Accidentally Yours Chapter 101

**Lola**

She surfaced slow, the world pressing down heavy and thick like wet wool. Her ribs ached with every breath, her burns itched beneath the gauze, and her throat felt scraped raw—but her head was clearer than before.

The lights were dimmed. The steady beeps and hums of the machines marked time in patient, unrelenting rhythm. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t drifting.

Her lashes fluttered, and she turned her head left.

Enzo.

Even asleep, he looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with the devil. His jaw was bruised, dark stubble shadowing sharp lines that had once seemed untouchable. Purple crescents bruised the skin under his eyes, and both his hands were wrapped in gauze, resting palm-up on the blanket as if he’d been too exhausted to even clench them.

Her chest pulled tight. What had he been doing with those hands? She didn’t need to ask. Enzo’s rage was a storm, and storms always left wreckage behind. He’d torn through the city for her—bled for her, burned for her. She could read it in every line of him, carved into his body like scripture.

She reached weakly for his nearest hand, her fingers trembling as they brushed the gauze. Heat burned her eyes. She’d signed up for this—the chaos, the blood, the danger that came with loving a man like him. She knew who he was, what he carried, and she’d do it again without hesitation.

Because he wasn’t just her protector, her obsession, her ruin. He was hers. And she would walk through fire—hell, she already had—if it meant standing beside him.

Her thumb stroked over his bandaged knuckles, her body aching but her heart hammering with something steady, something certain. This was the cost of being theirs. And it was worth every scar.

She let her gaze linger, memorizing him in this rare, vulnerable stillness, before the pull in her chest dragged her attention the other way.

Slow and aching, she turned her head to the right—

And Nico was already looking at her.

Not watching like he’d been caught. Not guilty, not startled. Just… steady. His blue eyes burned through exhaustion, shadowed by bruises and sleeplessness, but locked onto her like she was the only thing tethering him upright.

His gaze didn’t waver, and when he spoke, every word dragged raw out of him.

“I told myself it was loyalty. That you were family. That I could live with just that.” His voice cracked, rough around the edges, and he swallowed hard. “But the second I thought you were gone… it ripped every lie out of me. Almost losing you made it clear. I love you, Lo. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. As a man who knows he won’t ever love anyone else like this.”

The words hit her chest like a blow. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her throat locked, ribs seizing with pain, and her eyes burned hot until a tear broke free, sliding over her temple into her hair.

Her voice shook. “I used to lie awake wondering what it felt like. To be loved—really loved. Not wanted. Not used. Loved.” Another tear followed, then another, hot streaks cutting through the grime and bruises. “I made up stories in my head, but it was never this. This is better. You and Enzo—” she glanced left, taking in the man sprawled asleep, hand still slack in hers, knuckles wrapped in gauze—“you’ve given me something I didn’t even think existed. And now I don’t know how to be without it. Without you.”

Her hand slid across the sheet, trembling but steady enough to find his. She curled her fingers around his bruised knuckles, clinging like they were the only anchor in a storm. “So you’d better get used to me sticking around. Because I’m not letting go.”

For a long moment he just stared at her, chest rising uneven, jaw tight. Then Nico leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers. His voice was soft, almost reverent, but the faintest smile threaded through it, cocky even with the ache.

“I’m your Huckleberry.”

The words split her wide open. A laugh caught in her throat—wet, broken, but real. It slipped out anyway, tangled with sobs she couldn’t stop. She pressed her eyes shut, let the tears spill free, and whispered back, voice shredded but true:

“Damn right you are.”

The machines hummed steady around them, Enzo’s even breaths anchoring the silence. Lola squeezed Nico’s hand tighter, like she could fuse herself to him in that moment.

And for the first time in her life, broken and stitched and hurting all over, she let herself believe it. She was truly—finally—loved.

**Nico**

Christ. He actually said it.

The words were out there, hanging in the air like a loaded gun with no safety, and for the first time in his life he didn’t want to grab them back. No swallowing, no burying—just truth.

He’d loved her for longer than he could admit, maybe from the moment she’d smacked him with a towel in Enzo’s kitchen and called him a “golden retriever in human form.” He’d laughed it off, because that was what he did—cover the cracks with a grin, pretend everything rolled off his back. But it stuck. She saw him. Not the soldier, not Enzo’s right hand, not the man people assumed had it all figured out. Just Nico.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because letting her see him meant she could hurt him. And after San Diego—after the night he walked her down the pier with her arm looped through his, after she kissed his cheek and laughed like he was enough—he knew he was already ruined.

He told himself it was harmless. That she’d always belong to Enzo, and he’d always stand beside them both. That loyalty was the chain that kept him steady. But when the blast hit, when the air went white and the ground tore itself apart, he’d clawed at concrete with bleeding hands, lungs burning, praying for a miracle he didn’t believe in.

Now she was alive. Broken, but alive. And instead of feeling relief, he felt the terrifying weight of his own honesty pressing down like a blade.

I love you, Lo.

It should’ve wrecked him. Should’ve filled him with guilt, shame, dread of Enzo’s reaction if the words ever found their way to him. But all Nico felt was… lighter. Like he’d been drowning for weeks and only now broke the surface.

And then she answered him—soft, cracked, but true. Not brushing him off. Not laughing it away. She’d let him in. She’d told him he gave her something she never thought she’d have.

That’s when it really hit.

This wasn’t some crush he could outgrow. This wasn’t a passing itch. This was marrow-deep. It was permanent. And if the world tried to rip her from him again, he wasn’t sure what kind of man he’d become on the other side.

Enzo was his brother. Lola was his heart. The contradiction should’ve torn him apart. Instead, it anchored him. Like maybe—just maybe—there was a way to be both. To love her without betraying either of them. To fight for her in whatever shape it took, even if it killed him.

He leaned his head back against the pillow, throat tight, ribs aching. The machines beeped steady. Enzo breathed heavy in sleep. Lola’s hand was still wrapped around his.

And for once, Nico didn’t feel like the second choice. He felt chosen.

He’d bleed for that feeling. Burn for it. Guard it like his last secret.

Because now she knew.

And there was no going back.