Chapter 15
Piper
The first thing I notice is the sunlight. It’s buttery and suspiciously optimistic for how much it stormed last night. I blink, and my vision settles into a large arm that probably belongs to Nolan. Elliot’s gently wheezing nose is pressed against my collarbone.
Kellen is nowhere to be seen.
For three glorious seconds, I bask in the simple, animal comfort of being surrounded by my alphas. My alphas. God, I’m such a sap. I would die if any of my fans saw this—a notorious pop starlet spooned by a two-man body pillow. But I’m also not moving. Not even for the sound of sizzling butter.
Kellen pads back into the room as if on cue. He’s still in pajama pants and a battered T-shirt with a faded cartoon on the front. He sets down a tray on the coffee table and flashes me his usual warm smirk.
“Morning, beautiful,” he murmurs.
I smile back at him then try to gently extricate myself. Elliot stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. Nolan grunts and pulls me tighter for a second before releasing me. Once free, I rise up to kiss Kellen.
Kellen snaps his fingers. This does the job of fully waking Elliot and Nolan. “Breakfast time.”
“You made all this?” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Joy lights Kellen’s eyes. “Not too often I get to make pancakes. I figured, why not?”
I grab the nearest plate and add two honey-drizzled blueberry pancakes to it. There’s bacon, too, and fresh-cut fruit that probably took Kellen a while to arrange. It’s all just so perfect.
I devour the pancakes in under a minute. No one says anything, but I can feel the collective admiration. Or horror. I never claimed to have table manners.
“You guys are the worst,” I say, licking syrup from my thumb.
Nolan chuckles. Elliot nods in agreement and we all eat breakfast together.
When it’s over, Kellen lounges at the end of the couch and peels an orange. “So, what’s the plan for today? More beach?”
“Sure,” I say. “But first, I need ten more minutes of not moving.”
There are several grunts of agreement, and ten minutes turns into quite a few more. But we finally get ready for the day and head out to the beach.
There are two kinds of people in the ocean: people who swim like dolphins and people who just want to float and look good in a bikini. I am solidly in group two, and today I am in my element.
The water is a warm aquamarine and so clear I can see my own toes in the white sand at the bottom. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here actually using my snorkel for anything but prop comedy, but the others try.
Nolan is the surprise. He’s as at home in the water as he is in a mosh pit. He’s also the first to spot a cool shell and bring it up to show me, triumphant as a Labrador with a tennis ball. I collect each shell he finds and stash them in the mesh bag.
Elliot, for all his brooding exterior, is an expert at looking after people without them noticing.
He drifts in slow, gentle arcs around the group, checking on me every few minutes, correcting Kellen’s mask when it slips, and keeping a watchful eye on Nolan in case the ocean tries to eat him.
The easy way this pack cares for each other, despite our rocky and rather PR-directed introduction, makes something unfurl in my chest like a sea anemone opening to the current.
We spend an hour snorkeling like that. When we finally wash up on shore—four sun-stupid mammals and a bag of shells—I feel lighter than I have in months. I sit in the sand and dig my toes in, letting the salt water dry on my skin while my alphas unpack a picnic.
I’m about to comment on keeping sand off the sandwiches when a melody worms its way into my brain—one more folk than pop. It starts as a hum, barely audible under the sound of the surf, and then I realize it’s not going away.
Song ideas are like that. You don’t choose them; they choose you, usually at the most inconvenient moment possible.
I shake the sand off my legs, grab my phone, and retreat up the beach to the shade of a palm tree. I prop the phone against my knee, open Voice Memos, and start to sing.
It’s rough—always rough the first time—but the words come easy, and the melody sits right in my chest, so warm and raw that I nearly laugh giddily when I play it back.
I’m halfway through jotting down a verse when Kellen materializes beside me, towel around his neck and hair dripping wet. “Thought you got eaten by a sea monster.”
I smirk up at him. “It’s still early.”
He grins, then squints at my phone. “Is that a new song?”
“Maybe,” I say, deflecting, because admitting it’s a love song would be way too on the nose.
He plops down next to me, damp and insistent. “Play it.”
I roll my eyes but do as commanded, playing back the half-baked recording. My voice is shaky and there’s too much wind, but the bones of the song are there. Kellen listens, eyes closed and nodding in time. He’s quiet for a moment when it ends.
“That’s really good,” he says. “Like, old Piper Sumner good.”
I snort. “Was the new Piper Sumner not good enough for you? I thought you hadn’t really listened to my music before.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” There’s something soft in the way he looks at me. “I just—this is you. Not the Piper that exists beneath all those flashing lights and quick beats.”
It’s weird having someone see you that clearly. I’m not used to it. These three are the first.
Elliot calls out to us from down the beach. “Everything okay up there?” His voice is laced with a concern that would be annoying if it wasn’t so earnest.
“We’re good!” Kellen shouts back. Then, to me, “You want to go show them?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I want to finish it first.”
Kellen respects that. He gives me space but doesn’t leave, just sits there and lets me pick at lyrics until the next verse feels right. After a while, I forget he’s there, which is the best compliment I can give anyone.
The sun is brutal, but the shade is cool. I could stay here forever, but eventually the guilt of ignoring my pack gets to me.
“Ready to go back?” Kellen asks, reading my mind.
“Yeah. Let’s see if those two managed to build a sand city yet.”
We trek down the sand and Elliot and Nolan are waiting, both a little sunburned and smug about it. Nolan’s beard is full of wet sand, which is a look I would not have predicted, but he wears it with pride.
“Writing music?” Elliot asks.
I smile warmly. “Yeah. I’ll play it for you when it’s done.”
Nolan arches an eyebrow. “Promise?”
I nod. “Of course.” Nolan’s always been the first to get a look at new music for years now.
We pack up and head back to the house. I take the world’s fastest shower and change into something less sandpapery. When I come back to the main room, the three of them are sprawled across the couch with wet hair, board shorts, and a pile of towels. There’s an energy in the air—restless, expectant.
I sit on the floor, cross-legged, with my guitar in hand.
I play the song.
It’s about them. It’s about me, too, and the weird, unlikely thing we’ve built together.
The words are honest, the melody bare-boned and sweet.
I watch their faces as I play: Kellen’s eyes get shiny, Elliot’s jaw twitches like he’s trying not to smile, and even Nolan looks a little less intimidating than normal.
When I finish, there’s a silence.
Then Kellen says, “That’s the one. That’s the song to be your new single. Not what Raelynn made you write.”
“Thanks,” I say. We’ll see about that. Raelynn won’t be happy the song isn’t pop, and she’ll be even less happy about my refusal to change that.
But then Elliot moves, fast and purposeful, and sits down behind me, arms around my waist. Kellen joins him by leaning over my shoulder. Even Nolan manages to wedge himself onto the other side, so I’m once again surrounded by my alphas.
Kellen kisses my shoulder. Elliot rests his chin on my head. Nolan squeezes my hand.
I’ve never felt so completely claimed.
Or so absolutely, terrifyingly happy.