell Julian about my day while icing my leg, still necessary after
Building Something RealJulian POVI officially move into Bryson's apartment with one duffel bag and too many feelings I don't know how to name.The space is small. Nothing like the mansion with its sprawling rooms and cold elegance.But it feels real in ways the mansion never did.That first night I barely slept. I lie on the couch staring at the ceiling, listening to Bryson breathe from the bedroom. Every sound makes me tense, is he in pain? Does he need something? Should I check on him?I'm afraid that if I close my eyes too long, this fragile peace between us might disappear. That I'll wake up and find myself back in the mansion with Richard's ultimatums and Helen's rehearsed affection.Morning comes slowly. I hear Bryson moving in his room and I'm on my feet immediately."You okay?" I ask through the door."Yeah. Just getting up."I help him to the bathroom, then to the couch. Begin learning his morning routine through careful observation.I learn how much pain Bryson hides behin
Moving ForwardBryson POVWeeks pass in a blur of medication schedules and physical therapy appointments.Recovery is slow. Brutally slow. Every small improvement feels earned through gritted teeth and determination I didn't know I still possessed.The pain is constant. Some days it's a dull throb I can almost ignore. Other days it's sharp and immediate, stealing my breath when I move wrong.Therapy exhausts me in ways hockey never did. The exercises seem simple, lifting my leg, bending my knee, putting weight on my foot. But each movement requires focus and effort that leaves me drained.Julian stays with me through all of it."You're doing great," he says one afternoon after a particularly brutal session. "Better than yesterday.""Doesn't feel like it.""Trust me. You are."I hate how much I need him. Hate the vulnerability that comes with depending on someone who broke me before. Yet every time Julian smiles, genuine and warm, or quietly reassures me during a difficult moment, I f
Picking Sides Julian POVBryson is finally discharged from the hospital on a gray afternoon when rain threatens to fall but doesn't.He moves slowly, each step taken with caution and pain. The crutches make him clumsy. His face tightens with discomfort every time his weight shifts wrong.The doctor gives lengthy instructions about rest, medication schedules, and physical therapy appointments. He emphasizes that Bryson needs weeks of proper care and constant supervision to heal correctly."You'll need someone with you," the doctor says firmly. "At least for the first two weeks. No stairs. No standing for long periods. Someone needs to monitor you for complications."Bryson's mother immediately offers. "You can stay with us. We have plenty of space and I can…""No." Bryson's voice is quiet but absolute. "I just want to go home. To my apartment.""But honey, the apartment has stairs, and you'll be alone most of the day when I'm at work.""I'll manage."I step forward before I can think
Cracks and openingsBryson POVI spend the days watching Julian from the hospital bed.He's always present. Always helping. He doesn't push for more than I'm willing to give.The steadiness of it unsettles me more than anything else could. I keep waiting for him to slip back into old patterns. To choose his father's approval over me. To prioritize hockey or reputation or anything else.But he doesn't.Julian adjusts blankets when they shift during the night. Tracks my medication times better than the nurses do. Notices every wince of pain before I ever speak a word. Brings me water before I realize I'm thirsty. Small but constant things. Things that show he's paying attention in ways he never did before.I hate that my chest still reacts to him. Hate that my heart feels safer around him, like he's not the one who broke it. Because I remember, remember being broken.My body doesn't care about any of that. It just knows Julian is here now. Present and steady and refusing to leave.The







