Chapter Thirteen
Morning didn’t ease in gracefully in the Steel household—it hit like a door thrown wide open.
By the time Law stepped into the kitchen, the place was already loud enough to rattle the cabinets. Pans clanged on the stove, someone arguing over syrup choices, chairs scraping across old wood floors worn smooth by years of boots and bare feet.
The smell hit first.
Coffee—strong, dark, already gone half a pot too far—cut through everything.
Bacon grease popped sharp in a cast-iron skillet, rich and salty, with something sweet underneath it—biscuits, maybe, or honey warming on the counter.
Eggs, butter, sausage—heat and comfort layered together until it settled deep in his chest.
The air pressed in warm and thick, carrying it all at once—food, noise, bodies—familiar in a way that didn’t ask permission.
Home.
Tennessee heat was already settling in through the open windows, thick and slow, like it had nowhere else to be.
Voices overlapped without rhythm. Laughter broke through in bursts—loud, uncontained, the kind that didn’t check itself before it hit the air.
One of his brothers was talking over someone else, someone else talking louder just to win, and his mother stood at the stove like a general holding the line, swatting hands away without ever turning around.
Another brother reached for a piece of bacon.
“Touch that and I’ll break your fingers,” his mother warned.
“Love you too, Ma.”
“That’s not going to work.”
Law huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, reaching for an empty mug before he even fully cleared the doorway.
He didn’t have to look to know where anything was.
Coffee pot—left side of the stove. Mugs—second shelf, chipped blue one still intact somehow.
Cream in the fridge door. Honey on the counter, always just a little sticky around the lid.
Same as it had always been.
He worked his way toward the stove—food first, then he’d fill his mug.
Bodies moved around him, brushing past his shoulders, bumping his arm, someone knocking lightly into his back without apology. It wasn’t careless—it was familiar. Expected. No one made space because space had never been part of the equation here.
He fit into it without thinking.
The contact grounded him—solid, constant, something he didn’t have to track or question.
He reached for a plate from the stack and moved into the short line when his mother started loading food onto outstretched plates.
The noise didn’t bother him. It never had.
If anything, it settled something in him—grounded him in a way silence never could. Out there, quiet meant watching your back. Meant waiting for something to go wrong.
Here—
Here, it meant you were not alone.
Law lifted his plate, took a spot at the table, then stepped toward the coffee pot to fill his empty mug. Behind him, someone laughed loud enough to echo. His mother swore when she dropped a piece of bacon.
Buckshot bounded over and gobbled it up before the ten-second rule.
A chair tipped, then righted. Someone started telling a story that was already getting interrupted halfway through.
The first swallow of coffee hit strong and dark, heat cutting through the noise as it went down—familiar, steady, automatic.
For a second—
just a second—
he let it all sit.
The noise. The heat. The weight of the room.
Family.
It settled into him without resistance, something heavy and steady that didn’t need to be named.
Then he turned slightly, shifting just enough to gaze toward the doorway—
Not looking.
Not yet.
But already aware of exactly who he was waiting for.
The shift happened before he saw him.
A subtle change in the room—nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would clock. Just a thread pulling his attention toward the doorway like instinct settling into place.
Sage stepped in like he belonged there.
Not hesitant. Not careful. Just—there.
Hair still a little wild from sleep, T-shirt loose, movements slow in that way that said he hadn’t decided yet if he was fully awake. But his eyes—
sharp.
Already tracking.
Already clocking everything.
Law took it in the way Sage did everything—quiet, precise, filed without effort.
His focus narrowed without thought, the rest of the room dimming at the edges.
Sage moved straight into the chaos like it was a system he’d already mapped. Slid between bodies, snagged a piece of bacon off of Boston’s plate, ignored the immediate protest that followed.
“Hey—”
“Finders keepers,” Sage said, already biting into it.
Boston snorted. “Techie’s got a death wish.”
“Relax,” Sage shot back. “You’re not that scary.”
That pulled a laugh from one of Law’s brothers.
Sage grabbed a mug without looking, reached for the coffee pot on instinct—and missed it by an inch before correcting.
Small.
Barely there.
But it didn’t line up with the rest of him.
He was just a fraction off rhythm.
Boston pointed at him with a fork. “I don’t trust anyone who walks in and steals bacon like they’ve got rights.”
Sage didn’t even slow down. “You weren’t eating it.”
A couple of laughs broke out.
Boston flipped him off. “That was mine.”
Sage took a sip of coffee. “Past tense.”
That pulled a louder laugh—Boston included.
Sage grinned and reached for the honey, twisting the lid open with quick, efficient fingers.
Law pivoted, snagged his plate from the table, and moved in without announcing it. He stepped into the spot beside Sage at the counter, close enough that the heat of him registered—subtle, but there—and set his plate down.
Close enough that the temperature difference registered immediately, a quiet shift that didn’t go unnoticed.
Sage didn’t look up.
He was focused on the honey, turning the lid back into place with more care than it needed, tapping it once against the rim of his mug like he needed something to do with his hands.
Law reached past him.
His arm slid over Sage’s shoulder, bracing lightly against the counter as he took a glass from the shelf above. The motion was easy, familiar—but it brought him in close, his forearm brushing the top of Sage’s hair as he reached.
Soft contact.
Barely anything.
But it landed.
A light drag of contact, enough to register and stay.
Sage sucked in a quick breath—quiet, surprised more than anything—and went still for the briefest second.
Then he huffed a faint breath under it, like he was laughing at himself, and stayed where he was.
Didn’t move away.
Didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.
Just adjusted.
Aware now.
Law didn’t rush it. He let it sit there between them, quiet and out of place against the noise of the kitchen, his hand closing around the glass as he stayed a second longer than necessary, letting the moment settle into something real.
Sage shifted just enough to give him room without breaking the proximity. His shoulder brushed Law’s chest as he turned, reaching for his coffee mug—this time without missing.
“Careful,” Sage said under his breath, the words dry but lighter now. “You’re real comfortable this morning.”
Law poured water from the pitcher sitting on the counter. “You weren’t complaining last night.”
Sage choked on his sip of coffee.
Boston made a loud, delighted noise. “Oh—there it is.”
One of Law’s brothers laughed outright. “Damn, give the kid a second.”
Micah leaned back against the counter, watching with quiet interest, mouth twitching.
Sage wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting Law a look—sharp, a little wide, a little caught.
“Wow,” he said. “We’re just saying that out loud now?”
Law took a slow drink, unbothered. “You started it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You told me I was in your way.”
“That’s not—” Sage cut himself off, huffing a laugh. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Sounded like an invitation.”
Boston laughed harder. “I’m not leaving. I live here now.”
“You don’t live here,” Rip said from the table, voice easy. “And if you keep talking, I’ll gag you.”
Boston clutched his chest, eyes lit with humor. “Unbelievable. Betrayed.” He paused, then added, “Bring it on.”
“Incorrigible,” Rip muttered.
More laughter.
Sage shook his head, but he was grinning now—a little flushed, something brighter in his eyes than before.
He leaned back against the counter again, shoulder brushing Law’s without pulling away.
The contact stayed, easy and unforced, like it belonged there.
“Seriously,” Law said, quieter now, pointing out their closeness. “You always like this in the morning, or am I getting special treatment?”
Law let that sit for a second. Watched the younger man.
“Yeah,” Sage said finally. “You are.”
Sage blinked as if surprised by his own words, then huffed a breath that didn’t quite hide the smile pulling at his mouth.
“Good to know,” Law smirked.
Micah’s voice came in, light. “Neither of you are subtle.”
Sage pointed at him without looking as red crept into his face. “You’re not helping.”
“Figured you should know,” Micah said, mouth twitching.
Winter pushed off the wall, eyes on Sage, something almost amused under it. “Or was last night research?”
A few siblings snickered.
Sage flicked Winter a look. “I was off the clock.”
“That what we’re calling it now?”
“That’s exactly what we’re calling it.”
Another laugh from the table.
Law didn’t step back.
Didn’t move away.
And Sage didn’t either.
The vibration in his pocket cut through the noise, and Law almost grimaced. That call surely meant work.
“Viper,” he said, pulling his phone free from his pocket.
The kitchen didn’t quiet, not really—but something in the rhythm of it changed. Voices dipped, laughter softened at the edges, people listening without making it obvious.
The shift moved through the room like a current, subtle but immediate.
“Sorry, Law—got another body,” Viper said.
Law sighed.
The warmth of the room stayed—but it no longer sat at the center. Something cooler edged in, steady and familiar.
The grounding held, but it shifted—different now, edged with purpose.
“Understood,” he said.
Across the room, his mother turned, already reading it in his face.
“No,” she said immediately, pointing the spatula at him like that might stop it. “Absolutely not.”
A couple of his brothers groaned.
“Come on—”
“You just got here—”
“That’s not even fair—”
His father came in from the hallway, catching the tone more than the words. He crossed the space and set a hand on Law’s shoulder, solid and steady.
Law ended the call and lowered the phone, exhaling quietly through his nose.
“I’m sorry, mamma,” he said softly.
His mother was already moving, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around him.
“We hardly see you,” she said into his shoulder. “I don’t like this.”
Law’s hand came up automatically to her back. “I know. I’ll come back soon.”
The contact anchored him again, brief but solid.
Around them, the noise picked back up—complaints layered over each other.
“Every time—”
“That’s messed up—”
“Who do we complain to—”
Boston made a show of shaking his head. “I blame Viper,” he said, pouting.
Rip didn’t even look up. “You blame everyone.”
“Because everyone’s usually wrong.”
That pulled a quiet thread of laughter through the room.
Law’s father gave his shoulder a firm pat before stepping back. “Be careful out there,” he said.
Law nodded once.
Then he looked at Sage.
He didn’t create distance. Didn’t step out of it like the moment had already passed. Just turned slightly, enough that his attention settled there fully.
“When do we head out?” Sage asked.
“Within an hour,” he said, low, easy.
Sage’s mouth tipped at the corner. “That’s bad timing.”
“Yeah.”
Law let that sit for a second.
The kitchen, the noise, his family—all of it still there.
And right there with it—
Sage.
Close.
Something in Law settled around that, even as everything else started moving.
Not something he questioned—just something he held onto.
“We’ll pick this up later,” he said, quieter now.
Sage glanced at him, head tipped slightly. “Yes, we will.”
That pulled the faintest hint of a smile from Law.
He stayed a second longer than he needed to.
Long enough for it to matter.
Then he stepped away.