Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sierra
Breakfast tastes like cardboard in my mouth.
Well, no. That’s not fair. The eggs are actually perfect. They’re fluffy and seasoned just right, with cheese melted through and vegetables that still have a slight crunch. Cole clearly knows what he’s doing in a kitchen.
But I can barely taste any of it because my brain won’t stop screaming.
The storm is clearing.
They could leave tomorrow.
What happens then?
I force myself to take another bite, chewing mechanically while the four alphas around the table do the same. The silence is suffocating. Tense. Heavy with all the things none of us are saying.
Dax is staring at his plate as if it contains the secrets of the universe. Malik keeps glancing at the window, at the gray light filtering through those opened shutters. Jalen is pushing his eggs around with his fork, creating patterns in the residual moisture. And Cole… is watching me.
I can feel his gaze even though I’m determinedly not looking at him. Can feel the weight of it, the question in it.
What now?
I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. My brain is still foggy from heat recovery and overwhelmed from everything that’s happened in the past seventy-two hours. I’m not equipped to make life-altering decisions about what four alphas mean to me or what I want or—
“This is really good,” I blurt out, because someone needs to break this awful silence. “The eggs. They’re perfect.”
Cole’s lips twitch. “Thanks.”
“No, really. Like, restaurant quality. Do you cook a lot?”
“When I have time,” he says. “Which isn’t often with our schedule, but...”
He trails off. More silence.
I take another bite. Chew. Swallow. Try not to think about how in twenty-four hours, we could all be going our separate ways.
Try not to think about how much that thought makes my chest hurt.
When I finally can’t force down another bite, I set my fork down carefully. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
“You barely ate half,” Malik observes, concern flickering across his face.
“I’m still...” I gesture vaguely. “My appetite isn’t quite back yet.”
It’s not entirely a lie. Post-heat recovery does affect appetite. But mostly I just can’t eat when my stomach is tied in knots about the impending conversation we’re all avoiding.
I stand up, immediately regretting it when everyone’s attention snaps to me like I’ve done something alarming.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just... clearing my plate.”
Dax is already on his feet. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to. I can carry my own plate to the sink.”
“I know you can.” His hand is gentle as he takes the plate anyway. “But you don’t have to.”
The careful way he says it, like he’s trying not to spook me, makes my heart ache with a strange, sweet pang.
They’re going to leave, my omega whispers. They’re going to walk away, and we’ll be alone.
I shake off the thought and move toward the living room, mostly because I don’t know what else to do with myself. Should I go back to my nest? Except that feels too vulnerable, too much like retreating. Should I help clean up? Except they’ve made it clear they want to take care of me.
Should I just... stand here awkwardly while we all pretend everything is fine?
“Cards?”
I turn to find Cole holding up a deck, one eyebrow raised in question. “Thought we could play something. Pass the time.”
Pass the time until what? Until the roads clear and reality comes crashing back?
But I nod anyway because cards are better than this suffocating tension. “Sure. What game?”
“Poker?” His grin is almost back to normal. Almost. “Unless you don’t know how—”
“I know how to play poker.” I smile.
“Texas Hold’em?” Malik asks, joining us in the living room.
“My preferred variant, actually.”
Cole’s grin widens. “This should be interesting.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m up by a frankly embarrassing amount.
“How?” Dax demands, staring at the pile of pretzels I’m using as chips. “How are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” I ask innocently, arranging my latest winnings into neat stacks.
“Winning. Constantly. You’ve taken every hand for the last fifteen minutes.”
“Not every hand,” I correct. “Malik won that one three rounds ago.”
“Once,” Malik says flatly. “I’ve won once.”
“Which is one more than me,” Cole mutters, glaring at his remaining three pretzels.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. This is better. This feels almost normal.
Jalen deals the next hand. “Are you sure you haven’t been counting cards?”
“Can’t count cards in poker,” I point out. “Wrong game.”
“Then how—”
“Skill,” I say simply, picking up my cards. “And paying attention.”
I have a decent hand. Not amazing, but workable.
I glance around the table, noting tells.
Cole’s left eye twitches slightly when he has something good.
Malik’s jaw tightens when he’s bluffing.
Jalen gets very still when he’s confident.
Dax is harder to read, but he has this thing where his fingers drum once against the table when he’s uncertain.
Right now, his fingers are perfectly still.
He’s got something good.
I fold.
“Really?” Cole looks at me skeptically. “You’re folding?”
“Yep.”
“But you never fold.”
“I fold when I know I’m beat.” I nod toward Dax. “He’s got at least a straight.”
Dax’s eyebrows rise. “How did you—”
“Your fingers,” I explain. “You drum them when you’re uncertain about your hand. You haven’t moved them once this round.”
Cole throws his cards down. “That’s cheating.”
“That’s poker,” I correct. “Reading your opponents is half the game.”
“More than half,” Malik mutters, folding as well.
The hand plays out exactly as I predicted. Dax has a straight. Jalen had a decent two pair but not enough to beat it.
“Okay,” Cole says, gathering the cards for his turn to deal. “Where did you learn to play like this?”
“College,” I say, pulling my latest winnings toward me. “Had to pay for textbooks somehow.”
All four of them are staring at me now.
“You paid for textbooks with poker winnings?” Jalen asks slowly.
“Some of them. I had a scholarship, but it didn’t cover everything.
Books are expensive.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it was.
Those games had been intense. High stakes for broke college students.
But I’d been good at reading people even then.
“There was a regular game in my dorm. I cleaned up.”
“Remind me never to underestimate you,” Dax says, and there’s something in his voice. Admiration, maybe. Respect.
It makes my cheeks warm. “Underestimating the omega? Classic alpha mistake.”
Cole laughs at that. “She’s got us there.”
“She’s got us in general,” Malik adds, looking at his pitiful stack of pretzels. “I’m almost out.”
“Me too,” Jalen admits.
“Deal me in for the next hand,” Dax says. “I want another shot at beating her.”
The game continues, and slowly, the atmosphere shifts back to something lighter. Something easier. Cole makes terrible puns about his cards. Malik trash-talks in the politest way possible. Jalen stays quiet, but his eyes are bright with amusement.
And I... I’m having fun.
Real, genuine fun with the Knightley pack.
Who would have thought?
“You’re bluffing,” I announce during the next hand, pointing at Cole.
“Am not.”
“Are too. You get this tiny crease between your eyebrows when you’re bluffing. You think you’re being subtle, but you’re really not.”
Cole’s hand goes to his forehead. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do,” Malik confirms.
“Traitor,” Cole mutters, but he’s smiling as he folds. “Fine. You caught me.”
“Told you.” I collect my winnings with perhaps more smugness than necessary.
“You know,” Jalen says thoughtfully, studying his cards. “You have a tell, too.”
I freeze. “I do not.”
“You do.” His smile is small but definite. “Your left hand. You tap your fingers against the table when you’re trying to decide how to play a good hand.”
My eyes drop to my left hand, which is—fuck—currently tapping against the table.
“That’s...” I stop tapping immediately. “That’s not a thing.”
“It’s definitely a thing,” Dax confirms, looking way too amused. “You’ve been doing it all game.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because watching you win was more entertaining than actually winning,” Cole admits. “Plus, you look so pleased with yourself when you take our chips.”
“Pretzels,” I correct automatically. “We’re playing for pretzels.”
“Whatever. The point stands. You’re adorable when you’re gloating.”
Adorable.
The word makes me flush hot, and I have to look away to hide it. But I can feel them all watching me. Can sense their attention like an actual touch.
“This might be the best poker game I’ve ever played,” Cole announces, leaning back in his chair.
“Agreed,” Malik says.
“Definitely top five,” Jalen adds.
“Top three,” Dax amends. “Sierra’s vicious. I like it.”
The casual way they say it, like I’m just one of them, makes my chest do something complicated.
We play another few hands. I win most of them, though Jalen manages to catch me once on a bluff. The victory makes him grin in a way that’s so genuinely delighted I can’t even be mad about losing.
Outside, the storm continues. Rain still drums against the windows, though it’s gentler now. More rain than deluge. The wind has dropped enough that I can’t hear it howling anymore.
The storm is really ending.
The thought makes my hands shake slightly as I gather the cards for my turn to deal, and I have to take a breath to steady myself.
Not yet. I’m not ready to think about that yet.
“So,” I say, shuffling the deck. “Tell me about your pack. How did you guys form?”
The question seems to catch them off guard. They exchange glances in that silent communication thing that packs do.
“Military,” Dax says finally. “We met during our first deployment.”
“All four of you? At the same time?”
“More or less.” Malik settles back in his chair. “Dax and I were in the same unit. Cole was intelligence. Jalen was combat medic.”