Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Amelia

Seattle , it’s good to be back.

As soon as we step off the plane and into the cloudy, early-Saturday afternoon, exhaustion hits me even more. I didn’t sleep a wink during the flight, unlike Oliver and Grey, who were out cold the entire time, snoring softly in their seats. Misha and I tried to keep each other entertained with movies, but it only made me more tired, my eyes growing heavier as the hours ticked by, but sleep still evaded me.

Leaving London behind wasn’t hard, aside from doing it without saying goodbye to August. I sent Abigail a quick text before takeoff, letting her know I’d be there for her if she needed help when or if she moved to the States.

It’s the least I can do, given that I’ve left her alone with that now.

Getting a cab home feels strangely normal after being driven around in a Bentley for the last two weeks.

Something in me settles as we weave through the Seattle traffic. The constant city noise—the blaring sirens, the ceaseless hum of engines—wraps around me like a familiar blanket. Home.

The life I choose to live.

We arrive at our building, take the elevator up to the fourteenth floor, and finally reach my apartment. I open the door with my smartwatch, the soft beep welcomes me home, and I step inside, finding it’s exactly as I left it.

Maybe even a little tidier.

I have to get Morgan something nice.

The plants look like they’ve been watered, their leaves perky and green, there’s no dust anywhere, and the fish are happily swimming in the aquarium, darting back and forth. I kick off my shoes, set down my bag with a soft thud, and walk over to the tetras, my feet padding on the hardwood floor.

“Did you miss me, little ones?” I ask, crouching down to look at them, my finger tracing their movements through the glass. “I hope you weren’t too lonely without me.”

What a plot twist.

Rescued to keep me company, only to be left behind.

“Are your babies well?” Misha asks as he and the guys step farther into the room, his voice tinged with amusement.

I stand straight and smile at him. “Looks like Morgan did a good job.”

Walking past him, I notice the note I left on the table, my own handwriting staring back at me.

Have fun watching the fish.

I freeze and look up at the cameras around the room, my gaze lingering on each one, and a weird feeling settles inside me, like a stone in my stomach. Turning away from the table, I catch my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind it.

I’m wearing sweatpants, one of Misha’s hoodies, and have my hair in a messy bun and glasses back on my nose .

Finally, the girl in the mirror looks familiar again.

Yet somehow different.

I’m back to being myself.

And back to the place I fled.

It had been so bad that I chose to fly back to London rather than stay here.

A lot has happened since then, but somehow, I can’t shake this weird feeling. My hackles rise, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Fucking hell.

The guys are standing in front of me, all their gazes fixed on me with varying degrees of concern.

They watched me.

Yet it’s not their eyes that make my skin crawl right now.

It’s something else, something intangible.

The feeling that this could happen again.

Oliver steps closer, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle, grounding. “Are you okay?”

I nod, trying to shake off what just overcame me, forcing a smile that probably doesn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess,”

What is even happening?

“You sure about that?” Grey asks. His brow is furrowed, and there’s worry etched across his face.

No.

“Yes.” It comes out weaker than I intended, and it’s obvious they’re not buying it. “I probably just need some sleep.”

Misha steps next to me and flicks my messy bun. “Grab a few things you need and come up to ours. You can shower in the guest room, and then we can pile on the couch and take a nap while we put on some movies.”

Five minutes ago, that would have sounded amazing. But with this strange feeling of distrust in the pit of my stomach, I can’t bring myself to do it.

I’m probably just exhausted and overwhelmed.

Sure, that’s it.

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m going to stay here.”

Misha looks a bit taken aback but quickly recovers, his smile dimming only slightly. “All right, then we’ll be back in half an hour. Should I order that dreadful egg pizza for you?”

He’s trying so hard to cheer me up, and I feel a pang of guilt for shutting him down.

“I’m not hungry. I just want to shower and sleep… alone.” The words come out harsh, and I see a flicker of hurt cross Misha’s face.

Grey’s brow furrows even more. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

I take a deep breath, trying to articulate my feelings without hurting them. “I don’t know. I’m just tired and overstimulated from the flight and everything. I just want to be alone, please.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I see the concern in their eyes deepen.

Right, because I’m known for enjoying being alone.

Oliver leans in closer, his green eyes searching mine. “You’re not feeling well?”

I almost want to give in and let them stay.

But it feels wrong.

I nod, feeling the weight of their worry pressing down on me. It’s suffocating, even though I know it comes from a place of care.

“Even more reason to stay here and look after you.” Grey’s tone is decisive, shutting down any chance of protest.

Shit. I do it anyway.

“No, please just leave. It’s fine. I’ll be better tomorrow.” I’m almost pleading now, desperate for some space to breathe and process.

I have to figure out why I have the urge to pull my hair and scratch my skin bloody.

They exchange glances, clearly unsure. I can see the silent communication passing between them, weighing their concern against my wishes. But eventually, they nod, and one by one, they kiss me on my forehead, my temple, and my cheek.

“Call us if you need anything,” Oliver says, lingering for a moment as if hoping I’ll change my mind.

“We’ll be back to check on you,” Misha adds, and there’s a hint of reluctance in his steps as he moves toward the door.

Grey just gives me one last searching look before they all step out, closing the door quietly behind them.

The silence that follows is deafening, but it’s what I need right now. Hugging myself, I scan the room, and my gaze lands on the fern that got knocked over when the intruder broke in and attacked me.

We still don’t know who he was.

He’s still out there.

I step to the door and lock it, letting out a long, shaky breath, feeling oddly bereft.

Everything is fine, Amelia. You’re safe.

Nobody is watching. Nobody is going to hurt you.

Walking over to the bathroom, I shed my travel-worn clothes and glasses, take out my messy bun, and step into the shower. The hot water envelopes me, washing away the grime and stress of the journey.

Why do the familiar walls of my flat suddenly feel so suffocating?

The water cascades down my back, and I try to make sense of the chaos in my mind—to understand why I treated the guys the way I just did.

Everything was fine before I returned to the scene of so many crimes.

They apologized.

I forgave them.

Finishing my shower, I step out, feeling a little cleaner but no less conflicted. Wrapping a towel around me, I walk to the front door and double-check the lock, making sure it’s secure. I even put a chair in front of it, a small act of control that gives me a fleeting sense of security. It’s silly, maybe, but I need to feel like I have power over something right now.

Even though it’s daylight, I turn on all the lights in my apartment manually because Jamie is still gone, along with my laptop. A pang sears through my chest at the thought.

I miss him, but I don’t know if I could ever have him back.

They ruined him for me.

The brightness is comforting, pushing back the shadows that threaten to overwhelm me.

I dry off and pull on some comfortable pajamas. The bed looks inviting, and I practically collapse onto it, pulling the covers around me like a protective cocoon as I stare up at the ceiling.

My heart is still bruised, and my mind is a maze of fears and doubts. I trace patterns on the ceiling with my eyes, trying to untangle the knot of emotions in my chest.

It’s not that I don’t trust them at all, but that trust is fragile.

I know they don’t want to hurt me. Intellectually, I understand that. But it’s hard to shake the memories of being watched and manipulated.

The violation of my privacy .

The sense of control they had over every aspect of my life.

It’s like a movie playing on repeat in my head, and I can’t seem to hit the stop button.

It’s a battle between my heart, which wants to trust, and my mind, which screams at me to be cautious.

Why was it easier in London?

Maybe because it felt like a break from reality, a bubble where I could pretend the past didn’t exist.

Closing my eyes, I will myself to relax.

I should probably put some tape or something over the cameras.

With that thought, I finally drift off.

It’s Sunday afternoon, and after I slept way too long, I couldn’t stand being in my apartment anymore, so I figured I would get this over with and grovel.

With a massive strawberry cake balanced precariously in one hand and a leather-bound special edition of Emma by Jane Austen—one of Morgan’s favorites, as I discovered during our literary expedition to the bookstore—clutched tightly in the other, I stand in front of Mr. Donovan’s house.

I know I hurt them with how I just up and left. And they weren’t the ones who deserved it.

My heart is doing an Olympic-level gymnastics routine in my chest as I take a deep, steadying breath and press the doorbell with my elbow. The chime echoes through the house, and I swear I feel the vibrations in my bones.

The familiar jingling of Peanut’s collar announces his arrival just as his short, loud barks ring out.

The sound of his paws pattering down the stairway is accompanied by Mr. Donovan’s gruff voice, commanding the pup to “Shush, you furball.”

Peanut falls silent just as the door swings open, revealing Mr. Donovan’s stern visage, his bushy eyebrows furrowed.

Ah, shit.

I muster up a shy smile, feeling about as small as a mouse under his piercing gaze. He doesn’t utter a word, just steps aside with a barely perceptible nod, granting me entry into the warm home. Crossing the threshold, Peanut trots over, his wet nose investigating my ankles with great interest.

“Hey, buddy,” I coo at him, wishing I could give him a good scratch behind the ears, but my hands are frustratingly occupied with my peace offerings.

Gathering my courage, I look up at Mr. Donovan, only to find his scowl has intensified. It’s uncanny how much he resembles Grey in this moment, and I half expect him to launch into a lecture about proper security protocols.

My nerves getting the better of me, I thrust the cake and book forward, my voice coming out as barely more than a squeak. “I, um… I brought you a strawberry cake. And a book for Morgan.”

For a heart-stopping moment, I’m convinced he’s going to send me back out again, only to slam the door in my face and tell me never to darken his doorstep again. But then he takes my offerings and places them on a nearby antique dresser before he grasps my elbow and pulls me into a bear hug.

His voice is gruff, thick with emotion, as he rumbles, “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, young lady. I was worried sick, and at my age, I can’t afford that kind of stress. You hear me?”

Overwhelmed by his unexpected display of affection, I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in the soft fabric of his cardigan. The scent of old wood fills my nostrils as I whisper, words muffled and choked with emotion, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Amelia!” Morgan’s shout is followed by the sound of her footsteps racing down the stairs. As I pull away from Mr. Donovan, I barely have a moment to catch my breath before Morgan’s arms wrap around me tightly. “Don’t you dare scare us like that again.” Despite her scolding tone, I can hear the genuine joy in her voice as she adds, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Her embrace is comforting, and I find myself melting into it, realizing just how much I’d missed them.

Morgan releases me, and her eyes fall on the book I brought. “Oh, is this for me?”

“Yes. Thank you for watching the fish,” I say, smiling and handing it to her.

Her smile seems oddly forced from a moment when I mention the fish. But it’s gone so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it.

What is that about?

Mr. Donovan clears his throat, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “Let’s have some of that cake in the kitchen, shall we?” We make our way to the table, Peanut trotting alongside us.

The moment I sit down, he rests his head on my knee, and finally, I give him the pets he deserves. “Oh, I missed you, too, buddy.” I scratch behind his ears, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease a bit as he looks up at me with those adoring eyes.

Morgan chuckles. “Looks like you missed the dog more than us.”

Mr. Donovan cuts the cake, and as we settle in with slices, he asks, “So, what happened? Grey and Oliver just texted out of the blue that you were all flying back.” His tone is gentle, but there is a notable underlying concern.

Well, here we go.

I take a deep breath and recount the events in London, including the disastrous gala. The words tumble out, a mix of frustration, hurt, and confusion.

God, saying it out loud like this only makes me realize more how fucked up all of that was.

When I finish, Morgan leans forward, her green eyes filled with concern. “That was a lot, you’re okay?”

I huff a laugh. “For the most part.”

“I’m sorry about how this all turned out. I was never a fan of your father’s, but… I’m sorry,” Mr. Donovan says.

I just nod. He’s the least to blame.

Morgan puts a hand on my knee. “But is everything okay between you all now, at least?”

I hesitate for a moment, feeling their eyes on me. The weight of their gaze makes me fidget with the hem of my shirt. “I thought it was. They apologized, and I was sure we were fine, but…” I trail off, struggling to find the right words. “When I got home, I felt this strange sense of distrust. Somehow, it all came rushing back. I hate myself for it, but I don’t know how to shake it.”

Did I really just say this out loud? I sound crazy.

Mr. Donovan nods sagely, his weathered hand reaching out to pat mine. “Trust is earned, Amelia. Forgiving something is the first step toward trusting again, but that doesn’t mean everything immediately goes back to how it was…” He pauses, his eyes kind but serious. “It’s normal to feel this way, but you need to tell the boys what you’re feeling. Give them time and a chance to earn that trust back. They’ve earned your forgiveness. Now they need to earn your trust.”

“Isn’t it unfair of me? Telling them it’s forgiven only to turn around and be wary again?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

Mr. Donovan squeezes my hand, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not, as long as you don’t pull away. They might not fully grasp the depth of your hurt, but if you speak to them honestly, they will start to see it. Sometimes, people need to hear the raw truth to truly understand the impact of their actions. And remember, Amelia, trust isn’t just about them proving themselves to you. It’s also about you feeling safe enough to let your guard down. It’s a two-way street.”

“You’re probably right,” I admit, feeling a small weight lift off my chest.

I didn’t ruin everything.

Morgan chuckles, her eyes twinkling. “He always is.”

The smile that blooms on Mr. Donovan’s face warms my heart. But the moment is interrupted by a series of buzzes from my phone. I glance down to see messages flooding our group chat.

Grey: Where are you?

Misha: What grumpy here wants to say is

Misha: we wanted to take you to a late lunch.

Misha: Or early dinner.

Misha: Linner?

Misha: Dunch?

Oliver: We wanted to get food, but you’re not home.

Misha: You okay?

I bite my lip, conflicted. I’m not really ready to go back to normal, but I promised myself I wouldn’t ghost any of them again, especially Grey. Taking a deep breath, I type out a response:

I’m over at Mr. Donovan’s, and we’re eating cake with Morgan. We can grab lunch tomorrow at work if you want?

Misha: Of course we want.

Oliver: Excited to see you soon. Enjoy.

Grey: Thank you, Princess.

Setting my phone down, I bite my cheek.

Was I too harsh?

“Whatever it is, it can wait until you talk to them about your feelings,” Mr. Donovan says, dishing me another piece of cake.

He’s right.

Again.

I smile at him and force myself to enjoy this moment of peace with them, surrounded by their care and the sweetness of strawberry cake.

I can handle everything else tomorrow.