Page 128 of Filled

Practicality crashes in after that. Showers get negotiated. My bathroom becomes a diplomatic crisis, Cruz argues seniority, Dakota just walks in while he’s mid-sentence and takes the first one. I find towels I forgot I owned. Eli, half-dressed, scrolls his phone for any place still delivering at this hour and comes up with exactly one option.

“Marino’s. Pizza only.”

“Two larges,” Brady says.

“Three,” Cruz corrects. “Have you met us?”

Forty minutes later we’re crowded around my kitchen table, most of us in nothing but underwear or borrowed shorts, stealing slices off each other’s plates. Cruz eats like it’s a competition. Dakota folds her pizza in half like a lunatic and defends it with her fork when Brady reaches over.

“We had two close calls today,” Eli says between bites. “Cruz’s hand on Dakota’s back during warm-ups. And Brady, you stared at me for a full ten seconds during pad work.”

“You had your sleeves pushed up,” Brady deflects. “That’s entrapment.”

“We need better rules about public contact,” Eli replies.

“We need,” Cruz says, pointing a crust at him, “to accept that we’re five extremely attractive people who are terrible at pretending we don’t want to climb each other every ten minutes, and plan accordingly.”

“That’s not an option,” Eli deadpans.

“Staggered arrival times. Assigned corners of the gym. And I stop looking at Dakota’s ass, which, let the record show, is a sacrificein extreme measure. I’d rather be waterboarded,” Cruz replies.

Dakota throws a wadded napkin at his head. It bounces off his forehead and lands in his water glass, and he stares at it with such genuine betrayal that Brady chokes on his slice.

I sit at the head of my table and watch them. Eli is trying to hold a serious meeting in his boxers, Cruz is fishing a napkin out of his drink, Dakota’s bare foot resting on Brady’s knee under the table, and I feel whole for the first time in my life.

Home isn’t this apartment. It never was. It’s this. These four ridiculous, damaged, extraordinary people choosing each other, every day, in a world that would burn us down for it.

Getting five adults into one king bed is an engineering problem no one warned me about. Cruz’s elbow finds my ribs twice. Dakota’s legs kick like she’s fighting a grizzly bear in her sleep before she’s even asleep, and Brady takes a heel to the shin and accepts it with the grace of a man who’s taken worse in the cage. Eli directs traffic until Cruz tells him to stop coaching the cuddling and flips him the bird.

Eventually we lock into place. Dakota tucked against my chest, her hair tickling my chin. Cruz spooned behind me, his arm a warm weight across my waist. Brady curled into Dakota’s front, and Eli wrapped around Brady from behind, one hand splayed over Brady’s heart.

Their breathing evens out one by one. Cruz first, always. Then Dakota, her heartbeat going slow and steady under my palm. Brady, last of the three, his foot hooked around my ankle beneath the covers, holding on even in sleep.

I lie awake a while longer.

This is real. That’s the thought that keeps circling. Not a phase, not five people burning through an experiment before it burns them. We couldn’t manage one workday apart. We came through that door starving for each other and ended the night arguing about pizza toppings and gym protocols like any family does.

I’m in love with all of them.

The realization doesn’t knock the wind out of me. It’s been building for weeks, brick by brick, and naming it just puts aroof on the thing. I love Cruz’s mouth and the gentleness he hides behind it. I love Eli’s careful hands and dominance. I love Brady’s fire and the softness he’s finally letting out of its cage. I love Dakota’s steel and the way she lays it down for us, piece by piece, like an offering.

None of us have said it out loud. But it’s in this room. The words will come. Soon.

Tomorrow we put the masks back on. Coach and fighters, keeping our hands to ourselves. But tonight, in my bed, in the dark, we get to be exactly what we are.

Family.

27

DAKOTA

Iwake to warmth pressing in from every side.

For a few seconds I don’t know where I am. Just heat and weight and the slow rhythm of breathing that isn’t mine. Then the memory filters back in pieces. Hands, mouths, being filled until there was no room left for fear and I remember. Dante’s bed. All five of us crammed into a mattress built for two.

Dante’s chest rises under my cheek. Cruz curves against my back, one leg thrown over both of us like he’s staking a claim, his face buried in my hair. Brady lies curled in front of Dante, and Eli has Brady wrapped up tight, guarding him.

I don’t move. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, I can soak up a few more minutes with them like this. My hips ache. My thighs ache. There’s a soreness between my legs that sends heat rushing up my neck even now, alone with my own thoughts while four men sleep around me like a wall.