Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mia
Iwake up wrong. Wrong like…different.
The surface under me is softer than the couch. The air smells different. Much richer, headier. My nose is buried in something that smells like molasses and espresso and warm chocolate all at once, so concentrated it makes my head spin.
I crack one eye open.
I’m not on the couch. The ceiling is different. Darker. I’m in a bedroom, and the bed beneath me is vast. Bigger than a King, with a wall-to-wall mattress that swallows the room.
I’m in a nest.
My brain stalls out like a computer blue-screening.
Nest. NEST. Not mine. Theirs.
I’m in their nest.
The realization slams into me with the force of a freight train.
I’m surrounded by blankets and pillows in shades of gray and navy and charcoal, all of them soft and thick and saturated with pack scent.
There’s a weighted blanket over me, and under my cheek, a pillow that smells sharply of Rhys’ bitter dark espresso.
I’m in their nest, and I’m covered in their scent, and—
“Hey.” The voice is quiet, careful. “You’re okay.”
I turn my head.
Eli is sitting beside me, back against a mountain of pillows, a book in his lap. He’s changed into soft joggers and a faded MIT shirt. His hair is free of product for once, falling into his eyes in a soft, ash-blonde sweep that hides his usually sharp gaze.
He looks at me with those steady light-blue eyes and smiles.
“This okay?” he asks.
I open my mouth. Close it. I’m in their nest. He put me in their nest.
“I…” I manage, voice hoarse from sleep. “What…?”
“You looked uncomfortable on the couch,” he says, like this is a completely normal explanation. “Your neck was at a bad angle. I didn’t want you to wake up sore.”
He picked me up while I was sleeping and put me in their nest because my neck looked uncomfortable.
“This is your nest,” I say stupidly.
“Yes.”
“Your pack nest.”
“Yes.”
“And you…put me in it.”
His smile softens. “Is that okay?”
I should say no. Instead, I hear myself whisper, “Yes.”
The word comes out small and honest and maybe a little bit broken.
His eyes do something that makes my chest hurt. They go soft and warm and pleased.
“Good,” he says quietly. He reaches out, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to, and runs his fingers through my hair. Once. So, so gently.
My eyes flutter closed at the touch. My omega practically swoons.
“Sleep more,” he murmurs. “We’ll wake you when the plumber’s done.”
“Where are the others?” I ask, not opening my eyes.
“Living room. Rotating shifts to check on your guy next door. Trying to be quiet in between.”
As if on cue, I hear a muffled thump, followed by Declan’s voice hissing, “Shit! Sorry!”
“Quietly.” Rhys’s voice, barely audible.
“I’m being quiet!” Declan hisses back, somehow louder.
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything.
They’re being quiet. For me.
“Mia?” Eli’s voice is soft.
“Mm?”
“You’re okay here? Really?”
I finally open my eyes and look at him. He’s watching me with an intensity that steals my breath. Like my answer matters more than anything else in the world.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He nods, something easing in his shoulders. “Good.”
He goes back to his book, giving me space to process, but he doesn’t move away. He stays right there, solid and warm and steady.
I burrow deeper into the nest, pulling the weighted blanket up to my chin.
The scent is everywhere. It’s pack.
It’s safety.
It’s everything I’ve been starving for wrapped up in soft cotton and body heat. Just for a moment, I let myself pretend.
I let myself pretend this is mine. That this nest is mine. That the beta reading quietly beside me is mine. That the three alphas trying so hard to be quiet are mine.
That I’m theirs.
Time does soft, syrupy things. I’m aware of Eli turning pages. Of distant voices rising and falling. Of warmth seeping into my skin from the blankets and the pillow and the body beside me.
At one point, I feel another presence in the doorway. I don’t open my eyes, but I know it’s one of them. The scent shifts with molasses threading into the air.
Knox.
“She okay?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“Fine,” Eli murmurs back. “Sleeping.”
“Good.” A pause. “She looks…”
“I know.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll just…” Footsteps retreat.
Right, my brain supplies helpfully. She looks right there.
I drift again.
The next time I surface, there are quiet footsteps. Different scent. Espresso this time.
Rhys.
“Plumber’s wrapping up,” he says, voice low. “Thirty minutes, maybe.”
“Thanks.” Eli shifts beside me. “She’s been out for about an hour.”
“Let her sleep.” Rhys’s voice gets quieter, like he’s stepping closer. “She needed it.” There’s a beat of silence. Then: “She trusts us.”
Eli’s response is soft but certain. “She’s starting to.”
“Good,” Rhys says. And there’s something in his tone, something like satisfaction, and possession, and promise that sends a shiver down my spine even half-asleep.
I should wake up. I should stop eavesdropping on their quiet conversations about me. I should do a lot of things.
But the nest is so warm. And Eli is so steady beside me. And my omega is purring so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts.
Just a little longer, I tell myself. Just a few more minutes.
But then Eli’s hand is back in my hair, fingers carding through gently.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, amused.
I crack one eye open, busted. “How?”
“Your breathing changed.” He smiles. “You okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Plumber’s almost done,” he says. “You’ll be able to go home soon.”
Home.
The word lands strangely. Because right now, buried in their nest with Eli’s hand in my hair and pack scent soaking into my skin, this feels more like home than my house has since I moved in.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He studies my face for a long moment, those blue eyes seeing too much.
“You’re welcome here,” he says quietly. “Anytime. If you need anything. Space, quiet, a place to work, company…You just knock.”
My throat tightens. “Eli…”
“I mean it.” His fingers stroke through my hair one more time before pulling away. “We take care of whoever is under our roof. That’s the rule.”
The way he’s looking at me makes it feel like something much heavier.
“I’m just a neighbor.” My voice comes out breathless. “A neighbor with a plumbing issue.”
“Sure,” Eli says easily. “But right now? You’re in our house. You’re wearing our clothes.”
He leans in, just an inch, close enough that I catch the scent of oats and warm skin.
“So for right now,” he murmurs, “you’re our responsibility. Let us do the job.”
My heart stutters. Before I can formulate a response, Declan’s voice echoes from the front of the house, shattering the bubble.
“Plumber’s packing up! We’re in the clear!”
Eli’s mouth quirks. “That’s our cue.”
He stands, offering me a hand.
I take it, letting him pull me up out of the nest. My legs are shaky, whether from sleep or emotion or the sheer weight of what just happened, I don’t know.
“Steady,” Eli murmurs, hand on my elbow.
I’m not steady. I’m the opposite of steady.
I just woke up in their nest. Their pack nest. The most intimate space a pack has.
And it felt right.
We make our way out to the living room, where Knox and Rhys are both suspiciously focused on their screens and Declan is bouncing on his toes near the door like an overgrown golden retriever.
“Your house is saved!” he announces. “The American dream lives on!”
“Thank god,” I mutter, but I can’t quite make myself sound relieved.
Because a large, stupid part of me doesn’t want to leave.
The plumber appears at the door, tool bag in hand. “All set. I left the paperwork on your kitchen counter. Your property manager has my number if there are any issues, but it should be solid now. Give it a few hours to fully dry before you do laundry.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Really. I appreciate you coming out so fast.”
He tips his head. “No problem. You’ve got good neighbors.” He glances at the four men arranged around me, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Real good neighbors.”
I flush. “They’re…very helpful.”
“I bet,” he says, grinning. “Take care, folks.”
As he leaves, the silence settles.
I’m standing in their living room in Declan’s hoodie and sweatpants, smelling like their pack, fresh from their nest, and all four of them are looking at me like they are physically restraining themselves from dragging me back upstairs.
“I should go,” I say, voice coming out a lot smaller than I’d like. “Let you guys get back to work.”
“You don’t have to,” Knox says immediately.
“I know. But I should check the damage. Make sure everything’s actually okay.”
“The house needs to air out.” Eli stands by the window, staring out at the hedge separating our two homes. “If you go back now, you’ll just be sitting in damp air.”
Declan blocks the doorframe with his shoulder, looking far too comfortable. “And you haven’t eaten. I make excellent pancakes. It’s part of the full service package.”
I hesitate.
I should go. I really, really should go.
But the thought of my silent, damp house makes my feet feel heavy. And the smell of coffee and alpha is so grounding.
“Just for a little while,” I say. “Then I really have to go.”
Declan beams. “One little while, coming right up.”
A “little while” turns into lunch. Which turns into an afternoon that feels like a soft, warm trap.
We don’t do anything exciting. That’s the problem. Exciting I can handle. Exciting is adrenaline and novelty.
This is…routine. And it’s seductive.
I sit at the kitchen island with my laptop, pretending to work, while the pack moves around me.
Eli is everywhere. He preps dinner, refills my water glass, and trails his hand along the back of my chair every time he passes.
It’s raining outside. A soft, steady drizzle that makes the inside of the house feel even warmer, even safer.
“You’re squinting,” Rhys says without looking up from his screen.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes. “I’m thinking.”
“Mmhm,” Knox corrects, spinning his chair around. “You do it when you’re stressed. You tap your pen against your chin and squint.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” four voices say in unison.
My face heats. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m stressed. My house just tried to become an aquarium.”
“It’s handled,” Eli says, setting a bowl of cut fruit on the coaster beside my laptop. Strawberry. Melon. Pineapple. “Your property manager called back while you were resting. Remediation crew is coming Monday.”
My chest hurts. Just a dull, aching throb behind my ribs.
Back at my old place, Julian never called the property manager. Julian barely called me back.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Eli just nods and goes back to chopping vegetables.
I eat the fruit and force my brain back to work. The afternoon disappears into the click of keyboards and low murmurs. By the time I look up again, the windows are dark and the rain has stopped.
I pack up my laptop.
This time, I don’t let them convince me to stay for dinner. I can’t. If I stay for dinner, I’ll stay for a movie. If I stay for a movie, I might never leave.
And I have to leave. I have to remember that I live at 124, not 126.
“I’m heading out.” I stand up before I can talk myself out of it.
The room goes quiet. Four heads snap up, and Eli is at my side before I can take a step. “I’ll walk you.”
I just nod, slinging the strap of my laptop bag over my shoulder while feeling weirdly reluctant to leave the hoodie and sweatpants behind. They’re not mine. I should give them back.
But when I grip the hem of the hoodie, gaze shifting down the hallway to the bathroom where I could change back into my, albeit, wet clothes, Rhys’s voice stops me.
“Keep them.”
I stop short, blinking. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he says, his dark eyes holding mine. “I wasn’t lying when I told you they look better on you anyway.”
My face heats. “That’s… I’ll wash them and bring them back.”
“Or,” Declan says, grinning, “you could just keep them. Consider it a neighborly gift.”
“I can’t accept—”
“Mia,” Eli says gently. “It’s a hoodie. Not a marriage proposal.”
Yet, Knox’s expression seems to say that’s exactly what it is, but he doesn’t voice it.
I clutch the laptop bag to my side. “Okay. Thank you. For—” I gesture vaguely at the room. “All of it.”
“Anytime,” all four of them say in near-unison.
It should be funny. Instead, it makes something flutter in my chest.
I flee before I can do something stupid like cry or ask to stay longer or admit that I don’t actually want to leave at all.
The walk back to my house is short. Just across the lawn and up my porch steps. But it feels longer, weighted with the awareness of three sets of eyes watching me go. At my back door, Eli stops. He pushes open the door, and glances at me over his shoulder.
“Wait here.”
I watch as he goes inside, moving through the rooms with a quick, thorough stride. He checks the front hallway, checks the window locks. He pulls back the washing machine and checks the plumber’s work. Then he comes back to the door.
“All good,” he reports. “No new leaks.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t move. He’s filling the doorway, big and solid and so incredibly safe.
“You have your phone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“And you know where we are.”
“Next door.”
“Right next door.” He leans in, just an inch, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you need anything. Anything at all. You give us a shout. Or you just come over. We’ll leave the back door unlocked.”
My heart stutters. “Okay.”
He looks at me for a long moment, hands staying firmly at his sides like he’s forcing them to behave.
“Sleep well, Mia.”
“You too, Eli.”
He steps out, allowing me to slip past him. I think he will leave, but Eli waits until I’m inside. He waits until I lock the door. And even as I walk away, I can feel him standing on the porch, guarding the door, making sure I’m safe.
I have never felt safer.
And I have never felt more lonely.