Chapter 39 Wren
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I wake to the sensation of warmth.
Not heat. Not someone pressed against me. It’s the kind that settles into the bones—quiet, slow, like the body realizing danger isn’t the thing keeping it awake anymore.
Light filters through the crack in Kael’s curtains. The room smells like cedar and clean laundry. At some point in the night, I kicked the comforter down to my waist. My hair’s a mess. My pulse isn’t climbing walls.
For a second, I don’t move.
I listen.
A low, rhythmic hum—air pump deflating the mattress in the hall. A pan shifts in the kitchen. A soft murmur of voices, one raised in frustration, one in amusement, one in command.
The boys.
Still here.
Still keeping watch.
Something warm settles under my ribs. Something I haven’t felt in far too long.
I push out of bed, feet hitting the soft rug, and open the door just enough to peek.
Atlas is crouched on the hallway floor, wrestling the air mattress like it offended him personally.
Finn is in the kitchen, humming as he flips something in a pan, wearing one sock and no shirt for reasons known only to him.
Kael sits at the counter, hair damp, coffee in hand, looking like he’s been awake since the invention of daylight.
He looks up first.
His eyes soften.
“You’re up.”
The simple, steady way he says it makes something melt inside me.
Finn looks over his shoulder. “Morning, sunshine.”
Atlas doesn’t look up, but his voice is low. “You sleep?”
I nod, stepping fully into the hallway. “I did.”
Finn grins triumphantly like he personally tucked me in and stood watch like a knight of the round table. “Knew it. Kael said the house’s HVAC system was too loud. I said nah—she’ll sleep.”
Kael lifts a brow. “I didn’t say too loud.”
“You implied,” Finn fires back.
Atlas grunts. “Both of you shut up.”
For the first time in what feels like months, I laugh. It’s soft and small and brief, but it’s real. Finn beams like he just won something. Kael hides a smile in his coffee mug. Atlas goes still—not confused, but listening to the sound like it means something.
“Food?” Finn asks. “We’ve got eggs. Toast. Fruit. Leftover pasta from last night which Kael claims he’ll eat but I know he won’t because he’s secretly a snob—”
Kael cuts him off. “I eat pasta.”
Atlas stands, finishing the last roll of the air mattress like he’s strangling a particularly stubborn snake. “You eat the same three things.”
Finn nods. “Which are—?”
“Chicken. Rice. Broccoli,” Atlas says.
“Exactly!” Finn seems delighted to have backup.
Kael sets his coffee down. “I’m surrounded by children.”
I smile again. Maybe bigger this time.
Finn sets a plate in front of me—a perfect omelet with herbs and a ridiculous swirl of sriracha shaped like a heart. “Chef Finn, at your service.”
I stare at the plate, emotion pushing against my throat like pressure behind my sternum. “Thank you.”
He shrugs, trying to play it cool. “You’re welcome.”
Atlas slides my coffee toward me. “Not too strong. You seemed like a medium roast person.”
The fact he observed that...
Something tightens pleasantly in my chest.
Kael taps the counter once. “After breakfast, we’re taking you out.”
I blink. “Taking me out?”
Finn throws his arms wide. “Boston! You live here now, but you haven’t actually seen anything except your apartment and the rink.”
“That’s not true,” I say weakly.
Atlas folds his arms. “It’s true.”
Kael’s voice stays soft. “You need a day off. A real one.”
My instinct is to argue. It’s a reflex at this point—don’t inconvenience, don’t take up space, don’t need too much. But last night...
I needed them.
And they stayed.
I set my fork down. “Where would we go?”
Finn lights up. “I’m thinking pastries at Mike’s, the Common, maybe the harbor, hit the North End—oh! Kael’s gonna make us do the Freedom Trail—”
Kael cuts in. “No, I’m not.”
Atlas adds, “We’re not doing that.”
Finn rolls his eyes. “Spoken like two men who have zero romantic imagination.”
Kael’s face doesn’t move. “It’s cold.”
“It’s winter,” Atlas adds.
“That’s what jackets are for,” Finn insists.
I laugh again—louder this time—and all three heads snap toward the sound like it’s a rare bird flying through the kitchen.
Finn’s expression softens so fast it almost hurts to look at.
Atlas lowers his chin, like he’s memorizing it.
Kael...
Kael looks at me like he just found the missing variable in an equation he’s been solving for weeks.
“Let’s go,” I say, surprising myself.
All three blink like they didn’t expect me to say yes so quickly.
Finn pumps a fist. “Hell yes.”
Atlas nods. “Good.”
Kael grabs his keys. “Wear a warm jacket.”
I roll my eyes. “I own jackets.”
He stands there, deadpan. “Wear a warm one.”
***
Boston in daylight feels like a different planet. The air is crisp, winter-blue sky stretching overhead, the city loud but not overwhelming. We walk down Hanover Street, and Finn buys me a pastry the size of my face.
“Mmm,” I hum around the first bite.
Finn nearly trips. “Say it again.”
I kick his ankle lightly. “Idiot.”
Atlas watches from behind me, eyes scanning crowds, intersections, rooftops. He doesn’t hover. He shadows. Close enough to reach me. Far enough to give me room.
Kael walks on my other side, matching my pace perfectly, his hand occasionally brushing mine when the sidewalk narrows. Every time it happens, something fizzles under my skin.
At the harbor, Finn leans on the railing, pointing out boats he claims he could steal if necessary.
Atlas mutters, “Please don’t.”
Kael says, “No, you couldn’t.”
I watch the water and breathe in cold air that doesn’t burn this time.
It feels normal.
Safe.
Happy.
I’m not used to happy.
At the Common, Finn throws snowballs at Atlas until Atlas snatches him by the back of his hoodie and the two wrestle like children on the frozen grass. A little girl nearby giggles as Finn falls dramatically into a snowbank.
Kael stands beside me, hands in his coat pockets, watching the chaos with quiet fondness he’ll never admit out loud.
“Thank you,” I say.
He glances down. “For what?”
“For this.” I gesture around. “For... all of this.”
Kael’s jaw flexes once. Not tension. Something else.
“It’s nothing,” he says quietly.
“To me?” I shake my head. “It’s everything.”
Kael’s breath leaves him slowly. He doesn’t say anything else, but his arm brushes mine again—not accidental this time.
We walk for hours.
We talk.
We tease.
We steal little moments.
Finn snaps a picture of the four of us eating cannoli, and when I see it on his phone, something inside me stutters.
I look...
Happy.
Whole.
Held.
Not by their hands.
By their presence.
The sun is dipping by the time we reach my apartment building. The day shouldn’t have felt this long or short at the same time. I don’t want it to end. None of them look ready for it either.
At my door, I hesitate.
Finn shifts closer. “Hey. You okay?”
Atlas straightens behind him, waiting.
Kael watches me like he knows the question before I say it.
“I...”
My throat tightens.
God, I hate needing anything.
But I swallow and say, barely above a whisper:
“Will you come in?”
The silence that follows isn’t hesitation.
It’s heat.
Soft.
Slow.
Thick.
Finn’s breath hitches.
Atlas’s eyes darken.
Kael’s expression barely moves—but everything about him leans in.
Finn’s voice breaks first. “Yeah. Of course.”
Atlas murmurs, “If you want us.”
Kael says nothing for a long moment. Just searches my face.
Then, quietly:
“We’re here.”
I unlock the door with a shaking hand.
They follow me inside.
The air shifts.
Something is about to happen.
Something inevitable.
Something earned.
Something I’m not sure I’m ready for but want more than I want to breathe.