Chapter 55
Bayleigh
I wake slowly, but I don’t want to open my eyes.
I feel happy, warm, as if I’m floating on a cloud.
The scents of my alphas wrap around me, ensuring that my heat wasn’t just a dream, and I was with the three of them.
Each of them made sure I felt special and cared for.
That they weren’t with me just for the sake of my heat, but they wanted me.
Finally, my eyes flutter open, and I lift my head just slightly to gaze around the room.
I’m in the nest the guys made for me at their home, and they’re all around me. Sandalwood, citrus, and honeydew intertwined with mine. I’m with my pack.
Not yet. Not technically, but in my heart I know they are.
Only then do I really look around the nest—pillows scattered around the room, blankets kicked half off the mattress, half twisted beneath them and woven through our limbs.
The light is dim, just a thin strip spilling in from the bathroom across the hall.
The curtains are still drawn, so I’m not really sure if it’s morning or night.
And then… the bodies.
Lincoln is behind me, curled into my back with the natural instinct of an alpha whose entire world has been focused on protecting his omega.
His arm rests on my hip, not gripping, not holding, just there, warm and familiar.
I can feel his warm breath against my shoulder, his lips barely grazing my skin.
Milton is draped sideways across my legs like an affectionate golden retriever.
One hand resting on top of my knee, fingers twitching occasionally like he’s dreaming about touching me even in sleep.
His hair is tousled, mouth slightly open with just a twinge of drool dribbling from it onto me.
He has an innocent, youthful look when he sleeps.
A huge contrast to how un-innocent he was with me during my heat.
And Korbin—God, Korbin.
He’s half sprawled on the mattress, half hanging off the edge onto the floor like he passed out mid-movement.
One arm is reaching out to me, barely touching my stomach, while the other is resting underneath his head.
Even asleep, he looks poised, ready to spring into action if danger were to show its ugly head.
You wouldn't even think he was asleep, merely resting his eyes, except I can feel the rumble of his snoring through the mattress like a slow, uneven vibration.
I’m absolutely going to tease him for it later.
But right now? At this moment? Them sleeping soundly around me isn't something I want to disturb; I want to savor it. To commit it to memory, just in case life hurls a cruel joke at me and I have to let it all go.
I rest my head back on the pillow and stare up at the ceiling, remembering flashes from my heat—hands, warmth, scent, signs, and most importantly, safety.
The way each of them had private moments, then moved together as a unit.
They made sure I was sexually sated, fed, and hydrated. All without any hesitation.
For the first time in my life, I feel settled. Like I finally stopped running from the bad things in my life and instead ran smack dab into the right things. Three of them, to be exact.
The urge to pee takes over, and I know if I lay here any longer I risk pissing all over myself.
Carefully, I ease my hips to one side. Lincoln’s arm slides off me, landing on the mattress.
He stirs, but doesn't wake. I see Milton’s lips moving as if he’s mumbling something in his sleep, but he doesn’t lift his head.
But he’s still on my legs, and I need to move him so I can get up.
I reach over to the side, grasping a pillow in my hand, and sit up easily.
I take hold of his head, lifting it gently, placing the pillow under it at the same time I move my legs.
Then I hold my breath, waiting for him to wake. His hand moves back to my leg, and then drops away. But he doesn’t wake. Neither does Korbin.
Slowly, I scoot off the bed, making sure not to touch any of them, knowing they need their sleep. My eyes drop back to Korbin when I stand up, and a small part of me wants to help him onto the mattress. But I don’t. Instead, I let him sleep and make my way to the restroom on shaking legs.
I don’t realize how fatigued I am until I stand up and attempt to walk. My first heat was a success. And I regret nothing about it. There’s a deep, tender ache in my core. And I can’t help but blush knowing why it’s there.
I tiptoe across the hall, looking back just before stepping into the bathroom. My fatal flaw since I’m not paying attention, and hit the edge of the door with my arm. My hand goes to my mouth, covering any sound I may make, and step inside, shutting the door behind me.
After relieving myself, I wash my hands, getting the first glimpse of myself in the mirror.
My hair is a tangled mess, and my face looks flushed, yet there’s a thoroughly fucked aura around me.
I pick up my toothbrush, quickly cleaning the cardboard taste from my mouth, before running a brush through my hair.
The bag my mom packed for me sits in the corner with fresh clothes.
Shower. I need a shower.
Reaching inside, I turn the water on, giving it a moment to warm up before I step under the spray and let the heat melt into my sore muscles.
My wet hair clings to my shoulders, I brace my hands on the cool tile and let the water run down my spine.
I tip my head back and work my fingers through the mess of red curls, massaging my scalp as I rinse them clean.
I pick up Lincoln’s body wash, squirt some into my hand, and scrub my skin and hair gently, washing away my scent and the last remnants of my heat.
When I’m finished, I turn the water off and step out, wrapping a towel around my torso. I step back into the bedroom, expecting to see one of the guys awake. But all three alphas are still dead asleep, their bodies shifting closer to each other as if they were seeking me out.
I cross over to the dresser, pull open a drawer, and grab the first soft fabric I see—one of Lincoln’s shirts.
I could put on my own clothes, the ones my mom sent over in a bag, folded and waiting.
But the remnants of my heat still cling to me, restless and needy, and I don’t want to smell like myself.
I lift the shirt to my nose and inhale. I smell the detergent they use instead of him, but still, it’s his. And that feels right.
Since the neck is stretched from years of use, I can tell it’s well worn as I pull the oversized shirt over my head, and I laugh at how the hem drops almost to my knees. I don’t bother with underwear. There’s nothing else I need other than their scents and their mark.
This is home. And I want to stay here with them. I just need them to want me here.
Home. It’s so weird that this place feels like it to me. No, not the place, the men.
My gaze drifts over to the three sleeping forms in the nest again—hair everywhere, limbs splayed, blankets kicked off in rebellion—and my heart swells so much it almost hurts to breathe.
Mine.
They’re mine.
Taking a deep breath, I head out of the room, making my way to the kitchen.
The house is warm, and there’s only a twinge of chill in the air.
My eyes look around the space the men call home, and I soak everything in.
There’s just enough clutter to make the house feel lived-in.
A hoodie tossed over a chair. Lincoln’s laptop, open on the table.
Milton’s sneakers abandoned under the counter like he’d kicked them off mid-step.
I flip on the kitchen light, my eyes blinking at how bright it is.
My omega instincts are tugging at me, reminding me to take care of my pack. The feelings are hitting me so hard that I can barely breathe.
So, I decide to do what feels natural. I cook breakfast for them, knowing they’ll need nourishment when they wake. Not because of obligation. But because it feels right.
I rummage through the refrigerator, pulling out everything I need, and turn the coffee pot on.
Biscuits go into the oven first. Bacon sizzles in a pan, and I have to dodge the popping grease.
I whisk some eggs, adding in some cheese, remembering how Lincoln said eggs aren’t made correctly unless there’s cheese mixed with them.
The smell of food fills the kitchen, the aroma causing my own stomach to growl.
As I start to make gravy for the biscuits, I feel an arm slip around my waist.
Grapefruit.
Milton.
Turning around in his arms, I see his hair sticking up in three directions, eyes half-closed, shirtless and pouting like a child.
“You were gone when I woke up,” he says slowly.
I’m sorry, I sign.
He looks at me, and then over my shoulder at the bacon, then back at me. His whole face lights up.
He pulls me in closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead, then my cheek, and lastly on my lips. When he pulls away from me, he steps over to the coffee pot, pulling four cups from the cabinet and starts making them.
My eyes drift back over to the door, and I see Lincoln and Korbin entering the room.
Morning, Baby, Lincoln signs.
He walks straight to me, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me up and nestling his face in my neck, nibbling at my ears.
“Mine,” he mouths when he pulls back, and I nod in agreement.
Korbin leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes heavy but focused only on me. His eyes drift over to where I’m cooking breakfast, and a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“You look good in our kitchen,” he says, making sure I can read his lips. “Walking around in our clothes. The only problem is the shirt isn’t mine.”
I can feel my cheeks warming, and I look away for a second.
I move back over to the stove, surprised nothing has burned in my absence, and as a unit we finish cooking breakfast. The guys move around me, each of them taking advantage of every opportunity to place their hands on me. And I don’t hate it.
Once we’re done, I plate the food, and the guys carry them to the table. We each take a seat. This time Korbin sits beside me, our arms brushing against each other.
Lincoln takes a bite of the biscuit, then breaks off a piece, dipping it into the gravy I made. By the expression on his face, he’s enjoying it.
Milton inhales the eggs like he hasn’t eaten in days.
Korbin takes his time, his eyes flickering over to me every few seconds like he needs to confirm that I’m still there beside him.
Halfway through breakfast, Lincoln sets his fork down and reaches out to me, placing his hand over mine.
I look up instantly.
He smiles, then signs while speaking slow enough for me to read his lips.
“Stay.”
My breath catches.
“Don’t go home.”
Milton and Korbin are looking at me hopefully.
“I don’t want to be without you,” he continues.
Milton nods without hesitation. “Same,” he says.
Korbin doesn’t look away from me, his lips moving slowly as he speaks. “You belong here.”
My throat tightens, but not from fear. From certainty and the terrifying, wonderful realization that I want the same thing.
I set my fork down with trembling fingers, shifting in my seat, and reach out. I take my time, placing my hands on each of theirs, and squeezing gently before moving to the next.
“Okay,” I tell them with my voice. “I’ll stay.”
And just like that, the house isn’t their house anymore.
It’s mine too.
It’s our home.