30. Rosie
Chapter 30
Rosie
B y the time we get back with takeout from Mel’s Diner, it’s after seven, and I’m exhausted. The adrenaline from the day has worn off, and general anxiety from being at the hospital has left me drained.
I blink my way through a few bites of the plate Quinn sets in front of me. Nash and Dane are leaning against the island, trying to update me on the house while they eat, but I’m not focusing.
“How much was it? We need to set up a system,” I say, trying to muster the energy. This is important. I just don’t know if I have it in me.
“I’m keeping track,” Nash says, setting down his plate and crossing his arms. “I’ll let you know if I need something. You told me your working budget. I’ll make sure your costs stay in it.”
I get distracted by his swelling biceps and the memory of his full-body hug earlier at the hospital. Who would have guessed Nash is such a cuddler? But then, he’s always been sweet—at least to me.
Something about his wording tells me I should be paying closer attention because he doesn’t intend to let me see the real bill. I open my mouth to protest, then think better of it. He can have control of this. If I worry about everything, I’m going to crumble.
Quinn leans over from his seat next to me at the island and kisses my forehead. “You look done for. Why don’t you get ready for bed?” He grabs my plate. “We’ll clean up and head that way before too long.”
I look around the group and feel my shoulders drop. Each of them has pulled through for me today in big ways, and I’m grateful they were here—even if it’s still surreal.
“Thank you for today. It means a lot.” I hug Quinn, then stand on my tippy-toes to kiss Nash’s cheek. I give Dane an awkward wave and excuse myself, calling “Good night!” down the hall.
The shower is the exact thing I need, and I let my tears run until I’m completely hollow. I’ve cried more in the last week than I have in years, but most of the tears aren’t exactly sad.
When I’m wrung out, I wrap my hair in a towel and dry off, going in search of something to wear. Bambi—the saint she is—dropped off washed and folded loads of my clothes with Nash at the house before coming to the hospital. I fumble through the piles until I find a pair of sleep shorts and an old band T-shirt I’ve turned sleeveless.
Plopping my ass down on the rug, I sort through my stuff and get most of it put away before taking a haul to the bathroom and starting my nighttime routine.
This whole new reality still feels… I don’t know. Too big to be real? My own family didn’t want me. What’s to say my scent matches won’t realize I don’t fit and change their minds? I know that’s just my brain feeding me garbage. Today helped quiet those nasty old fears, though they haven’t been silenced completely.
Learning Quinn is my Kelly gave me an instant safety net. That’s silly maybe, but true. I trust Kelly and Nash. I also managed a conversation with Dane around and still felt like myself. Taken all together, that’s progress. If my quirky Kelly belongs to this pack, I may too.
By the time I finish my nighttime routine, I’m yawning. When I go to switch off the light, I realize there are shadows under the door, and I hear the low rumble of voices.I throw the door open to find Nash and Quinn hovering, their bare chests covered by the mounds of blankets and pillows they carry.
“Were you planning to knock or have a sleepover outside the door?” I ask, amused. “It’s because I have the only made bed in the house, isn’t it?” I deadpan.
“Yeah, baby, we’re definitely here for the bed,” Nash throws back.
“We’re not all fitting?—”
Nash raises his brow at me, smirking. “Oh, we’ll make it fit.”
His voice is as smooth as tequila chased with lime. Good night. That voice is pure sex.
“I knew the bed comment was dicey, but that one I walked into,” I admit, opening my arm for them to pass and shaking my head at his relentless innuendos—or maybe at the fact that I like the way he flirts with me.“Come on.”
“I love this so much. You have no idea.” Quinn looks between the two of us, a big grin on his face that exposes a dimple on the right side of his mouth. And now I’m obsessed.
Many, many times, I pictured Kelly. I needed a better imagination.
Crawling into the bed, I wiggle under the covers. It’s a regular king, like the one I have at home, and despite Nash’s dirty words, it wasn’t made for a pack.
Nash sidles up beside me and literally buries himself in my cleavage. He rests his head on my boobs and makes this deep rumbly sound before flailing grabby hands for Quinn. “I hated that we were all separated today,” he mumbles against my shirt.
I’ve never had someone be so touch focused or so obsessed with my body. It’s new, but I like the way it makes me feel desired. My fingers weave through Nash’s hair, and I sigh at his comforting weight and warmth. His scent is mellow tonight—more sun-beaten driftwood on a glassy ocean. I savor the warmth of it, let it carry me away on his breeze.
Quinn snuggles up behind Nash, reaching around where the alpha is plastered against me to trace the tattoo on my shoulder. “You drew this one. I recognized your tag. It felt like a sign.”
His thumb moves back and forth along the outline, and that small touch sends little shivers that all end up in my core. His silver eyes flit to mine, and his wonder reflects back at me. It’s as if he can't believe I'm really here. I was afraid of what facing Kelly might mean, worried by old wounds that I wouldn’t be enough. But seeing the look in his eyes, I didn’t need to worry. Already in the space between us is so much desire and fondness.
Nash peeks his head up. “That’s right. You’re an artist. That piece you made of Quinn’s character is badass.”
“She makes window art too, and clothes. I can’t wait to actually see your designs in person.” Quinn’s compliment and smooth voice make my neck hot.
“I still can’t believe you’ve been friends for years. What are the odds?”
Seriously.
“Are you jealous?” Quinn sings playfully.
Nash growls. “Incredibly.”
“That could be fun.” The musical quality of Quinn’s laugh makes me smile with the familiarity of it. His hand slides down my shoulder as he studies my tattoos. He points at the waterlily on my forearm. “This is one of yours?”
“Yes. I drew that one because it reminds me of my grandmother,” I admit, my heart squeezing at the memory of her this afternoon.
Nash points at another, asking the same question, officially making it a game. I play along, telling them the inspiration for each tattoo. Most of them are small pieces, like my needle and thread, and easy enough to explain.
I half close my eyes, drifting as their hands caress and trace, their soft touches making me feel like a cat lounging in a sunny window. Quinn’s spicy clove and amber melds with Nash’s ocean air until they become a heady cocktail.
“And this one?” Quinn asks, his hand slipping under the edge of my cut-off shirt. His finger traces over the tattoo covering my scars, and I freeze.
Nobody says anything with their mouths, but Quinn’s eyes refuse to leave my gaze, and Nash’s big hand digs into my hip. They don’t ask me to explain. Instead, their purrs meld together to create harmony, and eventually, my muscles unlock, my body turning back to goo.
I take a measured breath, trying to build my courage. “They’re scars that reminded that I wasn’t enough. I decided one day to paint over themwith tattoos, and once I started, I never really stopped.”
Nash rubs my hip, his purr rumbling beneath his words. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
“I happen to find your tattoos incredibly sexy,” Quinn adds.
Nobody says anything else, and I let their words soak into old hurts. The world quiets under their purrs and cuddles, creating a little bubble that makes me feel safe.
When I’m almost asleep, Dane steps into the room. He’s only in a towel, his tan skin glistening with droplets of water.
“Do you own clothes?” I joke, cocking my head to take another peek.
“I showered and everyone was gone.” He pouts.
“We showed up at her door like lost puppies. Bark for her and she might let you in,” Nash says, giving Dane shit.
The Heartthrob Football God of Knotty Pines shrugs at Nash’s suggestion before letting loose a series of barks. Dane accompanies the sound with little puppy dog noises and paws at us.The absurdity of it sends me laughing until I’m snorting, which sets off Quinn and Nash.
“Those laughs sound like they’re worth the cost of admission,” Dane calls from the door as he retreats. “Be right back. I can take the floor.”
We're still rolling in laughter when he returns with another set of blankets and pillows. Dane hesitates.
“At this rate, it’s a sleepover. Find a spot.” I wipe under my eyes, a giggle slipping out at the end.
Honestly, these men are pretty fucking ridiculous. I don’t know why I find them so adorable.
Dane doesn’t let me recover, nudging into the nonexistent space at my back. He ropes a big-ass hand around my waist and shifts me closer.
“Gods, you’re soft.” He hums in appreciation as he buries his nose in my neck.
I stop breathing because Dane Daniels is cuddling me. Actually, I’m being cuddled by my all-time hot pack fantasy, and I’m having a kind of out-of-body experience.
Where is the trick? The camera? And why didn’t I pick sexier PJs?
Dane rubs his nose from my ear to my shoulder. His knee nudges between my legs, his hard cock pushing against my ass. “Relax, sweetheart, we’re just sleeping.”
My mouth opens in reflex, my nervous snark activated. “Is this the part where you promise to just put in the tip?”
“Don’t test me right now,” Dane warns.
How am I supposed to sleep? His presence has thrown my body from a happy buzz to wide awake. I push my ass back against him. “Or what?”
“Or you’ll get the whole thing,” he growls.
And now my nipples are hard.
“What if I want the whole thing?” My stomach flutters with nerves, but I’ve also been wet since these men got in bed with me, and having Dane’s hard cock nestled against me has me incredibly turned on. I grind back against him, and he lets loose another clit-tingling growl.
“Raven?” Quinn grips my chin, asking me with his eyes if this is okay.
I swallow and go for brave. I have three men in my bed who want me, and the feeling is mutual if I can get out of my head.
“Do you want us to make you feel good, baby?” Nash asks, squeezing my hip.
I’m surrounded by alpha and omega pheromones. It’s dizzying in the best way.
Quinn holds my gaze, and there’s a challenge there. “Be a good girl and tell your pack what you want.”
For a moment, the room is quiet except for my harsh breathing. Quinn’s words tug deep inside my softest parts, the parts that want to belong to this pack and these men. I squeeze my eyes shut and take the leap. “Touch me. Make me come.” I want it to come out as a command, but it rings like a question.
Three men growl in answer.