Chapter 38
I wake up at peace in Cobra’s room. Not because something startled me.
Not because I’m disoriented or trying to remember where I am.
The difference hits me immediately. There’s no jolt of panic.
No split second where my brain scrambles for context, trying to place walls and doors and sounds that don’t belong to me.
I don’t have to remind myself I’m safe. I don’t have to run through what happened, where I am, who’s outside this room.
I know.
That settles something quiet and deep in my chest.
Cobra’s arm is still around me, heavy and solid across my waist, his hand resting just above my hip like it fell there sometime during the night and never had a reason to move.
His breathing is steady at my back, slow enough that I know he’s actually sleeping.
That still surprises me. The fact that he sleeps like this. With me.
I don’t move right away. I just lie there, listening to the rhythm of him, feeling the warmth of his body behind mine, the weight of his arm anchoring me in place without making me feel trapped. That’s the difference. Nothing about this feels like a cage.
Eventually, I shift carefully, easing out from under his arm without waking him.
He adjusts automatically, a quiet instinctive movement, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
His hand drags once across the space I leave behind before settling against the mattress.
I pause for a second and watch him. He looks the same asleep as he does awake.
Controlled. Still. Like even rest doesn’t loosen whatever’s wired into him.
I don’t touch him. Not this time. I just slip out of bed, grab one of his shirts, and pull it over my head before heading for the door.
The hallway is already alive when I step out.
Not loud. Just moving. Voices drift from the main room.
Someone’s in the kitchen. I hear a cabinet door shut, the low murmur of conversation, the familiar rhythm of a place that never fully powers down.
And for the first time since I got here, I don’t hesitate.
I don’t stand in the doorway wondering where I’m allowed to go.
I don’t check if I need permission. I just move.
Coffee is already brewing. Someone started it before I woke up, which doesn’t surprise me.
This place runs on caffeine and adrenaline, and neither of those things ever seem to run out.
I grab a mug, pour myself a cup, and lean against the counter like I’ve been doing it for years.
No one questions it. That’s the part that settles something deeper.
Mac glances over from where she’s standing with Knox balanced on her hip, her hair still messy from sleep. “Morning,” she says.
“Morning,” I answer easily.
Kya walks in a second later, Remy trailing behind her like a determined little shadow. “Please tell me someone made enough coffee for the entire house,” she says, already reaching for a mug.
“There’s a fresh pot,” I tell her, nodding toward the counter.
She grins. “You’re my favorite person right now.”
“That’s because I’m holding your lifeline,” I reply, lifting my mug slightly.
“Don’t get used to it,” she shoots back, but there’s no bite to it.
Brooke slips in next, Mason already in her arms, looking entirely too awake for someone his size. “Why is he like this in the morning?” Brooke mutters.
“Because Carter is his father,” Mac says.
Brooke scoffs. “He is not this chaotic.”
Mac gives her a look. “He just hides it better.”
Kya snorts.
I laugh. Not because I feel like I should. Because I actually do. And it comes easy. That’s new too. No one stops to look at me like I don’t belong in the middle of this conversation. No one adjusts what they’re saying because I’m here. No one checks. That’s the shift.
They just include me.
Naturally.
Like I’ve already been folded into whatever this is.
Emma joins us a few minutes later, quieter than the others but just as steady. “You’re up early,” she says to me.
“Couldn’t sleep in,” I answer.
She nods like that makes sense. “Give it time,” she says. “You will.”
I believe her. That’s the part that surprises me the most.
Knox decides at that exact moment that being held is no longer acceptable, and he starts twisting in Mac’s arms like he’s trying to escape a life-threatening situation. “Absolutely not,” Mac says, tightening her hold. “You are not climbing the counter again.”
He protests loudly.
Remy sees this as an invitation to join the chaos and immediately heads for the same direction Knox is being denied.
Mason watches both of them with interest, then decides he wants in too. Within seconds, the kitchen turns into controlled mayhem.
I don’t freeze. I don’t step back. I don’t wait to see who’s responsible for what.
I just move. I scoop Remy up before he can make it to the counter, shifting him onto my hip like I’ve done it a hundred times even though I haven’t.
He squirms for a second, then settles when I adjust my grip. “Not today,” I tell him lightly.
He blinks up at me like he’s considering arguing. Then doesn’t.
Kya pauses mid-step, watching me for a second before her mouth curves slightly. “Look at that,” she murmurs. “She’s got him already.”
“I’ve got him for five seconds,” I correct.
“Five seconds is impressive,” Brooke says. “Mason lasted three this morning before he threw something at Carter.”
“It was a soft toy,” she adds quickly when I glance at her.
“That doesn’t make it better,” I say, but I’m smiling.
Mac finally gets Knox settled with a distraction, and the chaos levels out into something manageable again.
I set Remy back down, brushing my hands over his hair once before stepping back.
The women are watching me. Not intensely.
Not like I’m under a microscope. Just noticing.
That matters more than anything they could say.
I don’t need them to tell me I’m doing this right.
I can feel it. It fits. Not perfectly. Not seamlessly.
But enough. Enough that I don’t feel like I’m pretending.
The main room fills slowly as the rest of the house wakes up. Men move through the space, grabbing coffee, exchanging quiet words, slipping in and out of conversations that don’t stop just because someone new joins. I move with it. Not around it. Through it.
I grab another cup without asking. I refill someone else’s when they pass by without thinking about it. I answer when someone says my name instead of hesitating. It’s small. All of it. But it builds. It stacks into something real.
I don’t even look for Cobra. I don’t need to. I can feel him. The way the room adjusts around me. Not because I asked it to. Because he exists in it. Because he’s watching. Because everyone else knows what that means.
He doesn’t cage me. He doesn’t keep me locked away or isolated or controlled in the way I thought something like this might feel. He holds the space around me. Creates boundaries without touching me. Keeps me safe without making me feel small. That matters. More than I expected it to.
I glance up finally.
He’s across the room, exactly where I knew he’d be.
Watching. Not hovering. Not closing in. Just there.
His eyes meet mine immediately, like he felt me look at him.
Something in his expression shifts just slightly when he sees me standing there, coffee in hand, surrounded by people who no longer treat me like an outsider.
Approval. Possession. Something deeper I don’t have a word for yet.
I don’t look away. I don’t feel the need to. That’s the difference. I turn back to the women, slipping into the space on the couch beside them like I’ve been doing it long enough that no one questions it anymore.
Conversation picks up where it left off. Someone mentions lunch plans. Someone else complains about laundry. Mac is trying to convince Logan that Knox absolutely does not need a toy that makes noise.
“He does,” Logan says.
“He doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Buy two,” Blaze calls from across the room. “One for Knox, one for Logan so he stops whining.”
Bella smacks him.
I laugh again. It comes easy. Natural. Unforced.
And as I sit there, surrounded by people who have seen me at my worst and still made space for me without asking me to shrink or change or explain myself, I realize something quietly.
I’m not watching anymore. I’m not analyzing.
I’m not waiting for the moment this stops feeling real.
I’m just…here.
Existing. Part of it.
I’m not visiting.
I’m here.
The thought doesn’t scare me. It settles.
Cobra shifts again across the room. I feel it without looking. Anchor. Constant. I don’t need to check that he’s still there. I know.
I’m not leaving.
Not because I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
And for the first time since all of this started, that choice doesn’t feel like something I’m trying to justify.
It just feels right.