21. Eliana
ELIANA
I wake slowly, my body heavy with satisfaction and the lingering effects of heat that's finally beginning to ebb. The first thing I notice is warmth—not just the physical warmth of bodies pressed against mine, but the deeper warmth of belonging that settles in my chest like contentment made tangible. The second thing I notice is the quality of light filtering through the bedroom windows, golden and bright in a way that tells me it's late afternoon.
How long have we been up here? Time seems to have lost all meaning in this cocoon of tangled limbs and shared breath.
I'm lying on my side, Kael's massive frame curved protectively around my back, his arm heavy across my waist. His breathing is deep and even against my neck, and I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat where his chest presses against my shoulder blades. In front of me, Fen sleeps with his face buried in my hair, one hand resting possessively on my hip. Rhys has claimed the space near my feet, his long frame stretched across the width of the bed, one hand wrapped loosely around my ankle as if he needs that point of contact even in sleep.
The sight of them—my alphas, my beta, my pack—makes my heart squeeze with an emotion so intense it takes my breath away. They look younger in sleep, the sharp edges of their faces softened, the careful control they maintain when awake melted away to reveal something vulnerable and precious underneath.
Mine. The thought rises unbidden, fierce and possessive in a way that would have scared me just weeks ago. But now it feels right, natural, as fundamental as breathing. They're mine, and I'm theirs, and somehow that doesn't feel like losing myself but like finally becoming who I was always meant to be.
My body aches in the most delicious way, every movement a reminder of how thoroughly I've been claimed, marked, loved. The bonding bites on my neck throb with a pleasant soreness, and I can still feel the phantom sensation of being knotted, stretched and filled and completed in ways I never knew were possible.
But it's more than just physical satisfaction. Something fundamental has shifted inside me during these hours of joining and claiming. The anxious, uncertain woman who arrived here a month ago feels like someone I used to know rather than who I am now. In her place is someone stronger, more sure of herself, someone who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to reach for it.
I shift carefully, trying not to wake anyone as I extricate myself from the tangle of limbs. My movement causes Kael to tighten his grip reflexively, a low rumble of protest vibrating in his chest even though his eyes remain closed.
"Shh," I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand. "I'm just getting some water. I'll be right back."
He releases me reluctantly, his arm sliding away with obvious reluctance. Fen makes a similar sound of complaint as I ease away from his warmth, but neither of them wake fully. Only Rhys opens his eyes, those green depths immediately alert despite having been deep asleep moments before.
"Everything okay?" he asks quietly, his voice rough with sleep and recent exertion.
"Perfect," I assure him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "Just thirsty. Don't let them wake up and panic when they realize I'm gone."
His lips curve in a sleepy smile. "I'll guard the fort."
I slip on Kael's discarded shirt, the fabric hanging almost to my knees and carrying his scent like a comfort blanket. The simple act of wearing his clothes sends a little thrill through me—another small claim, another way of belonging.
The house feels different as I pad barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen. Not physically different, but somehow more mine than it was before. Every corner, every shadow, every creaking floorboard is familiar now in a way that speaks to permanence rather than temporary shelter. This isn't just where I'm staying anymore; it's home.
The kitchen is bathed in late afternoon sunlight that streams through the windows, illuminating dust motes that dance in the golden air. I fill a glass with cold water from the tap, drinking deeply and relishing the way it soothes my throat, raw from hours of crying out in pleasure and need.
As I set the glass down, I catch sight of my reflection in the kitchen window and freeze. The woman looking back at me is barely recognizable as the buttoned-up, anxiety-ridden person who stumbled through this door four weeks ago. My hair is a wild tangle of waves, my lips are swollen from countless kisses, and the collar of Kael's shirt has slipped to reveal the edge of fresh bonding marks that decorate my throat like jewelry.
But it's more than just the physical changes. There's something in my eyes that wasn't there before—a confidence, a sense of self-possession that radiates from within. I look like a woman who knows she's loved, who knows she belongs, who has finally found her place in the world.
A soft chime from the counter makes me turn, and I realize it's my phone—fully charged for the first time in weeks thanks to the restored power. The screen shows a dozen missed calls and twice as many text messages, all from Rebecca. My best friend, my anchor to my old life, the person who's probably been worried sick about my extended silence.
Guilt twists in my stomach as I scroll through the increasingly frantic messages. The most recent ones are from just this morning, before I made my decision to stay, and they paint a picture of someone genuinely afraid for my safety.
Eliana, PLEASE call me. I'm starting to think something terrible has happened.
I've called the police in your area but they say they can't do a wellness check because of the storm.
If you don't call me by tonight, I'm driving up there myself, roads or no roads.
I need to call her. She deserves to know I'm safe, that I'm happy, that I've made a choice that's going to change everything. But how do I explain what's happened here? How do I tell my fiercely independent, perpetually single best friend that I've not only fallen in love but fallen in love with three men and decided to stay with them permanently?
Rebecca has been my sounding board through every major decision of my adult life. She talked me through my divorce, held my hand through the darkest days after Marcus's betrayal, celebrated every small victory in my writing career. The idea of her not understanding this, not supporting this, makes my chest tight with anxiety.
But I can't put it off any longer. She's worried, and that's not fair to her.
I take a deep breath and dial her number, my heart hammering as it rings once, twice—
"ELIANA!" Her voice is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Oh my God, are you okay? I've been going out of my mind! Where have you been? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"I'm fine, Rebecca," I say quickly, using the nickname that always makes her soften slightly. "I'm sorry I worried you. The storm knocked out the power and cell service, and I just got it back today."
"Are you hurt? Are you safe? Please tell me you're not stuck in some creepy cabin with a serial killer or something."
Despite everything, I find myself laughing. "No serial killers. I promise."
"Then what—" She stops abruptly, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. "Wait. There's something different about your voice. You sound different."
Trust Rebecca to pick up on subtle cues even over the phone. We've been friends since college, and she knows me better than almost anyone. Of course she'd notice the change.
"I am different," I admit, settling into one of the kitchen chairs. "A lot has happened, Becca. I need to tell you something, and I need you to really listen without interrupting, okay?"
"Oh God, you did meet someone, didn't you?" Her voice shifts into the tone she uses when she's preparing to be protective. "Please tell me you haven't fallen for some mountain man who's going to keep you chained to a stove for the rest of your life."
"It's not like that," I say quickly. "Well, not exactly like that. There are three of them, and—"
"THREE?" The word comes out as a shriek. "Eliana Marie, please tell me you have not gotten yourself into some kind of weird polygamy situation!"
"It's not polygamy," I protest, though I'm not entirely sure how to explain what it actually is. "They're not married to each other, and it's not some religious thing. They're a pack. Kael and Rhys are alphas, Fen is a beta, and I'm omega, and we've bonded and—"
"Oh no." Rebecca's voice goes flat with disbelief. "Oh no, no, no. Eliana, please tell me you have not bought into that alpha-beta-omega nonsense. That's not real. That's just fantasy fiction for people who want to romanticize unhealthy power dynamics."
The dismissal hits like a slap, making my cheeks flush with hurt and anger. "It's not nonsense, Becca. And it's not unhealthy. These men have shown me more respect and care in four weeks than Marcus did in two years of marriage."
"That's a pretty low bar," she shoots back. "And you've been isolated with them for a month! That's textbook Stockholm syndrome, honey. You've trauma-bonded with your rescuers."
"They didn't rescue me," I snap, my grip tightening on the phone. "I rescued myself by leaving Marcus. They just provided shelter during a storm."
"And now you think you're in love with all three of them?" Her voice carries that particular tone she uses when she thinks I'm being naive. "Come on, Ellie. You know how you get. You fall hard and fast, and you always think this time is different, this time is forever. Remember David? Remember how sure you were that he was your soulmate right up until he cleaned out your bank account?"
The comparison stings because there's just enough truth in it to hurt. I do tend to love deeply, completely, sometimes unwisely. But this is different, and the fact that she can't see that makes me want to scream.
"This isn't the same thing," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm not some helpless romantic who falls for the first pretty face that shows me attention. I've spent a month getting to know these men, seeing how they treat each other, how they handle conflict, how they respect boundaries. They're good people, Rebecca."
"I'm sure they are," she says, but her tone suggests she's humoring me. "But honey, you've been through so much trauma lately. The divorce, the thing with Marcus, losing your job. You're vulnerable right now, and vulnerable people make choices they wouldn't normally make."
"Stop." I'm tired of being treated like a child who can't make her own decisions. "Stop psychoanalyzing me and listen. I'm happy, Rebecca. Happier than I've been in years. I finished my book. I know what I want. And what I want is to stay here with them."
The silence that follows is heavy with disapproval and worry. When she speaks again, her voice is gentler but no less concerned.
"Okay. Let's say this is real, that you really have found your happily ever after with three mountain men. What happens when the novelty wears off? What happens when reality sets in? You can't all live in some fantasy bubble forever."
"We're not living in a fantasy," I insist. "We've talked about the practical stuff. They have a business they're starting, I have my writing. We're going to figure out how to make it work day by day, just like any other relationship."
"Any other relationship doesn't involve four people, Eliana. The logistics alone—"
"Will work themselves out," I interrupt. "Because we want them to. Because we're committed to making this work."
Another pause, longer this time. I can hear her breathing, can practically feel her struggling with how to respond.
"I'm worried about you," she says finally, and the genuine concern in her voice softens some of my anger. "This is so unlike you. The Eliana I know analyzes every decision to death, weighs pros and cons for weeks before making any major life choice. And now you're telling me you've decided to completely upend your life based on a month-long fling with three strangers?"
"They're not strangers anymore," I say quietly. "And maybe the old Eliana was the problem. Maybe all that analyzing and second-guessing was just fear dressed up as prudence. Maybe sometimes you have to trust your heart instead of your head."
"Your heart has gotten you into trouble before."
"So has my head," I counter. "My head told me to stay with Marcus even when my heart knew he was wrong for me. My head told me to take that corporate job even though it was making me miserable. Maybe it's time I stopped listening to everyone else's opinions about what's best for me and started listening to myself."
The words surprise me with their vehemence, but they feel true in a way that settles deep in my bones. For too long, I've let other people's expectations and judgments shape my choices. Safe choices, reasonable choices, choices that looked good on paper but left me feeling empty inside.
"I love you, Becca," I continue, my voice softer now. "You're my best friend, and your opinion matters to me. But this time, I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing. I need you to trust that I can make good decisions for myself."
She's quiet for so long I start to wonder if the call has dropped. Finally, she sighs, a sound heavy with resignation and worry.
"Are you safe? Are they treating you well? Are you truly happy, not just caught up in the romance of it all?"
The questions are fair, and I take a moment to really consider my answers. "I'm safe. Safer than I've ever been, actually. They're protective without being controlling, supportive without being suffocating. And yes, I'm truly happy. Not just romance-happy, but deep-down, settled-in-my-bones happy. Like I've finally found where I belong."
"And if I asked you to come home, to take some time away from them to think about this clearly?"
The question hits like a test, and I realize I know the answer immediately. "I'd say that this is home now. That I have thought about it clearly, more clearly than I've thought about anything in my life. And that while I love you and want you in my life, I'm not going to let fear or other people's expectations drive my decisions anymore."
Another long silence, then a soft laugh that sounds more sad than amused. "You really have changed, haven't you? You sound so certain. I don't think I've ever heard you sound this sure of anything."
"Because I've never been this sure of anything," I admit. "I know it seems fast, I know it seems crazy from the outside. But sometimes crazy is just another word for brave."
"God, you sound like a greeting card," she says, but there's fondness in her voice now along with the worry. "Okay. I can't say I understand it, and I can't say I'm not concerned. But you're a grown woman, and if you say you're happy..."
"I am," I assure her. "I really, really am."
"Then I guess I have to trust you. But I have conditions."
I smile despite the seriousness of the conversation. "Of course you do."
"I want to meet them. All of them. If they're going to be part of your life permanently, then they need to pass the best friend inspection."
"Deal," I say immediately. "When?"
"Soon. I was thinking of taking a vacation anyway, and I've always wanted to see the mountains. Plus, someone needs to make sure you haven't been brainwashed by a cult."
"They're not a cult, Becca."
"That's exactly what someone in a cult would say," she points out, but her tone is lighter now, more teasing than concerned. "I love you, you know. Even when you're making decisions that give me heart palpitations."
"I love you too. And I think once you meet them, once you see how they are with me, you'll understand."
"We'll see. In the meantime, please promise me you'll be careful. Don't give up your independence completely, don't let them isolate you from your friends, and for the love of God, don't get pregnant until you're absolutely sure this is what you want."
The last comment makes me laugh, though it also sends a little flutter through my stomach that I choose not to examine too closely. "I promise to be careful. But Becca? I am sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
"Okay," she says, and I can hear the acceptance in her voice even if the worry remains. "I'll try to be supportive. Just give me time to adjust to the idea, okay? This is a lot to process."
"I know. And I'm sorry I worried you. I should have found a way to call sooner."
"You should have. But I guess you were busy." There's a pause, then her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "It is good, right? The sex? Because if you're going to completely upend your life, it better be mind-blowing."
Heat floods my cheeks even though she can't see me. "Rebecca!"
"I'm just saying! Three men, Ellie. That's either the best situation ever or a logistical nightmare. Please tell me it's the first one."
Despite my embarrassment, I find myself smiling. "It's definitely not a logistical nightmare."
"Good. Okay, I should let you go before I say something that traumatizes us both. But call me tomorrow, okay? I want regular updates. And send me pictures of these mysterious mountain men so I can properly stalk them on social media."
"I'll call you tomorrow," I promise. "And Becca? Thank you. For being worried, for caring, for trying to understand even when it doesn't make sense to you."
"That's what friends are for, honey. Even when they make life choices that give me gray hair."
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet kitchen for a few minutes, processing the conversation. It went better than I'd feared but not as well as I'd hoped. Rebecca's concern is understandable, even if her assumptions about my judgment sting. She's seen me make mistakes before, seen me trust the wrong people and make choices based on emotion rather than logic.
But this is different. I can feel the difference in every cell of my body, in every breath I take. This isn't infatuation or rebound romance or some misguided attempt to fix my life through someone else. This is recognition, the deep, bone-deep certainty that I've found my people, my place, my purpose.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see Fen padding into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His hair is tousled from sleep, and there are sheet marks on his cheek that make him look younger, more vulnerable.
"You've been gone a while," he says, moving to stand behind my chair. His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently at the tension I didn't realize I was carrying. "Everything okay?"
I lean back into his touch, letting his steady presence calm the lingering anxiety from my conversation with Rebecca. "I called my best friend. She was worried about me."
"Ah." His hands still for a moment. "How did that go?"
"She thinks I've lost my mind," I admit with a rueful laugh. "She's convinced I've been brainwashed or traumatized into making bad decisions."
Fen's hands resume their gentle massage, working at the knots in my shoulders with practiced ease. "And what do you think?"
It's such a simple question, but it cuts right to the heart of everything. What do I think? Not what Rebecca thinks, not what society expects, not what some hypothetical rational person might conclude. What do I, Eliana, in this moment, with all my experience and intuition and hard-won wisdom, actually think?
"I think," I say slowly, "that I've spent most of my adult life making decisions based on what other people thought was best for me. Safe decisions, reasonable decisions, decisions that looked good on paper but felt wrong in my heart. And I think maybe it's time I trusted myself to know what makes me happy."
"Even if it looks crazy from the outside?"
"Especially if it looks crazy from the outside." I turn in my chair to face him, struck by the understanding in his hazel eyes. "You get it, don't you? What it's like to have people question your choices just because they don't fit conventional expectations."
His smile is soft and a little sad. "I've spent my whole life being told I'm not alpha enough, not omega enough, just something in between that doesn't quite fit anywhere. So yes, I understand what it's like to have people assume you don't know your own mind."
"But you do know your own mind," I say, reaching up to cover his hands with mine. "You know exactly who you are and what you want. It's one of the things I love about you."
"One of the things?" His eyes light with gentle teasing. "Just one?"
"Well, there's also your cooking, your ability to fix literally anything that breaks, the way you notice when someone needs comfort without them having to ask..." I trail off as he leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.
"I love you too," he murmurs against my skin. "All of you. Your fierce independence, your creative passion, the way you argue with Kael when he's being unreasonable, the way you make Rhys laugh until he snorts..."
"He doesn’t,” I protest, though I'm smiling.
"He really does snort. You just haven't noticed because you're usually laughing too hard yourself."
The image makes me grin, and I realize this is what I tried to explain to Rebecca—this easy intimacy, this sense of being known and appreciated for exactly who I am. Not some idealized version, not someone I'm pretending to be, but me in all my messy, complicated, imperfect glory.
"Is she going to visit?" Fen asks, settling into the chair beside me.
"She wants to. She says she needs to give you all the best friend inspection before she can approve of this relationship."
"That's fair," he says seriously. "We'd want to meet her too. Anyone important to you is important to us."
The simple acceptance in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. After Marcus, who saw my friendship with Rebecca as competition for my attention, and David, who thought she was a bad influence, the idea of being with men who want to include the people I love feels revolutionary.
"She's worried I'm making a mistake," I continue. "That I'm being impulsive, that I haven't thought this through properly."
"Have you?" The question is gentle, curious rather than challenging. "Thought it through properly?"
I consider this, turning the question over in my mind like a stone I'm examining for flaws. "Not in the way she means. I haven't made pro and con lists or researched polyamorous relationship statistics or planned out every contingency. But I've thought about what makes me happy, what makes me feel alive, what kind of life I want to build. And every answer leads back to this, to you three, to the family we're creating together."
"That sounds pretty thorough to me," he says, his hand finding mine across the small table.
"Rebecca thinks I'm being ruled by emotion instead of logic."
"Maybe logic is overrated," Fen suggests. "Logic told me I'd never find an alpha who could accept having a beta as an equal partner. Logic told Kael he was too difficult to love. Logic told Rhys he was better off alone than risking getting hurt again. But here we are."
"Here we are," I agree, squeezing his hand.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the late afternoon light shift across the kitchen walls. Outside, I can hear the steady drip of melting snow, the distant sound of a car on the main road. Normal sounds of a world returning to normal after the storm. But nothing about this feels normal to me—it feels extraordinary, magical, like something I need to protect and nurture with everything I have.
"Your friend will come around," Fen says eventually. "Once she sees how happy you are, once she gets to know us, she'll understand."
"What if she doesn't?"
He's quiet for a moment, considering. "Then that will be hard, and I'm sorry. Losing people you care about because they can't accept your choices is one of the most painful things in the world. But you can't live your life trying to make other people comfortable with your happiness."
The words hit deep, settling into a place in my chest that's been tight with anxiety since my conversation with Rebecca. He's right, of course. I can't spend my life seeking approval for every choice, especially not choices this fundamental to who I am and what I want.
"Besides," Fen continues with a small smile, "she'd have to be pretty stubborn to resist Rhys's charm, Kael's cooking, and my devastating good looks."
I laugh despite myself, the tension in my chest easing. "Your devastating good looks?"
"You wound me," he says with mock hurt. "Here I am, shirtless in golden afternoon light, and you question my devastating good looks? I may never recover from such a blow to my ego."
"Your ego seems pretty resilient," I point out, but I'm smiling as I say it.
"It has to be, living with two alphas who think they're God's gift to the universe."
As if summoned by the comment, Kael's voice carries down from upstairs. "Eliana? Where'd you go, sweetheart?"
The endearment sends warmth spiraling through me, just as it has every time he's used it over the past weeks. Such a simple word, but weighted with affection and possession in a way that makes me feel cherished rather than owned.
"Kitchen," I call back, and within moments I can hear the heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs.
Kael appears in the doorway wearing jeans but no shirt, his dark hair still mussed from sleep and his eyes immediately scanning the room as if checking for threats. When his gaze lands on me, safe and whole and sitting with Fen, his shoulders relax visibly.
"Phone call," Fen explains before Kael can ask. "Best friend check-in."
Kael nods, moving to the coffee maker and starting a fresh pot with the efficiency of long practice. "How'd that go?"
"About as well as expected," I say diplomatically. "She's concerned but trying to be supportive. She wants to visit."
"Good," Kael says without hesitation. "We want to meet her too."
The casual acceptance, the assumption that of course my friend would be welcome here, makes my heart squeeze with gratitude. These men have never once suggested I should distance myself from my old life or the people who matter to me. Instead, they've consistently shown interest in integrating those relationships into our new dynamic.
Rhys appears just as the coffee starts brewing, drawn by the scent or maybe just the pull of wherever the rest of us are gathered. He's dressed in soft sleep pants and a t-shirt that clings to his lean frame, and his sandy brown hair is sticking up at impossible angles.
"Morning," he says, though the light outside suggests it's closer to evening. "Or afternoon. Or whatever time it is."
"Time for coffee," Kael declares, pulling mugs from the cabinet. "And food. When did we last eat actual food?"
I try to remember and realize I can't. The past day has been a blur of sensation and emotion and connection that exists outside normal time. My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, making all three men turn to look at me with identical expressions of concern.
"Right," Rhys says, moving toward the refrigerator with purposeful intent. "Food first, then we can figure out what comes next."
What comes next. The phrase hangs in the air, loaded with possibility and uncertainty. We've made our declarations, sealed our bond, committed to this path forward. But the practical reality of building a life together, of integrating our different needs and goals and dreams, still lies ahead of us.
"What are you thinking about?" Fen asks quietly, his perceptive gaze reading the shift in my mood.
"The future," I admit. "What our life is going to look like day to day. How we make this work in the real world."
Kael sets a mug of coffee in front of me, the ceramic warm against my palms. "One day at a time," he says simply. "Same as any relationship."
"Most relationships don't involve four people," I point out, echoing Rebecca's concern.
"Most relationships don't involve people who are this determined to make them work," Rhys counters, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. "We'll figure it out as we go."
"What if we can't? What if the logistics are too complicated, or the outside pressure is too much, or—"
"Hey." Kael's voice is gentle but firm, cutting through my spiraling anxiety. "Look at me."
I meet his dark eyes, seeing steadiness there, certainty that helps anchor my spinning thoughts.
"We've already survived a month of being snowed in together without killing each other," he points out. "We've navigated your heat, pack bonding, integrating an omega into an established dynamic. If we can handle all that, we can handle whatever comes next."
"Besides," Fen adds, "worrying about all the things that could go wrong isn't going to prevent them from happening. All it does is steal joy from the present moment."
He's right, and I know it. I've spent too much of my life borrowing trouble from the future, letting anxiety about what might happen prevent me from fully experiencing what is happening.
"Sorry," I say, taking a sip of coffee and letting its warmth center me. "I guess I'm still processing everything."
"Don't apologize," Rhys says, starting to dice vegetables with swift, efficient movements. "It's a lot to process. We're all figuring this out together."
I watch him work, noting the easy domesticity of the scene. Rhys cooking while Kael organizes and Fen quietly anticipates what's needed, all of them moving around each other with the fluid choreography of people who've learned each other's rhythms. And somehow, I've become part of that dance, fitting into spaces I didn't even know existed.
"I finished my book," I say suddenly, the words bursting out before I can second-guess them.
All three men go still, their attention focusing on me with laser intensity.
"The one you were working on?" Fen asks.
"No, a different one. The one I started writing here, about..." I gesture vaguely, suddenly shy about admitting the subject matter. "About finding home. About pack. About us, sort of."
The silence that follows is profound, weighted with something I can't quite identify.
"Us?" Kael's voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the emotion in his eyes.
"Not literally," I clarify quickly. "It's fiction. But it's about a woman who gets snowed in with three men and discovers that family isn't always the people you're born with, that home isn't always a place you grew up. That sometimes the most important journeys are the ones that lead you to yourself."
Rhys has stopped chopping entirely, his hands still on the cutting board as he stares at me. "You wrote our story."
"I wrote a story," I correct, though my cheeks are burning. "One that was inspired by our story, but not the same thing."
"Can we read it?" Fen asks quietly.
The question sends a flutter of nervousness through me. My writing has always been deeply personal, but this book more than any other. It's one thing to share it with Rebecca or my agent; it's another entirely to show it to the people who inspired it.
"It's not polished yet," I hedge. "I literally just finished the first draft yesterday, and it probably needs a lot of work before—"
"Eliana." Kael's voice cuts through my rambling. "Can we read it?"
The simple question, asked with such quiet intensity, makes my heart skip. These men have shared their home with me, their bodies, their hearts. The least I can do is share my art.
"Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like that, actually."
The smiles that light their faces make me feel like I've given them something precious rather than just permission to read a rough manuscript.
"After dinner," Rhys declares, returning to his chopping with renewed energy. "We eat, we read, and then we talk about what comes next."
"What comes next," I repeat, and this time the phrase doesn't carry anxiety but anticipation.
Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. And somehow, that makes everything possible.