Chapter 33
Lo
Idon’t know what time it is. If I even asked, I don’t think any of us could answer. Hours? Days? It all melted together into one long blur of hands and mouths and voices dragging me under, over and over again, until the only thing I knew was them.
My pack.
And now, it’s quiet. Mostly, anyway.
My body hums like an overloaded wire, every nerve too sensitive, every muscle trembling with the memory of everything they’ve done to me.
The nest is a wreck. Sheets soaked through, mattress crusted, blankets and pillows kicked halfway across the room.
The air is so heavy with sex it clings to my skin even after they’ve bathed me twice.
But I’m not burning anymore. Not the way I was. The fever heat that had me clawing for them like oxygen is finally easing. Finally taking mercy on me. I can breathe without that edge of desperation slicing through my throat.
Finally.
I hate that fucking feeling.
A shaky sigh slips out as Beck scoots up behind me, big body curling around mine. He’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. His chest is solid against my back, heartbeat steady, and grounding. I think I’d float away without it.
“You with me, sugar?”
“Mmhmm.” It’s barely more than a breath, but it makes his arm tighten around my waist.
Ford’s stretched out in front of me, head propped on his palm, eyes soft and heavy-lidded. He looks as wrecked as I feel, hair damp with sweat, jaw shadowed with stubble. He smiles a little when I meet his gaze.
Not that cocky grin he throws at everyone else. This one’s just for me.
“Heat finally fading?” he asks as he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I nod, slow, because even that takes effort. My thighs ache. My hips ache. Hell, I think even my eyelashes ache. They’ve wrung me out completely, taken everything I had to give, and then kept going until I was nothing but raw nerve endings and instinct.
And I loved every second of it.
Hayes moves on the edge of the bed, adjusting one of the blankets over me like I’m breakable. Which… maybe I am right now. He sits, still fully alert even though his body must be screaming. His palm comes to rest on my foot, picking it up before he begins massaging it.
“You hurting anywhere, pretty girl?” The question’s quiet, but there’s steel under it. If I say yes, he’ll bulldoze the world until it’s fixed.
Just like he bulldozed me with that toy knot of his.
“No.” My voice cracks, and I try again. “No, just… just tired.”
Tired isn’t even the word. I’m broken. Melted down to nothing but soft edges and warmth. Every time I blink, my eyes want to stay closed.
Beck’s mouth brushes my hair.
“You did good, sweetheart.” His tone is pure praise, and stupid tears sting my eyes. God, what is wrong with me?
“Don’t cry,” Ford murmurs, leaning in to kiss the wetness before it can fall. “You’ve handled enough, Lo. Let us take care of you now. That’s all we want to do.”
“I…”
My throat closes. The words don’t come, just a flood of emotion so sharp it almost hurts. I want to say thank you. I want to tell them that I feel safe in a way I didn’t think was real, that the bond humming under my skin doesn’t scare me anymore. That it feels… right.
Instead, I make this broken little sound as I roll over and tuck my face into Beck’s hairy chest. He pulls me closer without a word, wrapping me up in his heat, and I breathe him in.
Ford scoots up behind me, pressing his forehead to the back of my hair. Hayes stays at my feet like a sentinel, his massaging hands never leaving me. He needs that tether as much as I do.
They all do.
The last of the frenzy is gone. No more sharp edges of need, no more frantic tearing at each other like we’re starving. Just this bone-deep quiet, full of their scents and their warmth and the kind of safety I’ve never once known in my entire life.
I think I whisper something. Maybe their names. Maybe just a sound. Doesn’t matter. Beck’s answering rumble vibrates through my spine, Ford’s mouth ghosts over my temple, and Hayes’s fingers keep stroking the soles of my feet, slow and steady, until the dark pulls me under.
Finally, I sleep.
Iwake up expecting… more.
More fever. More clawing desperation. More of that sharp, burning edge that had me begging like an absolute wreck.
Instead, I get… quiet.
The kind that feels wrong at first. Like my body forgot how to exist without the constant thrum of heat driving me half out of my mind. My head’s fuzzy, my muscles ache, and my thighs feel like I ran a marathon uphill both ways. But I’m not on fire anymore. I’m just… me.
Which is almost worse.
The bed is empty.
Cue panic.
But before I can spiral into they left me, obviously they left me, why wouldn’t they… the scents hit. Cedar smoke. Honeycomb. Pine and leather. Still everywhere, soaked into the sheets, thick in my lungs. They haven’t gone anywhere.
Still, my chest is tight until a voice cuts through the quiet.
“Morning, sugar.”
Beck’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, as if he hasn’t spent literal days ruining me into the mattress. Stoic. Casual. Except… his ears are pink. And he’s hiding something behind his back.
Suspicious.
“What did you do?”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Nothing.”
Liar.
Before I can press, Hayes’s head pops around the frame. “Don’t move. Seriously, Lo. Stay put.”
Which, excuse me? That’s basically an invitation to move. My legs twitch, ready to rebel even though they might as well be jelly.
And then Ford strolls in with a basket. A literal basket.
I squint. “Oh no. What fresh hell is this?”
“Clothes first,” Ford says patiently. He pulls out one of my sundresses, yellow, soft cotton, one I forgot I even had, and holds it out.
I blink at him. Then at the dress. Then back at him.
“Really?”
His brow lifts. No explanation. Just quiet Ford logic that somehow nudges me into slipping it on.
By the time Beck is tugging the straps over my shoulders and sliding an oversized sweater over my head, Hayes is pressing a peppermint stick into my hand like it’s medicine. I know they’re up to something. Especially when Ford crouches down to slide on my boots.
Shoes. He put me in shoes. The betrayal.
“What is happening?”
None of them answers. They just exchange smug little glances and herd me out the back door like I’m some dazed woodland creature.
And then I see it.
The garden.
Except it’s not a usual garden. Not one with bugs and overgrown tomato plants and blueberry bushes that attract fruit flies.
There’s a clear bubble in the middle of the backyard to shield the space from the harsh winter wind.
Inside the bubble, twinkle lights glow warm against the oak branches just beyond the protective walls.
There’s a blanket on the grass, piled with pillows and more blankets that I recognize as stolen from my disaster of a nest. There’s a small wood-burning stove inside the bubble, the flames softly licking inside, no doubt warming the space and chasing away the chill of winter.
But then, my attention falls to the spread of food… fresh bread, fruit, honey jars, lemonade dripping condensation down the pitcher. A fresh vegetable platter. Danishes.
And flowers.
There are bouquets of flowers everywhere.
My throat does that stupid, traitorous tight thing. “What… what is this?”
Hayes grins. “A date.”
“A…” My voice cracks. “A date?”
Beck looks away, muttering, “Come on, it’s cute.”
Ford just takes my hand and leads me down the cobblestone pathway toward the bubble.
He unzips the flap, and I can’t help but reach out and touch the material it’s made of.
Not quite rubber, not quite plastic, not quite silicone.
I don’t know what it is, to be honest, but when I step inside, the warmth of the bubble pulls me in the rest of the way.
Ford yanks me down onto the blanket beside him.
And the thing is, this backyard date with the three of us? It works. It’s not fancy. It’s not polished. It’s not expensive. But it feels safe. Honest. A little messy. A little out of place. A little too much. Very them.
Very mine.
I sniff, which is mortifying, and wave a hand at the spread. “You guys are ridiculous.”
“Romantic,” Hayes corrects, dimples on full blast as he hands me a plate. His eyes soften. “You’re allowed to let us do this, Lo.”
I look at all three of them. My pack. My disaster men. All staring at me like I hung the damn moon.
And instead of fighting it, instead of running like I always do, I let them.
Ford steadies the plate in my lap before I can drop it.
Because I almost do. My hands are shaking. Stupid traitor hands.
Bread. Cheese. Strawberries so red they look fake. Honey in a jar that Hayes immediately uncaps and sticks his finger in like an absolute menace.
“Classy,” I mutter.
He grins, licking his fingertip. “What? It’s thematic. Sweet honey for my sweet honey.”
I groan. “If you start spouting poetry, I’m leaving.”
“Where?” Beck deadpans, tearing off a hunk of bread and shoving it in his mouth. “Back to bed? You’d make it about three steps before collapsing.”
Rude. True. But rude.
Ford, unbothered, passes me the largest grape I’ve ever seen. I don’t even want to know how they got their hands on produce like this in the middle of winter. He doesn’t say anything, just watches until I take a bite.
And okay. Fine. It’s good. Summer sun and sugar good, despite the winter wind kicking up outside. It smells like snow, but inside our little bubble, the wood-burning stove keeps us warm.
It’s the kind of good that makes my stupid eyes sting.
“Don’t cry over fruit, Lo,” Beck mutters, ears pink.
“I’m not,” I snap around a mouthful, which is a lie, and everyone knows it.
Hayes flops back on the blanket, hands behind his head. “This is nice, right?”