Chapter 31
Sadie
“You’re quiet,” Boone says.
I glance up from the cardboard box of beers I’ve been opening, caught off guard by the way his voice cuts through the steady clatter of pans and the low hum of the stove’s fan.
“I’m not,” I murmur, even though we both know it’s a lie. My fingers work automatically, slipping bottles into the cooler filled with ice, condensation slicking my skin.
It’s been about ten minutes since I got here. Ten minutes since I stepped into Boone’s apartment with the smell of garlic and onion hitting me full in the face and the sight of him moving effortlessly around his kitchen.
Ten minutes since I forced myself to act like nothing had happened—when the truth is, I’m still reeling.
Because no matter how steady I tried to sound earlier, what happened in Shepard’s basement hasn’t left me. My body still thrums with it. The heat, the reckless way he touched me, the sharp relief of scent matching with someone when I thought I was too broken for that ever to happen again.
Boone stirs something in a pan, the muscles in his arm flexing under the sleeve of his T-shirt. “You’re quiet,” he repeats.
I lick my lips, trying to chase away the taste of nerves. Instead of answering him directly, I say, “Did you manage to talk to Gabe?”
He shakes his head, frustration flashing in his eyes. “No. There was a bushfire out past the ridge, and he was called in. I’m hoping he shows up later.”
He looks at me then, really looks. His eyes sharpen, zeroing in. “Is that why you’re nervous?”
The easy answer would be yes. But Boone has always deserved better than easy answers.
I set down the beer I’m holding, wipe my damp hands on my skirt, and step closer to him. His gaze follows me, steady and unblinking, as I take a breath that feels too big for my lungs.
“I need to tell you something,” I say.
He arches a brow but doesn’t interrupt.
“I scent matched with Shepard.” The words leave my mouth in a rush, tumbling out before I can stop them.
Boone’s brows knit together, confusion clouding his face.
I swallow, steadying myself. “You know how Omegas sometimes… click with someone? It’s rare, but when it happens, it’s like… your bodies recognize each other before your brains catch up. That’s what happened. In the basement.”
Understanding dawns slowly, his surprise almost boyish. “I didn’t even know that was a possibility. For you.”
“Neither did I.” My voice wavers. “But it happened. And Boone—” I force myself to hold his gaze. “I fucked him.”
The silence that follows is deafening. My pulse drums against my ribs, loud in my ears. I brace myself for anger, betrayal, something sharp.
But Boone just sets the wooden spoon down and turns fully toward me. His face is unreadable for a moment. Then he asks, voice low and steady, “Are you okay?”
The question blindsides me.
“Yes,” I breathe, nodding.
He studies me, eyes searching, like he’s testing the truth of my answer. Then he exhales, tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay.”
I blink at him. “You’re not… upset?”
His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t cold, either. “Sadie, I just want honesty. That’s it. If you give me that, I can live with the rest.”
The gravel in my chest loosens. My throat burns. I nod quickly. “You’ll always have honesty with me.”
He dips his head, brushing a kiss against my forehead, and the simple gesture makes my whole body ache.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I take another steadying breath and change the subject before I fall apart. “So… what are you cooking?”
He smirks, turning back to the stove, grabbing the spoon again. “Braised short ribs. Garlic mashed potatoes. Green beans with toasted almonds.”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously? That’s what you’re just casually cooking on a weeknight?”
“Why?” His eyes glint as he stirs. “Impressed?”
“Damn, Boone,” I say, shaking my head. “You really are talented.”
Something flickers in his eyes—bright, hot, hungry. I don’t miss the way his chest expands, the way his jaw tightens. It hits me all at once: he likes that. He likes me telling him he’s good, he’s capable, he’s more than enough.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, realization sliding through me. “You have a praise kink.”
His laugh is low, embarrassed, but there’s no denial in it. He just tilts his head at me, eyes gleaming with a heat that makes my thighs press together.
I step closer, sliding my arms around his waist, and press a kiss to his jaw. “Yes. You’re talented. You’re incredible. You’re—”
His growl rumbles deep in his chest as he grabs me by the hips and yanks me against him, squeezing my ass hard enough to make me gasp.
“Careful,” he warns, his voice a scrape of desire.
“Why?” I tease, kissing down the edge of his jaw. “You like it.”
He groans, dropping his forehead to mine. “I need to finish cooking. The guys will be here soon. They’ll want food ready.”
“We have time,” I murmur, my lips brushing his. “And I don’t have panties on.”
His breath catches. His eyes flare.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, smashing his mouth against mine, kissing me hard enough to bruise.
The spoon clatters to the stove, forgotten.
His hands are everywhere—gripping my ass, sliding up my ribs, pressing into the small of my back like he can’t decide where he wants me most.
I arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, tasting him like I’ll never get enough. The stove hisses behind us, the pan spitting from neglect, but neither of us cares.
His hand skims under my skirt, rough against the bare skin of my thigh. “No panties,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Jesus Christ, Sadie.”
I laugh breathlessly into his mouth. “Told you.”
He squeezes my ass again, pulling me tighter against his growing hardness. My body lights up, heat pooling low, sharp and consuming. I gasp when his fingers brush between my thighs, already slick from the thought of him.
“Boone,” I whisper, biting his jaw, my breath catching when he presses harder, sliding against me.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans, biting down on my shoulder through the fabric of my turtleneck. His other hand fumbles at his waistband like he’s already two seconds from giving in.
I clutch at his shirt, torn between begging him to keep going and panicking that the guys will walk in any second.
“Boone—”
The timer on the stove beeps, shrill and insistent.
He curses under his breath, forehead pressed to mine as we pant, his hand slipping reluctantly from between my legs.
“Fuck,” he growls again, stepping back, chest rising and falling fast. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.”
I swallow hard, trying to steady my pulse. My body is screaming for more, but I nod. “Okay.”
His eyes burn into mine like he doesn’t believe me, like he’s still half a second away from pulling me back into him. But then he turns to the stove, grabbing the pan and muttering about putting the meat on.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when the knock comes.
I freeze.
Boone swears quietly, straightening his shirt. I swipe at my hair, my lips, as if I can erase the evidence of what we were just doing.
I open the door—and there’s Shepard.
He’s standing there holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, awkward but earnest. My stomach lurches.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey.” My voice comes out thinner than I want.
The air between us is strange, taut with things unsaid. He smiles a little, nervous, hands me the bouquet of roses and then brushes past me into the apartment.
He moves toward the kitchen, straightening when Boone turns from the stove.
“Shep,” Boone says, nodding.
“Boone.” Shepard crosses over, offering the wine. They clasp shoulders in the way men do when words aren’t enough.
I turn back to the door, about to close it—when another noise stops me. Heavy boots on the stairs.
And then he’s there.
Gabe.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up, arms corded, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His expression when he sees me is pure surprise, quickly shuttered.
“Hey,” he says, and before I can react, he pulls me into a hurried hug. His body is warm, solid, familiar in a way that makes me instantly remember the heat of his mouth between my thighs, the scrape of his teeth.
“Hey,” I whisper back, shaky.
He releases me too quickly, stepping into the apartment like nothing happened.
I shut the door and lock it, my hand tight on the knob for a second longer than necessary, bracing myself.
In the kitchen, Shepard is already passing Gabe a beer. He takes it without hesitation, lifting it to his mouth in a long swallow.
Boone wipes his hands on a towel, watching him carefully. “How was the fire?”
Gabe’s jaw tightens. “No casualties.” His voice is flat, clipped. “Mayor was there, already talking about forming some kind of task force. Crime’s climbing. Arsons, break-ins, assaults. He says we need to get ahead of it before it eats the town alive.”
Boone nods slowly, turning back to the stove. “I agree.”
He grabs the pan, muttering about putting the meat on, and the smell fills the apartment again, warm and grounding.
“Then maybe we can all sit and talk,” Boone adds, his voice steady.
I lean against the counter, my stomach tightening as I watch them—three men who mean so much to me, three men bound together by grief and loyalty and the strange, fragile web I’ve somehow become tangled in.
This could all go horribly wrong and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
I carry the bouquet to the counter, rummaging through Boone’s cupboards until I find a jar wide enough to use as a vase.
My hands feel clumsy as I fill it with water, trim the stems, and slide the flowers in.
The colors brighten the kitchen instantly, but my stomach is too tight to enjoy the effect.
“Do you want wine or a beer?” Shepard’s voice comes from behind me, steady but tentative.
“Wine,” I say quickly, turning back.
He pours some into a glass, hands precise, then passes it to me without letting his fingers brush mine. Boone cracks open a beer, tossing one toward Gabe, who catches it like he’s been doing it all his life.
We drift into the living room, the four of us finding seats that feel both too close and too far apart. I settle at the end of the couch, wine glass cool between my palms. Boone drops into the chair across from me, one leg bouncing like he’s burning off nerves.
Shepard leans against the far arm of the couch, stiff, unreadable. Gabe takes the seat nearest the window, his body angled away from us, his eyes fixed on the dark street outside. He hasn’t looked at me once since he entered the apartment.
The silence stretches, thick and awkward.
Finally, Boone clears his throat. “I want to apologize. To all of you.”
My eyes lift to him. His expression is serious, jaw tight.
“I handled things badly,” he continues. “The fight. The way I let my temper get the better of me. I… should’ve trusted you. All of you. And I didn’t. That’s on me.”
Nobody speaks. Gabe takes a long pull from his beer, his throat working, but his gaze stays on the glass in his hand. Shepard studies the floor like it might give him answers.
I swallow, setting my wine down on the table. My heart beats fast, but I make myself speak. “This doesn’t have to be messy. It doesn’t have to break us.”
All three sets of eyes turn toward me.
“I’m not asking,” I continue, steadying my voice. “I’m not begging. I’m telling you how I feel. I like all of you. Each of you in different ways. I want to see what this could be, if we’re brave enough to try.”
The air stills. My words hang between us like something alive.
Boone’s jaw works, like he wants to speak but can’t find the shape of the words.
Gabe finally sets his beer down, his voice rough. “You think this… us… it can work?”
I meet his gaze, heart pounding. “I don’t know. But I want to find out. And I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to choose when my heart doesn’t want to.”
Shepard shifts, finally looking at me fully. His eyes are dark, conflicted. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t waver this time. “But it only works if all of you want it too. If you can look at each other and know you’re in it together. Otherwise it’s not fair. To me. To any of us.”
The silence is back, heavier now, but it feels different—thoughtful, not awkward.
Boone exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. He glances at Shepard, then at Gabe. “What do you think?”
Shepard rubs the back of his neck. “I think it’s complicated.”
“Everything worth it is,” Boone counters softly.
Gabe leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. His face is unreadable, but his voice is quiet. “I’ve spent years keeping walls up. For good reasons. Letting anyone in feels like walking into fire again.”
I swallow hard, watching him.
He glances at me, just for a second, then back at Boone. “But I can’t deny what I feel. Not anymore.”
Boone’s shoulders ease, his eyes softening as he looks at Gabe. Shepard shifts again, the tight line of his mouth loosening just slightly.
They’re not saying yes. Not yet. But they’re not saying no, either.
I take another breath. “All I’m asking is honesty. If we try this, if we figure it out together, then no lies. No half-truths. We talk. We trust. Or it falls apart.”
Boone nods once, firm. “Agreed.”
Shepard’s gaze flicks to me, then to Boone, then finally to Gabe. He gives a slow nod too.
Gabe is the last. He drags a hand down his face, sighs, and mutters, “Fuck it. Agreed.”
My chest loosens all at once, a rush of relief leaving me lightheaded.
Boone leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Then maybe we start small. Tonight. No pressure. Just… see where it goes.”
“See where it goes,” I echo, my throat thick.
The tension doesn’t vanish. It lingers, heavy in the room, but it feels like a door has cracked open. A possibility.