Chapter 27 Theo
THEO
The vibration of Dalton’s phone against the coffee table had shattered the peace of our evening, and now, the grey light of dawn was doing the same to my composure.
The room felt suffocating. Tension filled the air since the phone call with Gabe. Peyton’s distress grew as he threw clothes into a suitcase and attempted to soothe Dalton.
I sat on the edge of the bed, a folded t-shirt in my hands, trying to convince the room to stop tilting.
Now was not the time to fall apart, but my body had other ideas.
I’d been feeling off for a few days now, a low-grade hum of nausea that I’d blamed on the takeout we’d had earlier in the week.
But this morning, with the stress of the fire and the adrenaline of the sudden departure, the hum had turned into a roar.
“Theo? You with us?”
Dalton’s voice was tight, strained. He was moving with a frantic energy I hadn’t seen before, fueled by the terrifying news that “The Ink Well”—his legacy, his art—had vanished in smoke. Arson. The word hung in the air like poison.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice sounding thin to my own ears. “Just… dizzy. Stood up too fast.”
It was a lie. I hadn’t just stood up too fast. I felt like my stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.
It had only been two weeks since the heat—two weeks since we’d officially become us—and I needed to be the grounding force here. Dalton was devastatingly heartbroken, Peyton was in full protector mode. I couldn’t be the weak link.
I stood up, and the floor dropped out from under me.
I barely made it to the bathroom. I slammed the door shut and collapsed in front of the toilet, the violence of the purge leaving me gasping and shaking. There was nothing to bring up but bile and water, but my body wouldn’t stop heaving.
“Theo!”
The door opened, not tentatively, but with force. Peyton was there instantly, his large frame filling the small space. He didn’t care about the smell or the mess. He dropped to his knees, his hands warm and solid on my back.
“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble against my spine. “Just breathe.”
Dalton appeared behind him, his face pale, eyes wide with a new layer of fear. “Is he okay? Is it… is it panic?”
“I don’t know,” Peyton murmured, leaning in close. He inhaled deeply near my neck, his brow furrowing. “He smells… off. Sweet, but distress-sour too. Feverish.”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand and leaning back against the cool tile wall. “It’s just… the stress. The travel. You know I get carsick.”
“We haven’t even barely learned to live together, and now I’m dragging you across state lines,” Dalton said, his voice cracking. “God, Theo, you don’t have to come. You can stay here. It’s safer—”
“No,” I cut him off, the word scraping my throat. I looked up at them, forcing strength I didn’t feel into my gaze. “We’re a triad. Where you go, I go. We talked about this. No one gets left behind.”
Peyton’s hand slid from my back to my stomach, resting there for a brief, confusing second. His thumb brushed the fabric of my shirt, his expression unreadable—part confusion, part instinct. Then the Alpha mask slammed back into place.
“He’s right,” Peyton said, though his eyes lingered on my face for a moment longer than necessary. “We stay together. But we need to move. If we leave now, we beat the morning traffic.”
He stood, offering me a hand. I took it, letting him haul me to my feet. The dizziness swabbed at my vision again, but I locked my knees.
“Water,” Peyton ordered Dalton. “And crackers. Get him something bland for the road.”
Dalton nodded, grateful for a task, and darted out.
Peyton didn’t let go of my hand. He pulled me close, tucking my head under his chin. “You sure you’re up for this, Theo? It’s going to be a long drive. And it won’t be pretty when we get there.”
“I’m sure,” I mumbled into his chest, the scent of his expensive soap settling my stomach better than any medicine. “Just… don’t drive like a maniac?”
Peyton let out a rough huff of a laugh. “No promises.”
He pulled back, his hands framing my face. He looked at me, really looked at me, as if trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. “You let me know. The second you feel worse. We stop. I don’t care if the whole world is burning, we stop.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay.” He kissed my forehead, a hard, possessive press of lips. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, we were in Peyton’s truck. The apartment locked tight behind us. My bag was at my feet. A sleeve of saltines sat in my lap.
As Peyton turned the engine over, the vibration sent another wave of nausea rolling through me. I closed my eyes, pressing a cracker to my lips, praying I could keep it down.
We were driving into a firestorm. And I had a sinking feeling that my own body was about to start a fire of its own.
I watched the Florida palm trees blur past the window, fading into the rearview mirror. Three weeks of paradise. That was all we’d had. Now, the real world was coming for us.
And I just prayed we were strong enough to survive it.