Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
KOA
I’ve spent most of my life being the steady one.
Kai burns fast. Bright. Loud. He crashes into rooms and makes them rearrange around him. I learned early that if one of us was going to hold the centre, it would have to be me.
It never bothered me.
Until now.
I watch them from the hallway without pretending I’m not watching. Sol standing too close. Kai pushing just close enough to spark. Lani in the middle of it, no longer confused, no longer fragile, but awake in a way that feels dangerous.
She responds differently to each of us.
That’s what unsettles me. Not that she reacts. But how.
With Sol, she softens. Her shoulders lower. Her breathing steadies like her body recognises a fixed point and settles into orbit.
With Kai, she flares. Heat, sharp and immediate. Her pulse jumps; her scent shifts brighter, warmer, restless in a way that makes the air feel thinner.
And with me—
With me she quiets.
It’s subtle. Easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.
But I am.
When I stand close enough for my shoulder to brush hers, something in her loosens. The tension drops out of her spine. The edge fades. Not extinguished, just…grounded.
I should be satisfied with that.
Instead, I feel something ugly twist low in my chest.
Because she steps toward them.
Deliberately.
She leans into Sol when she needs steadiness.
She walks straight into Kai’s fire just to see what happens.
With me, she relaxes.
Like I’m safe.
Like I’m not a risk.
I don’t want to be safe.
The realisation lands heavier than I expect.
Kai corners her in the living room that evening, words sharp but not cruel. He’s not mocking her now. He’s testing her. Seeing if she’ll rise to it.
She does. Of course she does.
Sol watches from a distance, controlled but alert.
I stay back. I tell myself it’s restraint. But when she laughs at something Kai says – low, breathless, not defensive – something inside me snaps.
Not violently.
Just quietly.
I’ve been careful with her. I’ve given her space. I’ve spoken gently. I’ve let her process without pushing.
And in doing so, I’ve allowed the other two to define the edges.
Kai is heat.
Sol is gravity.
What am I?
I step into the room before I can talk myself out of it.
She notices first. Her gaze flicks to me, and the shift in her scent is immediate – not flare, not fire. Warmth deepening. Something indulgent and low.
My jaw tightens.
“Kai,” I say evenly.
He glances at me, irritation already primed. “What?”
“You’re circling.”
“So?”
“So stop treating her like a challenge.”
The room stills.
Lani’s eyes sharpen.
“I’m not a trophy,” she says before Kai can respond.
“I know,” I reply quietly, and my gaze doesn’t leave hers.
Kai scoffs. “You think I don’t know that too?”
“I think you don’t know when to stop pushing.”
“And you do?” he shoots back.
Yes. But I haven’t been pushing at all. That’s the problem.
“I’m not competing with you,” I say.
Kai’s mouth twists. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Lani steps back slightly, watching the exchange like she’s trying to read the current underneath it.
“You’re both ridiculous,” she mutters.
Maybe. But this isn’t about pride.
It’s about the way she leans toward fire and forgets that grounding is a choice too.
“You don’t have to choose between reaction and restraint,” I say to her quietly.
Her brows draw together. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re allowed to want more than spark.”
Kai scowls. “Jesus, Koa.”
“Shut up,” I reply, not looking at him.
The words land heavier than I expect because he actually goes quiet for once.
Lani’s attention sharpens on me, something assessing in her expression.
“You think I’m just reacting?” she asks.
“I think you’re discovering,” I say carefully. “And they’re loud about it.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because I’ve spent my whole life holding back.
Because if one of us pushes too hard, everything tips.
Because I’ve been waiting for something real instead of grabbing at something immediate.
Instead, I say, “Because I don’t want you to calm down around me by default.”
Her breath catches slightly.
That gets her attention.
“I don’t calm down by default,” she says.
“You do.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Her scent shifts – not sharp, not flaring, but deeper. Warmer. That tonka bean undertone in mine pulling something steady from her.
She steps closer.
Not as boldly as she does with Kai.
Not as instinctively as she does with Sol.
But intentionally.
I feel it.
The alignment. The quiet.
Her shoulders lower. Her breathing evens.
“You make it quieter,” she says softly.
“I know.”
“And you don’t like that?”
I hold her gaze. “I don’t want to just be the absence of something for you.”
Her eyes flicker.
“You’re not,” she says, almost defensive.
“Then don’t treat me like I am.”
Kai shifts behind us, restless energy coiling tighter. Sol remains still, but I can feel the weight of his attention.
For the first time, I don’t step back.
I lift my hand slowly, deliberately, and let my fingers brush lightly over her wrist.
Not claiming. Not testing. Just contact.
The effect is immediate.
The tension in her posture dissolves. The low hum beneath her scent steadies, deepening rather than flaring. She exhales softly, and the sound lands somewhere deeper in me than it should.
I don’t pull away.
“You don’t have to flare to be wanted,” I tell her quietly.
Her throat moves when she swallows.
“And I don’t have to calm down to feel safe,” she replies.
There’s a challenge in it.
Her pulse beats steadily beneath my fingertips. Not racing. Not sparking. Just present.
She doesn’t step back.
That’s when I realise this isn’t passive. She’s choosing to stand here.
My hand slides from her wrist to her palm, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers curl into mine. Not tight. Not desperate. Intentional.
The room goes very quiet.
This isn’t fire. This isn’t gravity.
This is balance.
I lift my free hand to her jaw, slow enough that she can stop me at any point.
She doesn’t.
Her breath shifts.
My thumb brushes lightly along the line of her cheek.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur.
She doesn’t speak.
Instead, she leans in.
That’s all the permission I need.
The kiss is soft. Deliberate. No claiming. No dominance. No heat spike.
Her lips are warm against mine, steady, exploratory rather than urgent. There’s no wildfire in it, no reckless edge. It feels grounding. Like something aligning quietly into place. But it feels right. Inevitable. Perfect.
She exhales into me, and I feel the subtle shift in her scent as it deepens and sweetens.
When I pull back, I don’t go far.
Her eyes stay closed for half a second longer than necessary before she opens them.
“This is different,” she says softly.
“Yes.”
“But good. Really good, Koa.”
And for the first time, I don’t step back first.