29. Theo #3
Sloane lowers himself into the chair on Callie’s other side with his coffee in both hands.
He looks more awake now, but the rumpled softness remains, and it makes him seem younger for a moment, less like an Alpha who has been bleeding guilt into every corner of the house and more like someone who forgot sleep could be shared without danger.
“That sounds a lot like you’re keeping her in your nest,” he says, watching me over the rim of his mug.
“Yes.” I don't hesitate. My hand slides higher on Callie’s thigh, not possessive enough to trap, only enough to keep contact. “That is exactly right.”
This time, the laughter lasts longer, moving through the kitchen from Sloane’s low huff to Callie’s breathy laugh against Idris' neck, then to Dash’s warm chuckle from across the table. Even Idris lets it touch his mouth, and the sight makes something in me loosen.
I look at Dash again and find him closer than he was at the start of breakfast, but still not close enough.
His fingers rest around his mug as his eyes move between Sloane and Callie, then Idris, then me.
He belongs here. I know it in the same place that knows the nest is too cold when Callie leaves it and that my heat is creeping nearer by the way every scent has started glowing under my skin.
Dash notices me staring after the third time.
“What?” he asks, and there is a smile in his voice, but there is caution beneath it too.
I study his face, then Sloane’s. Same mouth, maybe.
Different eyes when they hurt. Sloane’s pain burns outward before he forces it still.
Dash’s pain folds in and makes room for other people to sit down.
I tilt my head, trying to see the shape of family between them and finding only pieces that don't know how to touch yet.
“I don’t see the resemblance between you and Sloane,” I say.
The kitchen goes quiet for one heartbeat before the laughter returns, gentler this time and threaded with something older.
Sloane looks down at his mug. Dash looks at him, and the smile on his mouth softens into a thing with weight inside it.
Callie lifts her head from Idris' shoulder, suddenly very awake, and I feel her attention move between the brothers like she understands I didn't say it only to be funny.
Dash sets his coffee down. “We should talk,” he says, his gaze staying on Sloane now. “It has been a while.”
Sloane nods. He does not answer quickly, and I like him better for that because a quick answer would make the ache too neat. His hand flexes once around the mug before he lets go and rests his palm flat on the table. “Yeah,” he says, voice rougher than before. “We should.”
Callie’s fingers tighten on Idris' shirt.
Idris kisses the top of her head without pulling the moment away from them.
Dash and Sloane keep looking at each other across the table with a whole missing life sitting between their coffee cups, and for the first time since I have known them together, it feels less like a locked door and more like one nobody has touched because they were afraid of what would fall out.
The spike rolls through me again.
This time, it is stronger. Heat licks up my spine, as my scent blooms sweet enough that Sloane’s head turns before he can stop it.
Idris' hand stills on Callie’s hip. Dash notices because of course he does, because Alphas notice things like that even when they pretend they are only drinking coffee.
Callie looks at me with worry trying to rise in her eyes.
“I am fine,” I start, then stop because the words are too stiff and because I can hear how false they sound. I take a breath and put my hand over Callie’s knee where it rests near mine. “I’m warm. The spikes are closer today.”
Idris' attention sharpens. “How close?”
“Not my heat yet.” I say it clearly because panic would ruin the eggs and the plan and the whole perfect shape of the morning. “I know my body. It is moving, but I am here.”
Callie reaches for me from Idris' lap, and I meet her halfway, pressing my face into her palm. “What do you need?”
The answer is so simple it almost embarrasses me.
I need her in the nest. I need Dash in the nest. I need Sloane and Idris close enough that their scents build walls around the room without becoming a cage.
I need breakfast and blankets and the whole day arranged around the fact that my body has decided Callie is the center of gravity and everyone else should stop pretending they don't know it.
“I need the Callie Day,” I say, voice muffled against her hand. “And I need everyone to follow the plan.”
Dash’s expression softens. “Including me?”
I look at him, and the irritation from the past few mornings comes back, hot and immediate under the sweetness. “Especially you.”
He does not laugh at that. He looks at Callie, then at the hallway leading toward the nest, and something in his face shifts as if he’s finally understood the nest has made a place for him. Callie’s voice is quiet when she speaks. “You can come in, Dash.”
He looks back at her. “I know.”
“No,” she says, and her hand reaches across the table until he takes it. “You can come in because I want you there.”
Sloane looks away for a second, then gives Dash a small nod.
“After breakfast then,” Dash says, his thumb moving over Callie’s fingers, “I will come in.”