The Accusations
1445 Words
~ Alyssa ~
There’s something about the early morning silence that feels heavier when you haven’t slept.
The sky outside is soft grey, the house still, but my mind won’t stop.
Greyson texted hours ago — “Don’t wait up.”
Which, in his language, never means everything’s fine.
The tea in my hands has gone cold. I’m just staring at the steam that isn’t there anymore when the front door opens.
He’s standing there — hair messy, knuckles raw, jaw tight.
And I know.
“Please tell me,” I whisper, “you didn’t do something stupid.”
He exhales slowly, setting his keys down. “Depends on your definition of stupid.”
“Greyson,” I warn.
He meets my eyes, no point pretending. “Mark broke into Triston’s house last night.”
The world tips.
My breath catches, and the mug slips from my hands, shattering on the floor.
“He—what?”
“He thought you were there.” Greyson steps closer, voice low and steady. “He was going to take you, Alyssa.”
For a moment, everything inside me freezes.
He reaches me before my knees give out, arms wrapping around me, grounding me in his warmth and heartbeat and the faint scent of smoke.
“He didn’t get the chance,” he murmurs. “Triston and the guys were there. We stopped him.”
I swallow hard. “You mean you beat the hell out of him.”
Greyson gives a tight, humourless smile. “Among other things.”
“God, Greyson…” I press a hand to my face, tears slipping free before I can stop them. “He could’ve killed you.”
He tilts my chin up. “He didn’t. And he won’t touch you again. Ever.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper.
“I keep this one,” he says — and the quiet conviction in his voice breaks something in me.
He kisses my forehead, the kind of kiss that’s more reassurance than affection.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “That’s all that matters.”
It’s barely an hour later when the front door opens again.
Triston.
He looks like he’s been dragged through a wall — split lip, bruise blooming across his cheek, one knuckle hastily bandaged.
But the second he sees me, his whole expression softens.
“Hey, little sister.”
I’m off the sofa before he finishes, hugging him tight.
“You absolute i***t,” I mumble against his chest. “You could’ve been hurt.”
He laughs, wincing slightly. “Pretty sure I was.”
“Not funny,” I scold, smacking his shoulder.
“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll let you be the dramatic one this time.”
“You always let me be the dramatic one.”
“It’s easier that way.”
Then his grin fades. His eyes sweep over me — from my messy bun to the silk pyjama set I forgot I was wearing.
Then lower.
Oh, no.
He tilts his head. “Alyssa…”
“Don’t,” I warn immediately, taking a step back.
Greyson, of course, is grinning like the cat that got the cream.
Triston crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “Why do you look… rounder?”
I take another step back. “I don’t.”
“Alyssa.”
“Don’t say it.”
He takes one step forward, suspicious now. “Are you—”
Before he can finish the word, I dart behind Greyson like a startled cat, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and using him as a human shield.
“Absolutely not!” I blurt, peeking around Greyson’s shoulder. “You stop that line of questioning right now!”
Greyson’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. “Alyssa, love—”
“Nope!” I hiss, pressing a hand to his back to keep him firmly between me and my brother. “You’re my wall. Do your job.”
Triston folds his arms, amused. “You’re hiding behind him? Really?”
“Yes!” I squeak. “Because you look like you’re about to lecture me, and I don’t have the energy for it!”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is pure big-brother disbelief. “So that’s a yes, then?”
Greyson snickers, utterly no help. “She’s thirty-five weeks, to be exact.”
“THIRTY-FIVE—” Triston starts, but I hiss like a cat.
“Shhhh! The girls are asleep!” I whisper-yell, clutching Greyson’s shirt tighter. “Volume, Triston!”
He stares at me like I’ve told him gravity’s optional. Then the math hits him — the months of exhaustion, fainting, Markus’s constant confusion.
“Wait,” he says slowly, eyes widening. “So all those months when you were constantly sick, Markus was losing his mind running tests, and we thought it was some rare virus—”
“Yeah,” I mutter, peeking around Greyson’s shoulder. “Turns out it was a very common case of baby.”
Triston blinks. Once. Twice.
Then bursts into laughter so loud it makes Greyson lose it too.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he wheezes. “You were Markus’s medical mystery! He called me once and said, ‘Triston, if I can’t figure this out, I’m retiring early!’”
“Not funny!” I shout, smacking Greyson’s back from behind. “I didn’t know!”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Triston manages between fits of laughter. “You were throwing up every morning, fainting at fittings, living off Lucozade and chocolate fingers, and you didn’t think maybe—just maybe—there was a baby involved?”
I throw my hands up. “Excuse me! Markus made me take five pregnancy tests — five! All negative! Don’t blame me, blame science!”
Greyson’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over. “She’s not wrong.”
Triston’s eyes go wide. “Five?”
“Yes!” I snap. “All negative! I was basically the poster child for medical confusion!”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head. “God help this child.”
“You’re not funny.”
“A little bit,” he says with a smirk.
I glare from behind Greyson. “You’re meant to be on my side!”
“I’m your brother,” he says, crossing his arms. “Teasing’s literally my job.”
“Then you’re fired,” I mutter.
Greyson, still laughing, wraps an arm behind him and pulls me slightly forward. “You’re safe, love. He’s stopped puffing up like an angry bear.”
Triston smirks. “Future dad’s protective already, huh?”
Greyson freezes mid-breath, looks at him, then at me. “Future dad?”
“Well,” Triston says, “you are the reason she’s glowing.”
I groan, hiding my face against Greyson’s back. “Triston!”
He shrugs, chuckling. “Hey, if I have to live with the mental image of my little sister being pregnant, you can suffer my humour.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, baby sis.”
By the time the laughter fades, the tension does too.
Triston’s grin softens, and there’s pride there — the kind that only comes from relief.
“You’re okay, though?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Tired. But yeah. Okay.”
He exhales, slow and shaky. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Greyson slips a hand to my stomach, rubbing small circles there, and Triston’s teasing finally melts into something gentler.
“She’s happy,” Greyson says quietly.
Triston looks between us, then nods once. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Then, of course, he ruins it. “Still can’t believe it took six months and a doctor to figure it out.”
“Get out,” I mutter, laughing despite myself.
He grins. “Fine. But I’m sending Markus a card that says ‘Congratulations on finally solving your own mystery.’”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Already texting him,” he says, walking to the door.
“Triston!”
“Love you!” he calls, grinning as he leaves.
Greyson wraps both arms around me the moment the door shuts.
“Well,” he murmurs, smiling into my hair. “That went better than expected.”
“You mean he didn’t try to kill you?”
“That’s the one.”
I laugh softly, leaning into him. “He's a great uncle. He might stop spoiling them when there's three”
Greyson grins.
“Unlikely,” I sigh, smiling anyway.
And for the first time in a long time — everything feels exactly as it should.
- Writer
