Chapter Thirty-one #2
Matt was still thinking about the Thomases when he left the hospital.
The investigation into the incident was still open, and he’d put out BOLOs on the vehicle, but he was fairly certain the case would never be officially solved.
He’d have to quietly look into the family’s insurance situation and see if they needed help.
He figured it was up to shifters to make good what a rogue shifter had done to an innocent little girl, because none of them had tried to stop Cale before now.
There were plenty of moneyed shifters around Denver.
He’d make some calls and try to put right at least some of what Cale had done.
* * *
Matt was weary and sore after a day at work, but all of that was forgotten when he pulled up outside the house, and a sense of peace settled over him. He was home.
As he climbed out of the truck, Christian looked up from where he was elbow-deep in the guts of his old jeep. “Might want to avoid the kitchen,” he warned.
Matt raised his eyebrows, but that was evidently all Christian was willing to share. Well, if anything was calculated to get Matt to the kitchen, a mystery would do it.
Walking down the hallway, he could hear Tristan’s infectious laughter ringing out. Whatever was going on couldn’t be that bad.
As he lurked unseen in the doorway, assessing the threat, he revised that opinion.
Flour was one thing. He knew it sometimes escaped the bowl Jason was sieving it into.
A teaspoon’s worth or so. What he’d never seen was what looked like an entire sack of flour upended over the kitchen table, which was also stacked with every cake tin they owned, at least a dozen wooden spoons, and three dirty mixing bowls.
And in the midst of it all, Jesse and Tristan were elbowing one another over a dish of eggs.
“We only need three,” Tristan was insisting.
“We doubled the flour, so we gotta double the eggs,” Jesse said. “Don’t they teach you math at that school of yours?”
Deciding it was about time to make his presence known, Matt cleared his throat.
Jesse spun around. In his surprise or—Matt liked to think—excitement at seeing Matt, his hand spasmed, crushing the egg he was holding. He stared in mute betrayal at the slime coating his hand before looking up at Matt. “Well, shit.”
“Is Bryce with you?” Tristan asked, ignoring his partner in crime’s difficulties. “Please say he’s still at work.”
It all began to make horrible sense to Matt. “You’re making a cake for his birthday, aren’t you?”
“Cupcakes, actually. Only Jason conveniently vanished into the shower when I said I wanted to handle it myself, and now I can’t find the damn tins. Then Jesse offered to help, and I figured that didn’t count as cheating, right? I mean, it’s not like he’s a pro at cooking.”
No, Jesse certainly wasn’t that. He’d somehow gotten flour in his hair. And Jason always had been the smart one. He’d seen this disaster coming and gone for the longest shower in history.
His hands safely washed, Jesse came over to Matt and reached up to kiss him.
A short, sweet kiss, and then Jesse stilled, as if he’d realized what he was doing, kissing Matt where everyone could see.
After an instant’s pause, he leaned in again, certain of what he wanted and chasing Matt’s mouth like he never wanted to stop.
Matt slid his arms around him and held him close as he explored Jesse’s mouth. Jesse tasted of coffee and sugar and him—a taste that defied description other than it felt like home.
Eventually remembering they weren’t alone, Matt drew away. Tristan had taken advantage of Jesse’s distraction to choose how many eggs to add and was now concentrating fiercely on beating something in a mixing bowl.
“You got this, Tristan?” Matt asked, his fingers circling Jesse’s wrist.
Tristan nodded, slightly pink as he stared fixedly into his bowl. With a mental wince, Matt realized that his kissing Jesse was probably the equivalent of Tristan’s parents exchanging more than a swift peck in front of him.
“Thanks for the help, Jesse,” Tristan said without raising his eyes, though he did wave his spoon in their general direction—a move that dumped yet more flour out.
“I don’t want to face whatever’s going to come out of that bowl,” Matt said, sitting in the swing seat on the porch and drawing Jesse down beside him. “Thought you weren’t into cooking and domesticity?” he added as Jesse settled close, cheek resting against his shoulder.
Jesse shrugged. “Tristan needed moral support, so why not?”
Matt glanced at him. Jesse met his gaze, all innocence—like he hadn’t just admitted, plain as day, he was one of the pack.
Wanting to cover the uprush of warmth he felt, strong enough to make his throat ache, Matt reached to pick something out of Jesse’s hair. Seriously? Was that butter?
Jesse huffed but didn’t pull away, just shifted in closer, nuzzling against Matt’s shoulder. “You’re gettin’ real damn sappy, Urban.”
Matt brushed his jaw with his fingers, tipping Jesse’s face up just enough to meet his eyes.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess I am.”
* * *
Two weeks later, Matt hung a photo on the wall in his den—a picture of his pack gathered beneath the tree in the backyard.
At the time, taking a photo had sounded easy enough. He’d forgotten how damn awkward his pack could be.
The first attempt had Christian flipping Jesse off behind his head. Jesse had somehow sensed it and tackled him into the dirt just as the shutter clicked. In the next shot, they were upright again, dusty and grinning, but Tristan had been caught mid-sneeze, mouth wide open.
The last one—the one Matt was putting up—had caught the moment he’d finally snapped and ordered them to look at the goddamn camera, while he glared into it himself.
They hadn’t listened. Jason was more concerned about the ribs on the grill, and Dave was frowning at the jays mobbing something in the paddock.
Jesse and Christian were still scuffed up from wrestling, Bryce was tousling Tristan’s hair, while Karl looked like he wanted to slink off into the woods and pretend he at least was a grown-up.
Frustrating as they were, he wouldn’t trade a single one of them.
Especially not the one whose face seemed to shine out at him from the middle of the pack, and who was waiting for him now in the doorway.
Matt would turn and face him in a minute.
He was waiting for the lump in his throat to subside first.
In Jesse’s face, caught forever in the photo, there was happiness, and a little bit of wonder too. Like he still couldn’t believe he was here.
Jesse was kind of a miracle, when Matt thought about it.
“Careful, Urban. Keep starin’ at that, people might think you like us.”
A goddamn mouthy, opinionated miracle. But a miracle all the same.