Chapter 20 #2
When did the Knightley pack, who I’ve considered arrogant and annoying and everything I dislike, become people who look at me with genuine care in their eyes?
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Okay, but... can we not make this weird?”
Malik’s eyebrows rise. “Sweetheart, I think we’re way past weird.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It comes out shaky and a little hysterical, but it’s real. “Fair point.”
“How about this,” Cole suggests. “We pretend like the heat part is over and done with. No awkwardness, no analyzing. We just... hang out.”
“Hanging out,” I repeat slowly. “You want to just... hang out. In my nest. After...”
I gesture vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.
“Yes,” all four of them say in unison.
I blink a few times, actually not expecting the answer they gave.
“Okay,” I whisper. “But if this gets weird, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted,” Cole says with a grin. Then he stands and claps his hands together. “Okay. First priority: getting some food in you.”
“And making sure you’re comfortable,” Jalen adds.
Dax moves to the dresser, and I realize they must have unpacked some of my things at some point. He pulls open a drawer like he knows exactly where everything is and emerges with one of my sleep tees. An old, soft one that’s probably two sizes too big.
“Arms up,” he instructs gently, and I comply even though the movement makes my whole body protest.
He slides the shirt over my head with such care, such gentleness, that my throat gets tight. His hands guide my arms through the sleeves, patient when I move too slowly, steadying me when I sway.
The soft fabric settles over my skin, and I immediately feel better. More covered. More like myself.
“Good?” Dax asks, and I nod.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Always,” he says simply, and something about the way he says it sends a sharp, pleasant ache right through my center.
Cole disappears for a minute and returns with a sandwich and some fruit on a plate. I accept it even though my hands are still shaking slightly, and take a bite. It tastes better than anything has a right to taste, probably because I’m starving.
“Slow down,” Malik murmurs, one hand coming to rest gently on my back. “You’ve got time.”
I try to follow his advice, chewing slowly, but God, I’m hungry.
“So,” Jalen says after a moment, his tone casual. “Pity we didn’t bring any entertainment.”
“You mean your DVDs?” Cole asks, and there’s something in his voice. Amusement mixed with what sounds like... exasperation?
“Oh God, not those DVDs,” Malik groans, and I see him drag a hand down his face.
My curiosity sparks despite the fog in my brain. “What DVDs?”
“Nothing,” Jalen says quickly.
“He collects eighties action movies,” Cole supplies, ignoring Jalen’s glare. “Has the entire collection. We’re talking original cases, director’s cuts, the works.”
“They’re classics,” Jalen defends.
“They’re terrible,” Malik counters, but there’s affection in his voice. “I’ve seen Road House more times than any person should have to endure.”
“Road House is a masterpiece,” Jalen argues.
I find myself hiding a smile.
“What about you?” Dax asks, and I realize he’s shifted positions. Moving behind me. Before I can ask what he’s doing, his legs are on either side of me, and he’s gently pulling me back against his chest.
I freeze. My whole body going rigid at the contact even through my sleep shirt.
“This okay?” Dax murmurs against my ear. His voice is low, intimate. “Just thought you might be more comfortable. You’re still shaking a little.”
I am, I realize. My whole body is trembling with post-heat weakness. The kind of hollowed-out exhaustion that makes even sitting upright difficult.
I should say no. Should maintain some kind of boundary after everything that just happened. Should not be leaning back into the solid warmth of his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah,” I hear myself whisper. “It’s... yeah.”
And God help me, I let myself relax against him. Let my head rest back against his shoulder, let his arms come around to loosely hold me while I continue eating.
It is more comfortable. That’s all it is. Just practical. My body is still recovering, still weak, and Dax is warm and solid and supportive.
Nothing to do with the way his scent wraps around me, or the way his steady heartbeat against my back makes my own pulse slow to match.
“You were asking about Sierra’s taste in movies,” Malik prompts, getting the conversation back on track.
Was he? I can’t quite remember through the fog.
“Do you have a favorite genre?” Cole asks, settling into the nest with that easy grace of his.
I have to think about it, my brain moving slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I like... stories? Things with good characters.”
“That’s everyone’s favorite,” Jalen points out.
“No, I mean...” I struggle to articulate it, taking another bite to buy myself time. “I don’t care if it’s action or romance or whatever. I just want to care about the people. Want them to feel real.”
“So not eighties action movies,” Malik says, shooting Jalen a pointed look.
“Hey, those characters are very real,” Jalen protests. “Patrick Swayze’s character in Road House has incredible depth.”
“He’s a bouncer who does tai chi,” Cole deadpans.
“Exactly. Depth.”
I laugh, surprising myself. The sound is soft and a little breathy. I feel Dax freeze behind me. “I, uh, I’ve never actually seen Road House.”
All four of them turn to stare at me like I’ve just confessed to a crime.
“Never?” Jalen looks personally offended.
“It came out in like... 1989,” I point out. “Way before I was born.”
“It’s a cultural touchstone,” Jalen insists.
“It’s a movie about bar fights,” Malik corrects.
“Zen bar fights,” Jalen amends.
I take another bite of the sandwich, letting their voices wash over me. There’s something soothing about the way they tease each other. Like this is normal for them. Like they’ve had this exact argument a hundred times before.
Like I’m just... part of it.
My eyelids are getting heavy again. The food is helping, grounding me, but I’m still so tired. Every part of my body feels like it’s made of wet sand.
“You still with us?” Cole asks gently, and I realize I’ve zoned out.
“Mmm,” I manage, which isn’t really an answer.
“Finish your food first,” Dax murmurs behind me, his voice vibrating against my back. “Then you can rest.”
I want to protest that I’m not tired, but that would be a lie. Instead, I focus on eating, even though it’s taking more effort than it should. Lifting the sandwich to my mouth feels like lifting weights.
“So, what do you watch?” Malik asks, clearly trying to keep me awake so I finish the food. “When you’re not judging Jalen’s movie collection.”
“Documentaries, mostly,” I say after swallowing. The words come out slow, thick. “Nature stuff. True crime sometimes.”
“True crime?” Cole perks up. “Like murder mysteries?”
“Yeah.” I’m struggling to keep my eyes open now. “There’s this one about... um...”
I lose my train of thought completely. What was I saying?
“Easy,” Dax says, his hand coming up to steady the plate I’m holding. “How about we save the rest for later?”
“M’not done,” I mumble, even though I am. Even though I can barely keep my head up.
“You are for now,” he says gently, taking the plate and passing it to someone. Cole, maybe. I’m not tracking anymore.
“The post-heat fog usually takes a few hours to clear,” Malik says, and his voice sounds far away. “Combined with the fatigue... you need to sleep, Sierra.”
“But you were talking,” I protest weakly. “About movies. And... stuff.”
“We can talk more when you wake up,” Jalen assures me.
“Promise?” The word slips out before I can stop it. Vulnerable and small and nothing like my usual confidence.
But I’m too tired to care.
There’s a pause. Then:
“Promise,” Cole says.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Malik adds.
“You’re stuck with us for a while longer,” Jalen says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“At least until the storm clears,” Dax says, his arms adjusting to hold me more securely against his chest. And then, so quietly I might have imagined it. “Longer if you’ll let us.”
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay.”
There’s movement around me. Blankets being adjusted. Pillows being positioned. And through it all, I’m wrapped in warmth and the combined scents of all four of them.
Pack scent, some distant part of my brain supplies.
“Rest,” Dax murmurs, his hand stroking gentle patterns on my arm. “We’ve got you.”
We’ve got you.
The words make something in my chest squeeze tight. Make that fear from earlier resurface. The fear that they’ll leave, that this will end, that I’ll open my eyes and find myself alone.
“You’ll stay?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Yes,” all four of them answer at once.
And I believe them.
Protected.
Safe.
Safe in the quiet sound of their voices as they talk among themselves. Low, soothing, and constant.
They’re still arguing about movies, I think. Something about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.
The normalcy of it makes me smile.
Here.
They’re here.
And they’re staying.