Four Of A Kind

Chapter 145: [3.47] Emotional Constipation

Iris leaned over the back of the couch. Her eyes scanned my phone screen. The soft glow reflected in her dark eyes, and I watched her expression shift from curious to knowing to something like concern.

“She’s scared,” Iris said. Her voice had gone quiet. The teasing edge was gone.

“Yeah.”

“She actually cares about doing well.” My sister straightened up. Crossed her arms. “Like, really cares.”

“Yeah.”

“And you care about her.”

I turned my head. Looked at my sister. At those too-perceptive eyes that saw everything I tried to hide. At the oversized Queen hoodie that used to be mine. At the way she was studying me like I was a problem set she’d been assigned to solve. Like she’d already worked out the answer while I was still stuck on the first equation.

“I care about all of them,” I said. Each word came out carefully measured. “That’s the problem.”

“No, Zay.” Iris shook her head. Slow. Definitive. “You care about all of them differently. That’s worse.”

She was right. Of course she was right. My little sister saw through every single defense mechanism I’d spent years constructing.

I typed a response to Cassidy.

you wont freeze. you know the material. and even if you do mess up, we try again. thats how this works.

Three dots appeared immediately. She was typing. Stopped. Started again.

youre annoyingly optimistic for someone who looks like they havent slept in a week.

pot meet kettle. go to sleep cassidy.

only if you do.

deal.

…thanks. for earlier. with sabrina. you didnt have to.

i did.

why?

Because watching you work that hard made something in my chest constrict. Because you deserve to actually learn without your sister using me as a distraction tool. Because for one hour, I wanted you to feel like you mattered.

I didn’t type any of that.

because thats the job. good night cassidy.

The dots appeared one more time. Then disappeared.

No response came.

I pocketed my phone. Iris was still watching me with that expression.

“”So,” she grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest like it might protect her from whatever answer I was about to give. “Zay. Be honest with me. What are you actually going to do?”

“About what specifically?”

Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline in that uniquely Iris way that said you know exactly what I’m talking about and your deflection is pathetic.

“About everything. The kiss that you’re pretending didn’t shake you to your core. The four sisters who are all competing for your attention whether they realize it or not. The fact that you’ve developed genuine feelings for all of them, and if you try to deny it one more time, I’m going to throw this pillow at your face.”

I considered my next words carefully. Testing each one for weight. For truth. For the kind of honesty that wouldn’t make this worse.

“I’m going to focus on my job,” I said finally. “Keep Cassidy’s grades climbing so she doesn’t fail junior year. Help Harlow work through calculus problems until the concepts actually click. Manage Vivienne’s impossible schedule and make sure she doesn’t collapse from exhaustion. Prepare Sabrina’s midnight ramen when she’s buried in research at three in the morning. Collect my paycheck at the end of each month. Keep my head down, my boundaries clear, and my professional distance intact.”

“And the feelings?” Iris pressed. Her voice had gone softer now. Almost gentle. “What about those?”

“What feelings?”

The pillow hit my face with more force than I expected.

“Don’t do that,” Iris said.

I looked at my sister. Really looked at her. When had she gotten so perceptive? When had she learned to read me this well?

“Okay,” I admitted. The word felt like pulling teeth. “Maybe there’s a chance. Possibly. That my relationship with my employers has become more complicated than I initially intended.”

“COMPLICATED?” Iris’s voice pitched higher. Disbelief colored every syllable. “Zay, one of them kissed you. On the mouth. With intention. That’s not complicated. That’s a declaration.”

“A declaration I can’t do anything about because they PAY ME. Because I need this job. Because without this job, you don’t get to apply to Hartwell, I don’t get to build a college fund, and we’re back to me working until 2 AM at the Velvet Room and eating ramen for every meal.”

Iris’s expression had gone serious. The playful teasing disappeared, replaced by something older. Something that understood sacrifice in ways fourteen-year-olds shouldn’t have to.

“But do you WANT to do anything about it?” she asked quietly.

The question lodged somewhere between my ribs and my lungs.

Did I want to? Did I want to acknowledge that Cassidy’s smile when she solved problems made my chest feel weird? That Vivienne’s rare moments of vulnerability made me want to fix things I had no business fixing? That Harlow’s genuine kindness kept catching me off guard? That Sabrina’s cryptic observations felt like she was reading Chapters of my life I hadn’t written yet?

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” I said.

“That’s the saddest thing you’ve ever said.”

“That’s the most realistic thing I’ve ever said.”

Iris studied me. Then she scooted closer. Leaned her head against my shoulder the way she used to do when she was little and couldn’t sleep without checking that I was still there.

“Promise ME something,” she said.

“What?”

“If one of them is actually good to you. Like, genuinely cares about you and not just because you work for them. Don’t throw it away just because you think you’re not allowed to be happy.”

“Iris—”

“I’m serious. You’ve spent your entire life taking care of me. Making sure I have food and school supplies and that I’m safe. You wake up at stupid hours and work until you can barely stand and you never. You never do anything just for YOU.”

Her voice cracked slightly. “So if one of those girls actually sees you. The real you. Under all the responsible big brother stuff. Don’t push her away because you think you don’t deserve it.”

My throat felt tight.

“When did you get so wise?” I managed.

“I learned from watching my idiot brother make terrible decisions.” She smiled against my shoulder.

“Also from K-dramas. They’re very educational about emotional constipation.”

“You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t even know what emotional constipation means.”

“And you’re eighteen. You shouldn’t be this bad at feelings.”