Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mia
Ilast exactly a day and a half in my own house.
It’s not just the smell of the damp drywall and that metallic tang of old pipes. It’s the noise.
The three industrial dehumidifiers and four floor fans sound like jet engines revving for takeoff. It’s deafening.
I’m sitting on my kitchen counter because the chairs are stacked in the hallway, trying to answer an email.
I don’t know when I put on Declan’s hoodie again.
It was just…there. Exactly where I’d left it days ago.
My omega had practically purred when I pulled it on this morning, and I’d told myself it was just comfortable. That’s all.
They’re soft and they smell like...
I drag my attention back to the screen. Huddled in the hoodie with my sleeves pulled down, I try to type, but the noise is so loud I can feel it vibrating in my jaw.
I’m busy convincing myself that this level of noise is sustainable when a knock rattles the back door. Grateful for the distraction, I hop down from the counter and cross the kitchen.
The door swings open to find…Eli. He’s standing there, arms crossed, biceps straining against his black t-shirt. He clocks the hoodie immediately, his expression softening, but he saves the commentary. Instead, he glares past me at the roaring fans, his jaw setting hard.
“This is…no,” he says, shaking his head.
“It’s fine!” I yell over the roar of a dehumidifier. “It’s just white noise! Very... loud white noise!”
“It’s loud enough to cause hearing damage.” He steps inside without asking, and that calm, warm oats scent instantly cuts through the hot, dusty air. “And you look like you haven’t slept in two days.”
“I slept,” I lie. “Mostly.”
“Mia.” He walks past me to the kitchen counter. My laptop is still open, the screen showing an email I’ve been trying to write for forty-five minutes. He closes it with a quiet click and tucks both the laptop and its bag under his arm.
“Hey!” I reach for it. “I’m working!”
“Not in here, you’re not.” He turns me toward the door with a hand on my lower back. “Pack rule number four: no one sleeps in a construction zone.”
“That implies a list,” I shout back. “What are the first three?”
“Classified,” he says easily, steering me onto the porch. “Now walk. The noise level is stressing you out. I could smell it from the porch.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. My shoulders are tight, my jaw aches, and the constant roar has me feeling like a raw nerve.
“I can’t just crash with you guys again,” I say, but I’m already leaning into the hand at my back. “I’ve already imposed enough.”
“You’re not imposing. You’re evacuating.”
“I can’t keep running to 126 every time my house has a mechanical failure.”
“Why not?”
The question stops me.
“Because…because,” I flounder. “Because I have a lease. And furniture. And a cat, if I ever get one.”
“Bring the cat,” he says easily. “We like cats.”
I stare at him. “I don’t actually have a cat, Eli.”
“Point remains.” He looks down at me, his gaze steady. “Your house is uninhabitable right now. Ours is quiet. We have food. We have space. Why make this harder than it needs to be?”
I look at the fans. I look at Eli, who looks cool and solid and quiet.
“I just wanted to handle it,” I admit, my voice small over the roar.
“You are handling it,” he says. “You got the fans. Now you’re handling the ‘living’ part by staying somewhere that doesn’t sound like a tarmac.”
He shifts the laptop bag, waiting.
I sigh, the tension finally leaking out of my spine. “Okay. Fine. One night.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Then we’ll bring you back tomorrow.” He says it with a tone that suggests we both know that’s unlikely, but he’s polite enough not to press.
Damn it.
“I have to come back anyway,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Tom roped me into the Neighborhood Watch meeting tomorrow night.”
Eli’s expression clears. “Ah. The ‘allies’ strategy.”
I blink. “You know about that?”
“Tom mentioned it.” His mouth quirks. “We’ll be there too. Now come on before the rest of my pack arrives asking what’s taking so long.”
Mention of the others makes my face warm.
“Fine. But I need—stuff. I can’t just leave.”
“Two minutes,” he says. “Go.”
I scramble, annoyed that I’m scrambling but also desperately wanting out of the noise.
I sprint to my bedroom and grab my duffel bag, shoving in the essentials: fresh underwear, clean leggings, a t-shirt I’ll definitely change into later because I’m NOT sleeping in pack clothes again, my toiletries bag, phone charger.
I zip it up and run back to the kitchen.
Eli is waiting exactly where I left him. He takes the duffel from me before I can even offer it, slinging it over his shoulder alongside my laptop. Then he guides me outside and pulls the door shut behind us, cutting off the noise.
The silence of the backyard is instantaneous and blissful.
I stop at the top of the steps, taking a deep breath of real air.
Eli watches my shoulders drop. “Better?”
“Much.” I exhale slowly. “Thank you.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze tracing my face. “You know you don’t have to wait until it gets that bad to come over. Even if the house isn’t flooding.”
I look down at my sneakers. “I know. I just…didn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re never intruding.” His voice is low, serious. “Door’s always open. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“Good.” He nods toward the house next door. “Knox is making chili. And I think Rhys is currently trying to teach Declan how to bake bread, which is a disaster in progress you probably want to witness.”
A laugh bubbles up in my chest, surprising me. “Is it bad?”
“There’s flour on the ceiling fan,” Eli says gravely.
“Okay.” I step down onto the grass. “That I have to see.”
He smiles, and the knot in my chest completely unravels. I follow him across the lawn, leaving the noise and the empty house behind, walking toward the warmth of 126.
The next few hours are…disarming.
I expected chaos. I expected intensity. Instead, I get Knox’s chili and the aftermath of what can only be described as a bread-related crime scene.
The kitchen counter is dusted with flour. There’s a questionable lump of dough sitting in a bowl, looking deflated. And Declan is sulking at the island, picking at his bowl while Rhys smirks quietly beside him.
“It’s not that bad,” Declan mutters.
“It’s a brick,” Rhys says calmly, poking the failed loaf with a fork.
“I followed the recipe.”
“You followed a recipe. Not the one I gave you.”
Knox sets a steaming bowl of chili in front of me, ignoring the bread debate entirely. “Eat. Cornbread’s in the oven. The real kind.”
I take a bite. It’s perfect. Rich, spicy, with just enough heat to make my eyes water in the best way.
“This is amazing,” I say.
Knox’s grin is immediate and devastating. “Glad someone appreciates my cooking.”
“I appreciate it.” Declan frowns at him. “It’s why I wanted to contribute!”
“You contributed chaos,” Eli says mildly, appearing with a damp cloth to wipe flour off the backsplash. “That counts.”
I laugh, and it surprises me how easy it is.
We eat at the island, bowls steaming, elbows bumping. Declan’s hand sneaks across the counter.
“Hey!” I swat at him, but the cornbread is already gone.
He grins around the mouthful. “You weren’t eating it fast enough.”
“Touch my food again and you lose a finger.”
I steal a jalapeno slice from his bowl in retaliation. He recoils in mock horror.
“That’s a crime, Mia.”
“Consider us even.”
Knox appears at my shoulder with seconds before I can ask, and then Rhys hooks his foot around the leg of my stool, and drags me six inches closer to the center of the island.
Nobody says anything about it.
They just keep eating like it’s normal. Like I fit here.
That ease carries us through the next twelve hours. We work side-by-side, the sunlight tracking across the floorboards until it fades into the heavy blue of twilight. Laptops open, close, and open again. Coffee mugs are swapped for water, then back to coffee.
By nine, the energy shifts.
“Alright,” Declan says, pushing his empty bowl away. “Dublin’s waiting. Everyone on deck.”
Screens flicker to life in the living room. The low hum of electronics fills the air, and suddenly they’re all business.
I retreat upstairs with my laptop, intending to work.
The nest swallows me whole. The same massive bed, piled with blankets and pillows, smelling like all of them. It’s quiet up here. Too quiet. The silence presses against my ears after the noise of the fans and after the warmth of the kitchen.
I open my laptop and stare at the screen, only to close it again.
I can hear them downstairs. Muffled voices, the occasional laugh. Declan’s voice rises, then Knox’s low rumble in response. I can’t make out the words, but the rhythm is soothing. So, I lie back in the nest, pulling a blanket over me.
It smells like oats. Like espresso and dark chocolate and molasses.
My eyes drift closed.
I must fall asleep because I wake to the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
The room is dark. With a groan, I check my phone. 12:03 AM.
Downstairs, there’s a low murmur of conversation. Someone laughs and I hear the clink of a mug, the hiss of the espresso machine.
They’re still working.
And I’m wide awake.
I slip out of the nest, padding barefoot to the landing. The house is warm, lit by the glow of screens from the living room. I can see Knox’s silhouette bent over a laptop, Rhys beside him.
I go to the kitchen instead.
It’s empty. Spotless. They cleaned up. Counters wiped down, dishes done, everything back in its place. But I know where things are now. The flour in the glass jar. Sugar in the canister. Butter in the fridge.
I pull them out quietly, careful not to make noise.
I need to do something. Need to move, to create, to justify the strange restless energy humming under my skin.
So, I bake.
The spoon scrapes against the bowl as I mix. I cream butter and sugar until my arm aches, fold in flour, stir in chocolate chips.