Chapter 23 Jessica #2
Sergio's eyes do the same track Nacho's did. Hands. Hair. Neck. His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his gaze. Something heated.
"Productive drive?" he asks mildly.
"Very," Carlos says at the same time I squeak out, "We just talked."
Pedro snorts. Doesn't even look up from his papers. "You've got a hickey the size of Texas, Jessica. You didn't just talk."
I clap my hand over my neck. "I do not."
"Left side," he says helpfully. "About two inches below your ear. Pretty impressive work, actually."
"I hate all of you," I announce to the room.
"No you don't," Nacho says, settling into a chair with a beer. "You love us. That's the whole problem."
The word hangs in the air.
Love.
I said it to Carlos. Admitted it out loud. And now it's here in this kitchen with all of them watching me, waiting to see how I'll react.
"I..." I look at Carlos, who squeezes my hand.
Then at Sergio, who's watching me with that intense focus he usually reserves for game footage.
Then at Pedro, who's finally looking up from his papers with something soft in his expression.
Then at Nacho, who's grinning like he knows exactly what I'm about to say.
"I might," I manage. "Be developing feelings. For all of you. Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically," Sergio repeats, and his mouth quirks up at the corner.
"It's a working theory," I clarify. "Needs more data."
"I can provide data," Carlos offers.
"We all can," Nacho adds.
Pedro just watches me with those dark eyes, and I feel pinned. Seen. Known.
"Dinner first," Sergio says, breaking the moment. "Then we talk. All of us. About what this means. What we all want."
"I want lasagna," I say, because my brain has apparently decided now is the time for humor as a defense mechanism.
"Then sit." Sergio points at the table. "You look like you're about to fall over."
He's not wrong. My legs are shaky. My whole body feels like it's vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear.
I sink into a chair, and Carlos sits beside me, close enough that our thighs press together under the table. Nacho's on my other side. Pedro across from me. Sergio serves up plates of lasagna that smell like heaven.
We eat, and it should be awkward. Should be tense. Should be filled with uncomfortable silence and loaded looks.
Instead, it's easy.
Nacho tells a story about the domestic disturbance call that turned out to be a couple fighting over the remote.
Pedro shares something about the kid with the bead up his nose, complete with dramatic reenactment.
Sergio complains about the league's new policies in that dry way that makes everything sound funnier than it is.
And Carlos keeps his hand on my thigh under the table, thumb drawing lazy circles that make it hard to focus on anything else.
I belong here.
The thought hits me between bites of lasagna, settling into my chest with the weight of absolute certainty.
I belong with these four men, in this kitchen, at this table. Eating too much food and laughing at stupid stories and feeling more like myself than I have in years.
"So," Sergio says when the plates are mostly empty. "Let's talk about Friday."
My stomach drops.
Friday. Callum's dinner. The thing I've been avoiding thinking about for days.
"Do I have to go?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"No," all four of them say at once.
"But," Sergio continues, "it might be good to face him. Get it over with. Show him you've moved on."
"Have I moved on?" I look around the table. "Or have I just jumped from one complicated situation to another?"
"The situations are not comparable," Pedro says flatly. "Callum tried to make you smaller. We want you exactly as you are."
"Big and messy and prone to setting things on fire?"
"Exactly," Carlos confirms. "Those are your best qualities."
I laugh. Can't help it. "You're all insane."
"So are you," Nacho points out. "That's why it works."
Sergio leans back in his chair, studying me. "You don't have to decide anything tonight, Jessica. About Friday. About us. About any of it. Just know that whatever you choose, we're here."
"All of us," Pedro adds.
"Even if you decide this is too much," Nacho says quietly. "Even if you need space or time or want to pump the brakes. We're not going anywhere."
Carlos's hand tightens on my thigh. "We've waited six years. We can wait longer if that's what you need."
I look around the table at these four men who somehow became mine without me noticing.
And I realize I don't want to wait.
Don't want space or time or to pump the brakes.
I want this. Want them. Want the whole messy, complicated, impossible thing.
"I don't need time," I say. "I need a shower. And maybe some ice cream."
"Turtleneck," Pedro suggests.
"It's seventy degrees outside."
"Scarf?"
"In spring?"
"Own it," Carlos says. "Tell everyone you're dating four alphas and living your best life."
“They’ll think I’m a whore.”
"We'll protect you," Nacho promises.
Sergio just smiles. "Shower's upstairs. Ice cream's in the freezer. And Jessica?"
"Yeah?"
"Welcome home."
The words crack something open in my chest.
Home.
This is home.
Not the house I grew up in. Not the apartment I shared with Callum. Not any specific place.
This. These people. This feeling of being exactly where I'm supposed to be.
I push back from the table, suddenly needing to move before I start crying. "Ice cream. I'm getting ice cream. Anyone else want some?"
Three hands go up.
"Of course you do." I head for the freezer, and Carlos follows, because apparently we're one of those couples now. The kind that can't be separated for more than five minutes.
I don't hate it.
He crowds me against the counter while I dig through the freezer, his body warm against my back, his breath on my neck.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
"Better than okay." I pull out the cookie dough ice cream and turn to face him. "I'm happy. Genuinely, stupidly, can't stop smiling happy. And it's terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"Good." I stretch up and kiss him, quick and sweet. "Definitely good."
From the table, someone wolf whistles. Probably Nacho.
I flip them off without looking, and Carlos laughs against my mouth.
Yeah. This is home.
And I'm never running from it again.