Chapter 18 Silas
Chapter eighteen
Silas
My breathing is still uneven as my knot starts to deflate.
Naomi is now sprawled across my chest, one leg thrown over my hip. Felix is curled against her back, arm slung over her waist, his face tucked into her shoulder. Down by our legs, Liam’s on his side, one arm draped over her calves.
We’re basically one tangled pack pile with her at the center.
I look down at her.
Naomi Quinn. The “problem” I wanted gone.
It's more like I was the problem. I spent days barking at a ghost. Projecting someone else's betrayal onto her.
Given my behavior, I never would've imagined this.
My cock is now soft enough that it eases out of her. She makes a small, sleepy sound of protest and immediately burrows closer, cheek pressing over my heart.
Mine.
The thought hits fast and hard, but it feels… right.
Me, my pack, we feel right for the first time in years.
Because of her.
I bury my nose in her hair. DuoBlocks still make her scent mostly neutral, but there’s something faint underneath, warm, sweet, elusive. Just enough to make my alpha stir and suggest terrible ideas about round two.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
Her voice is the barest murmur against my chest.
“What’s that, counselor?” I ask, my own voice rough around the edges.
She tips her head back just enough to look up at me, eyes hazy. “I came here to serve you papers,” she whispers. “Force you into a hockey game.” A breathy little laugh. “Not… this.”
“Jury’s still out on whether this counts as a negotiation tactic,” Felix mumbles against her shoulder, words blurred with sleep. “If it is, well, you're dedicated to your job."
Naomi snorts softly.
Liam hums from below. “Best serve ever,” he says, voice sleepy but sincere.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Can’t say I’m mad about where we landed.”
She exhales, her body settling heavier against me. “It’s nice,” she says quietly. “I’m… not used to nice.”
Something twists in my chest.
That asshole who walked away from her, who left her thinking this wasn’t for her? If I could find him, I’d throw him in a rink and check him against the boards again and again. And then love her so well every second after that she’d never doubt she deserves this.
That thought lodges in deep.
Then reality nudges in.
As soon as the roads are clear and rescue gets through… she goes back to New York. To a life that doesn’t have three silly athletes and a mountain in it.
Unless she decided to stay longer. Take more time. But we obviously haven't talked about that yet. For all I know, this was a one-time thing…
My shoulders tense before I can stop it.
What if… well, we could still refuse to play. Drag the contract mess out. Force more negotiations. More visits. Keep her orbiting us a little longer.
Ugh, it’s a terrible idea. It wouldn’t work, and even if it did, it would be a shitty way to keep someone.
Her palm slides over my stomach then, thumb stroking absent circles like she can feel my brain speeding up and is smoothing it back down.
“Hey,” she mumbles, not even opening her eyes. “Stop thinking so loud.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, the tension bleeding from my shoulders.
Fuck it.
Tomorrow will do what it wants.
Right now she’s here. Warm, tucked against me, wrapped in all of us.
“Sleep, Naomi,” I murmur into her hair.
“Mmm. Bossy,” she sighs, but she melts against me, already half under.
Felix’s arm tightens around her waist. Liam’s fingers curl a little firmer around her calf.
I shut my eyes. For the first time in two years, I’m finally not staring at a hole where someone used to be.
* * *
There’s a hand on my shoulder and a voice at my ear.
“Silas.”
I surface fast, blinking against the early light spilling around the edges of the curtains.
Liam’s face is a few inches from mine, hair mussed, eyes clear. He presses a finger to his lips before I can say anything and tips his head toward the door.
I glance sideways.
Naomi is still asleep, curled on her side facing me, duvet tucked up under her chin.
“What?” I mouth.
He tilts his head toward the door again, more insistent this time.
I ease my arm out from under Naomi’s neck, moving slow. She murmurs something unintelligible, nose wrinkling, then relaxes again. I tuck the edge of the duvet closer around her shoulders before slipping off the mattress.
I grab the nearest pair of sweatpants and follow Liam out, gently pulling the door closed behind us.
Felix is by the living room windows in a t-shirt and joggers, arms folded, staring out at the snow.
“This better be good,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Breakfast,” Liam says.
I just squint at him. “You woke me up at—” I glance at the clock on the wall, “—six-thirty for food? You know the kitchen exists after seven, right?”
“We should make her breakfast,” Felix says, turning from the window. There’s a buzz under his words. “A real one. Before she wakes up.”
Oh.
“Like a… thank you?” I say slowly.
“Like a ‘we’re glad you’re here,’” Liam corrects, leaning against the counter. “She’s done a lot for us in three days. Whether she meant to or not.”
He’s right. The version of us from before Naomi stepped out of that car feels like some other team entirely.
I blow out a breath. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”
We migrate to the kitchen area. But there's a problem: none of us are exactly… chefs. And she deserves something delicious.
“Pancakes,” Felix declares, opening the pantry.
Liam arches a brow. “Can you actually make pancakes?”
"I can make bacon and eggs, that can't be much harder," Felix says with the bravado of a man who once burned cereal.
“Right,” I mutter, yanking a mixing bowl from the cabinet.
Liam pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling. “Alright. ‘Basic Pancakes.’ Flour, eggs, milk, sugar, baking powder—”
Felix is already hauling bags and cartons onto the counter. One of them is definitely powdered sugar, not flour.
“Not that one,” I say, nudging it aside. “Unless you want dessert soup.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Details.”
Liam keeps reading the recipe, and I crack the first egg into the bowl and immediately have to dig out shell. The second one goes better. The third one somehow ends up half on the counter.
“Wow,” Felix says, deadpan. “Chef’s kiss.”
“Pretty sure ‘fold gently’ doesn’t mean ‘beat the hell out of it,’” Liam comments as I now start whisking the batter.
“You're welcome to take my spot if you think you can do better,” I shoot back. “Let's not overthink this, everything will be fine."
And somehow, twenty minutes later, the place does smell incredible. Although our first attempts at pancakes look like someone scrambled a beige omelet.
“We do not show her those,” Felix decrees, poking one with a fork. He nibbles the edge. “Although flavor-wise? Not terrible.”
I grab a chunk with my fingers and pop it into my mouth. “If we call them ‘breakfast bites’ she’ll never know.”
“Or we just… eat the evidence,” Liam says, already doing exactly that.
The second batch actually looks like pancakes.
More or less round. Mostly golden. Liam starts slicing fruit with the intense focus of a man diffusing a bomb while Felix sizzles bacon and brews coffee, humming off-key.
I’m pouring what might be our best batter yet when the thing that’s been chewing at me since last night finally pushes its way out.
“We should play the game.”
Silence.
Felix freezes mid-bacon-flip. Liam’s knife stops against the cutting board.
I keep my eyes on the skillet, flip the pancake anyway. It lands clean. “The winter festival game,” I clarify. “We should play it.”
Felix sets the spatula down slowly. “Silas…”
“I know what I said,” I cut in. “But listen. We’ve been orbiting that date for two years like it owns us. Like if we step on it, we’ll shatter.” I shake my head. “All we’ve done is prove our ex still has power over us.”
Liam leans back against the counter, expression thoughtful. “You think playing it takes that power back.”
“I think hiding from it keeps us stuck,” I say. “We love the game. We’re good at the game. Used to be great even. And Naomi was right, much as I despised her for saying it, Lakeview does need it. We can't be that selfish we'd deny it to them.”
Felix blows out a breath, something loosening in his shoulders. “This is very emotionally mature of you,” he says slowly. “Who are you and what did you do with my grumpy Silas?”
I give him a look. “Do you disagree?”
He shakes his head. "No. Not even a little. We've been half-alive for two years. I miss what we used to be out there together."
“Me too,” Liam says quietly. “And you’re right. We’ve treated that date like it's cursed instead of just… a regular day. It's time to let it be just that.”
Something loosens in my chest. We're really doing this. Moving forward. Finally.
“So we tell her when she wakes up?” Felix asks.
“We tell her,” I confirm. “After we serve her this extremely average breakfast and pray she values intent over taste.”
“These pancakes are good,” Liam protests, offended, picking one up with his fingers. “Better than good, actually.”
I smirk. “Then I hope her standards are as low as yours.”
“The effort and the bacon will carry us,” Felix announces, sliding perfectly crisp strips onto a plate. “Nobody can resist good bacon. It’s science.”
We work in a companionable silence for a few more minutes, and I swear something about this simple moment feels significant.
Like the first normal morning after a really long night.
“Whipped cream?” Liam asks, holding up a can he’s unearthed from the back of the fridge.
“Is that even a question?” Felix laughs.
“Go on. If we’re doing this, we might as well go all in.” I smile.
Yeah.
We’re going to be okay.