Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cole
The morning light filtering through the windows is different.
Softer somehow. Gentler. The kind of light that says the storm is truly over, that the world has returned to normal, that it’s time to rejoin reality, whether you’re ready for it or not.
I’m not ready.
I’ve been awake for an hour, just lying here in the pillow fort we built last night. Sierra’s still asleep, curled against Malik. Dax is on her other side, one arm draped protectively over her hip. Jalen’s between her thighs, face pressed into her soft skin.
We look like a pack.
We feel like a pack.
But we’re not. Not officially. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The thought carves out a sudden, hollow space right in my chest.
The radio on the kitchen counter crackles to life with the morning news, volume low but audible in the quiet house. I’ve been half-listening to it for the past twenty minutes, dreading what I know is coming.
“—and in our top story this morning, road crews have officially declared Route 72 and all coastal routes passable as of six AM. Residents who evacuated can now safely return to their homes. The storm cleanup continues, but the worst is behind us—”
There it is.
The roads are clear.
We can leave.
Sierra stirs against Malik, making a small sound of protest as she starts to wake. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused for a moment before awareness settles in. She blinks at me sleepily.
“Morning,” I say softly, trying to inject some of my usual cheerfulness into it.
“Morning,” she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep. Then she seems to register what she’s hearing. “Is that the radio?”
“Yeah.”
She goes very still, listening. I watch her face as the announcement sinks in. The roads are clear. The storm is over. Our week outside of time has officially ended.
“Oh,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We lie there for a moment longer, neither of us wanting to be the one to say it. To make it real.
Finally, Sierra takes a breath. “I guess we should probably start packing.”
The words land heavy despite how softly she says them.
“I guess we should,” I agree, even though everything in me is screaming to stay right here in this pillow fort forever.
Movement around us suggests the others are waking too. Malik’s hand tightens briefly on Sierra’s waist before releasing. Dax sits up with a groan, running his hands through his dark hair. Jalen buries his face into the soft skin of her thighs and groans in protest of waking up.
We extract ourselves from the fort slowly, reluctantly. Like if we move too fast, we’ll shatter something fragile.
“Coffee first,” Dax growls. “Then packing.”
“Yeah,” Malik growls, voice rough with sleep.
We shuffle into the kitchen, and I busy myself making coffee while the others wake up properly. Sierra wraps herself in a throw blanket and perches on one of the chairs at the table, watching me work.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
I pause in the middle of measuring coffee grounds. Am I okay? I have no idea how to answer that question.
“Yeah,” I say finally, because what else can I say? “Just... this was nice.”
“It was,” she agrees, and there’s something in her voice that makes me look up.
She’s watching me with this expression that’s equal parts soft and sad, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like beg her to stay. To let us figure out how to make this work. To not let this end just because the roads are clear.
The coffee finishes brewing and I pour mugs for everyone, the familiar ritual grounding me. We drink in silence. Finally, Malik sets down his mug. “We should start. The earlier we finish, the earlier we can get on the road.”
Right. Because we need to get back to Sweetwater. Back to our business, our clients, our lives. Back to being the Knightley Pack and Sierra Smith, separate entities who happen to work in the same industry.
Except nothing feels separate anymore.
“Right,” I agree, running a hand over the stubble on my jaw. “Let’s get cleaned up. Ten minutes to shower and dress, then we pack.”
We scatter to our respective corners. I grab a quick shower, scrubbing away the last of the sleep and the lingering scent of the nest, though I know it’s permanently etched into my memory. When I pull on jeans and a fresh t-shirt, I feel a little more human, if no less reluctant.
I meet Sierra in the hallway. She’s dressed now too, in leggings and a soft oversized sweater, her hair brushed back from her face. She looks beautiful. And ready to leave.
“I’ll help you pack,” I offer.
She nods, giving me a soft smile. “Thanks.”
We head to the bedroom together, and the moment we step inside, I’m hit with the scent. All of us, layered together. The nest has been thoroughly lived in, thoroughly loved, and the combined pack scent is so strong it makes my chest ache.
Sierra stops in the doorway, breathing it in.
“It smells like all of us,” she says softly.
“Yeah.” I move to her bag, which is still sitting in the corner where we put it days ago. It feels like a lifetime ago now. “It does.”
I start gathering her things from around the room. Her sleep shirts, the soft pajama pants. Each item carries our combined scent now, evidence of the week we spent tangled together.
Sierra moves to the remains of the nest, gathering the few blankets we hadn't stolen for the fort and begins folding them. I watch her hands smooth over the fabric, lingering on the spots where our scents are strongest.
“Keep some,” I say before I can stop myself.
She looks up at me, surprised. “What?”
“The blankets. The pillows. Whatever you want from the nest. Keep some of it.” I swallow hard. “So you have something that smells like...” I swallow hard. “Like us.”
Her eyes go bright with emotion, and she blinks rapidly. “Cole—”
“Just in case you want to remember,” I continue, the words tumbling out now. I run a hand through my hair. “What this week was like. What we were like. Together.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her fingers still smoothing over a soft blue blanket that’s saturated with my cinnamon-glazed scent. Then she nods.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll keep some.”
We work in silence after that, both of us folding and packing and trying not to think too hard about what we’re doing. About what it means.
I find one of my t-shirts mixed in with her clothes, somehow ending up in the nest during one of our many tangles. The fabric is saturated with her and my scent combined.
“That one is yours,” Sierra says, noticing what I’m holding.
“Keep it,” I hear myself say. “If you want.”
She takes it from me, pressing it to her face and breathing in. When she lowers it, her eyes are definitely wet.
“Okay,” she says again. “I’ll keep it.”
Sierra’s toiletries are in the en-suite, mixed in with ours. Her shampoo next to Jalen’s conditioner. Her toothbrush beside Dax’s. The intimacy of it makes my throat tight.
“I think that’s everything,” she says eventually, surveying the room.
But it’s not everything. It’s just stuff. Just objects. It doesn’t capture what this room means now. What happened here beyond the heat and the storm.
This is where we became something.
The question is whether that something survives outside these walls.
We carry her bags to the living room, where the others are already gathering their own things. The pillow fort still dominates the space, and none of us seem ready to dismantle it yet.
“I’ll start on the kitchen,” Malik says. “Make sure everything’s cleaned up.”
“I’ll handle the bathroom,” Jalen offers.
“Living room,” Dax says, though his eyes linger on the fort with what looks like reluctance.
That leaves Sierra and me to finish the bedroom. We head back in and I strip the sheets while she gathers the last few items. The mattress looks bare and sad without all our layers of blankets and pillows.
“Should we take the nest materials?” I ask, gesturing to the pile Sierra set aside.
“I’ll take these,” she says, indicating a smaller stack. “You guys can divvy up the rest if you want them, or they’ll end up being thrown out. You know… since our scents are all over them and all.”
The casual way she says it makes something in my chest crack. Like we’re just roommates splitting up shared possessions after a lease ends, not pack trying to hold on to pieces of something precious.
We finish in the bedroom and move to help the others. Dax has dismantled the pillow fort, folding blankets even though I can see his jaw is tight. Malik’s wiping down kitchen counters that are already clean. Jalen’s organizing the bathroom like he’s preparing for an inspection.
We’re all coping in our own ways.
“I think we should do a final walk-through,” Sierra suggests when everything’s packed. “Make sure we didn’t leave anything.”
We move through the house together, checking each room. The kitchen where we cooked together. The living room where we watched movies and built forts and watched Sierra light up with laughter. The shower room where we gave her that bath.
Finally, the bedroom.
We stand in the doorway together, all five of us, looking at the space that changed everything. The bed where Sierra’s heat broke. Where we knotted her, one after another, giving her everything she needed. Where we slept tangled together afterward, content and complete.
Where we became pack, even if we didn’t say it out loud.
“This room,” Sierra says softly, and doesn’t finish the sentence.
She doesn’t need to.
We all know what she means.
“Yeah,” Dax agrees, his voice rough. “This room.”
We stand there for another moment, nobody wanting to be the first to turn away. Then Malik clears his throat.
“We should load the vehicles.”
Right. The vehicles.
Sierra’s car is still in the driveway where she left it days ago. Our truck is parked beside it, equally battered by debris from the storm but functional.
We carry our bags out, the morning air crisp and clean in a way that feels almost mocking. Like the world doesn’t understand the weight of what we’re doing.