A/N: Triple Update! Happy Super Bowl Sunday ♡

𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The smell of popcorn and Dylan's cologne filled the small living room as he and Anna sprawled across the couch like they owned it.

The TV was on, playing some nature documentary Dylan insisted we watch because "Penguins are majestic creatures," but neither of them was paying attention.

I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the hem of my sweatshirt, my thoughts far from the screen.

"You're quiet," Dylan said, tossing a piece of popcorn at me. It hit my shoulder and bounced onto the floor.

"Rude," I muttered, picking it up and throwing it back at him.

"Don't deflect," Anna said, narrowing her eyes at me from her spot on the couch. "Something's on your mind. Spill."

I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. These were my people—my constants—but even with them, voicing my doubts felt... heavy.

"It's Scarlett," I finally admitted, my voice low.

Dylan exchanged a glance with Anna, his brows raising slightly. "Color us surprised," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What's the deal this time? She send you another cryptic text?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "We... we've been talking. Spending time together."

Anna sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing. "How much time?"

"Not a lot," I said defensively. "Just... enough."

"Enough for what?" Dylan pressed, leaning forward with an annoyingly smug expression.

"Enough for me to feel like maybe—" I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. "Like maybe I could let her back in."

Anna's expression softened, and she slid off the couch to sit beside me on the floor. "But?"

"But I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if she hurts me again? What if I fall for her, and she decides she's not ready or that I'm not what she wants?"

Dylan sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Y/n, you can't control how someone else feels. But you can decide if it's worth the risk. That's what it comes down to—do you think she's worth it?"

I looked at him, his words settling heavily in my chest. "I don't know. Part of me thinks she is, but the other part..."

"The other part remembers how much it hurt," Anna finished for me, her hand resting gently on my knee.

"Yeah," I said, my throat tightening.

Anna gave my knee a squeeze. "Take your time, Y/n. If Scarlett's serious, she'll prove it. You don't have to rush into anything."

Dylan nodded, his teasing demeanor giving way to something softer. "And if she doesn't prove it, we'll TP her house or something. I've got your back."

I laughed despite myself, the sound shaky but genuine. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you love me," he said, throwing another piece of popcorn at me.

I caught it this time, tossing it back with a smirk. "Debatable."

Anna rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You've got this, Y/n. Whatever you decide, we're here."

Their words were comforting, but as I sat there, surrounded by two of the most important people in my life, I couldn't shake the gnawing doubt in the back of my mind. Was I ready to take that risk again? Or was I setting myself up for another heartbreak?

I didn't have the answers yet. But at least I wasn't facing it alone.

. . .

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

"You're brooding," Florence announced, her British accent making it sound more playful than judgmental.

"I'm not brooding," I replied, flipping a page in the script I was pretending to read.

"You're totally brooding," Lizzie chimed in, smirking over the rim of her cup. "What's the deal? The kids being a handful? Or is this about Y/n?"

The script slipped from my fingers, landing on the coffee table with a soft thud. Florence raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Oh, it's definitely about Y/n," she said, sitting up and crossing her legs beneath her. "Alright, spill. What's going on in that ridiculously complicated brain of yours?"

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. "It's nothing. We've just been... talking. Spending time together."

Lizzie's eyes lit up, and she leaned forward. "Talking? Like, real talking? Or 'Scarlett being cryptic and evasive' talking?"

"Real talking," I said, glaring at her half-heartedly.

"And how's that going?" Florence asked, propping her chin in her hand.

I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sweater. "It's... complicated."

"Of course it is," Lizzie said dryly. "You're involved."

Florence snickered, earning a glare from me.

"I'm serious," I said, my voice softer now. "She's hesitant. And I don't blame her. After everything I put her through..."

"You're trying, though," Florence said gently. "That has to count for something."

"It does," I agreed. "But she's scared. And I don't know if I can make her believe that I'm not going to hurt her again."

Lizzie set her cup down, her expression softening. "You have to understand, Scar. She's not just scared—she's protecting herself. You can't rush this."

"I'm not trying to rush," I said quickly. "I just... I want her to see that I've changed. That I'm not the same person who walked away."

Florence studied me for a moment before tilting her head. "Have you told her that? Like, really told her? Because no offense, but you're not exactly great at opening up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly.

"You know she's right," Lizzie said, smirking. "You're emotionally constipated."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Why do I even invite you two over?"

"Because we keep you grounded," Florence said with a grin.

"And because you secretly love us," Lizzie added, tossing a pillow at me.

I caught the pillow, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "You're lucky I do."

The banter subsided for a moment, replaced by a comfortable silence. Florence shifted, tucking her legs beneath her as she looked at me.

"Listen," she said, her tone serious now. "Y/n's been through a lot, and yeah, you were a part of that. But you're also a part of what makes her happy. You just have to prove to her that this time, you're all in."

Lizzie nodded. "She's worth it, isn't she?"

"Of course she is," I said without hesitation.

"Then don't overthink it," Lizzie said simply. "Take it one step at a time. Show her, don't just tell her."

Their words settled over me like a warm blanket, and for the first time in a while, I felt a sliver of hope.

"Thanks, guys," I said softly.

"Anytime," Florence replied, reaching for a cookie from the plate on the table. "Now, can we talk about something less emotionally exhausting? Like how I nailed my last stunt sequence?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Oh, here we go."

I laughed, the tension in my chest easing as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. But even as we joked and bantered, Y/n was still at the forefront of my mind.

One step at a time, I reminded myself. One step at a time.

. . .

Chris had asked to meet up, and while our text exchange had been polite enough, I knew he still wasn't happy with me.

The bell above the door jingled, and I glanced up to see him walking in. He spotted me immediately, his expression unreadable as he made his way over.

Dressed casually in jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, he somehow managed to look effortlessly put together—so very Chris.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me.

"Hey," I replied, offering a tentative smile.

The waitress appeared almost immediately, setting down a menu in front of him. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Just water for now, thanks," he said, giving her a polite nod before turning his attention back to me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke the silence.

"How've you been?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"Good," I said, though it felt like a half-truth. "Busy with work and the kids. You?"

"Same," he said with a shrug. "Work's been crazy."

I nodded, the small talk feeling like a thin veil over the real reason we were here. He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a look that made my stomach tighten.

"Scarlett," he began, his tone firm but not unkind. "We need to talk about Y/n."

I sighed, setting my glass down. "I figured."

"She's my little sister," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "And I love her more than anything. Which is why I need to know—what are you doing?"

The question caught me off guard, and I blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "I mean, you've been in and out of her life like a goddamn revolving door, and now you're back again. So I'll ask you again: what are you doing, Scarlett?"

The weight of his words pressed down on me, and I struggled to find the right response. "I'm trying, Chris," I said finally. "I'm trying to make things right."

He tilted his head, his expression skeptical. "And what does 'right' look like to you? Because from where I'm standing, you've left her hurt and confused more times than I can count."

I flinched, his words hitting harder than I'd anticipated. "I know I've made mistakes," I said quietly. "But I care about her. More than I can put into words. And I'm not going anywhere this time."

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Do you love her?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, exhaling through his nose. "Then why the hell did you treat her the way you did? Why did you push her away?"

"Because I was scared," I admitted, my voice trembling. "I didn't know how to handle how I felt. And instead of facing it, I ran. It was selfish and cowardly, and I've regretted it every day since."

Chris's eyes snapped back to mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of understanding beneath his frustration. "Do you have any idea what that did to her?"

"I do," I said softly. "And it kills me to think about it. But I'm trying to fix it, Chris. I'm trying to show her that I'm not that person anymore."

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have to understand something. Y/n's been through a lot. And she doesn't just let people in—when she does, it's because she trusts them completely. You broke that trust, Scarlett. And if you're not a hundred percent sure about this—about her—you need to walk away now."

"I am sure," I said firmly. "She means everything to me. I'm not walking away."

Chris's gaze softened slightly, but his expression remained serious. "I need to hear you say that you're going to take care of her heart. Because if you hurt her again, Scarlett..." He shook his head, his voice dropping lower.

"I don't take that lightly. She's my world. And I don't want to have to choose between my friendship with you and her happiness, but I will. Every single time."

"I get it," I said, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. "And I would never ask you to choose. I'll take care of her, Chris. I swear."

He studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright. But I'm holding you to that."

The waitress returned then, setting down his water and asking if we were ready to order. We both waved her off, neither of us ready to break the heavy silence that had settled over the table.

Chris finally let out a small sigh, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You know, for someone who's supposed to have her shit together, you're a real mess."

I laughed softly, the tension easing just a fraction. "Tell me something I don't know."

He shook his head, his smile growing. "Just... don't screw this up, Scar."

"I won't," I promised.

For the first time that night, it felt like a weight had been lifted. It wasn't an easy conversation, but it was necessary. And as we sat there, the unspoken bond of friendship—and family—reminded me why I was willing to fight for Y/n in the first place.

Because she was worth it. She always had been.