Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
WREN
The water had long gone warm, edging toward cool, but I didn’t move. I just let myself drift, barely touching the surface of awareness, my limbs floating loose in the oversized tub. Jay sat behind me, his arms bracketing my hips gently, chin resting on my shoulder like he’d been there forever.
It was the first time in two days that no one was touching me with need.
And yet, I felt them all.
Roan was in the shower in the other room—the hiss and pulse of the spray rising above the low hum of the bath jets. Rhett’s voice carried through the cracked bathroom door, warm and lazy, laced with mischief.
“We’re gonna have to burn the bed,” he called out. “Maybe the whole damn cabin.”
My face went instantly hot. I sank deeper into the water, up to my chin.
Jay laughed softly against my neck. “Ignore him.”
“I can’t,” I muttered. “He’s loud. And I’m pretty sure I ruined that mattress.”
Jay pressed a kiss to my temple. “It’s not ruined. It’s well-used.”
God.
Two days. That’s all it had been. Two days and I’d stopped counting knots after the fourth—or was it the fifth?
I’d lost track somewhere between the last wave of heat and Roan dragging me half-conscious into the shower to cool down while Jay shoved a protein bar in my mouth and Rhett made me drink electrolyte water like I was going to evaporate without it.
Now the storm had passed, and I was left in the stillness.
Sore didn’t even begin to cover it.
Every inch of me ached. I was stretched, marked, claimed in ways I hadn’t been able to comprehend until it was over. I’d slept in between, in stolen hours. I’d eaten when they’d made me. I’d let go of everything I’d once thought I could control—my body, my heat, my scent, my self.
Yet, I could still feel them.
Under my skin. In my chest. Like echoes.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Jay said gently, rubbing slow circles on my stomach. His touch was always soothing. Never rushed. Never forced. Just there, grounding.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
For a long beat, he said nothing. Then, almost whisper quiet, he exhaled the words against my temple, “You’ve lost weight.”
I blinked. “What?”
Nuzzling kisses down to the side of my neck, he half smiled against my skin. “You’re strong. You handled it, all of it. But your body’s wiped. You’re dehydrated. Your pulse is still running high. You didn’t have enough reserves going into this.”
“You’re worrying again.” I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze over my shoulder.
“Not just me,” he said, and I could tell from his tone that he was choosing his words with care. “You’ll see your doctor when you get back?”
I nodded, slower than I meant to. “Yeah. I will.” At the same time, I could almost hear the question he didn’t ask. Will you go back on the suppressants?
Jay didn’t push. He never did. But his fingers hesitated at my hip, and I felt the weight of it, the way he was trying not to look like he was bracing for an answer.
I didn’t have one.
Not yet.
And I couldn’t lie to him, not when his scent was all around me, not when my body was still humming with his touch as well as Roan and Rhett’s knots. Their voices, their mouths—everything they’d poured into me like I was something meant to be filled until I overflowed.
They did it, and then some. Filling in gaps inside of me that I hadn’t realized were even there.
Maybe they hadn’t been, before the heat shattered my control and broke me open like an egg.
The Wren I was before hadn’t ever experienced the need like I had this past week.
It had been a week—five days almost— since I left to take a couple of days and ride out my heat.
Somehow, if they hadn’t come when they did, I had a feeling, I would still be locked in that hell. That was more than a little unsettling. To be so at the mercy of urges beyond any control. The heats I’d experienced when I was younger hadn’t been nearly this intense.
I didn’t even realize I’d gone silent until Rhett appeared in the doorway, hair damp, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned and hanging low around his hips. His grin was cocky and devastating.
“Well,” he said, “you two look indecent and exhausted. I’m proud of us.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best,” he corrected. “And,” he added with a flourish, “I made sandwiches.”
Jay kissed the side of my face and murmured, “Told you he was good for something.”
“I heard that!” Rhett called as he disappeared again.
But their laughter didn’t quite cut the tension. It just danced over it. The air still buzzed faintly—thick with their scents, with mine. With the lingering threads of bondless claim, with all the pressure we’d kept carefully at bay. There was no regret. But there was something else.
A quiet knowing.
Like they could feel me differently now. Like I could feel them. Not just physically, not even chemically—but on a level so deep it didn’t have words.
The heat might have passed, but the burn hadn’t gone out.
I was still curled against Jay’s chest when Roan stepped into the doorway, steam curling around him like smoke.
His skin glowed a deep, sun-warmed gold, ruddy from the punishing heat of the shower, like he’d needed the scalding water to rinse off the last of the frenzy.
It hadn’t worked—nothing could rinse away what we’d done.
The proof was still etched on his body with long, raised marks down his arms and shoulders, angry red where I’d clawed him in the thick of it.
My face flushed. The bite he’d made on my neck throbbed. Like my body knew the mark it bore, and recognized the one who left it. Roan’s gaze flicked to it the second he stepped inside. His jaw ticked—just once. But when his eyes met mine, they were softer than they had any right to be.
“You ready to eat?” he asked.
The words were simple. But his tone wasn’t.
There was that quiet thread of command again, woven into his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. He didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. He wore authority like a second skin, even with his hair still wet and water dripping down his chest.
Still, there was a gentleness there too—beneath the dominant aura cloaking him. It calmed me, loosening something tight in my chest.
I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to Jay’s thigh under the water. “We probably need to talk.”
Roan didn’t even blink. “We can wait.” There was no hesitation. No anxiety about what might come next. Just complete, unshakable calm. “Right now, you need food. Water. Rest. Talk can wait until you’re whole again.”
“He’s right.” Jay nodded behind me, fingers brushing along the inside of my arm. “We’ll still be here when you’re ready.”
Even from the other room, Rhett chimed in—his voice lighter, but his words still firm. “Yeah, no deep thoughts until you eat at least two sandwiches. Non-negotiable.”
I laughed softly, but it caught in my throat. They were giving me space—gentle, deliberate generosity in the wake of everything I’d given them.
But I could feel the clock ticking, even in this snow-wrapped hideaway. Outside, the world hadn’t stopped turning.
The playoffs were coming. The team would need them back for drills. I’d need to return to the city, to the office, to the PR cleanup and the mess I’d left on pause.
Real life was waiting.
And whatever this thing was between us—this fire, this bondless ache—still didn’t have a name.
Yet, in this moment, with Jay holding me steady, Roan’s presence filling the room, and Rhett being irreverent and loud just to make me smile…
For just a little longer, I let it all wait.
The new bed felt like a dream—fresh sheets, clean blankets, soft pillows that hadn’t been tangled and soaked in the heat of bodies and scent. Someone had aired the room out, wiped down the surfaces. There were even bottles of water on the nightstand and snacks within reach.
They were taking care of me. Still.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until I was curled under the blankets, muscles aching in ways I didn’t want to admit, belly full for the first time in days.
Rhett lay stretched beside me, loose-limbed and lazy like a lion in the sun. One arm was tucked under his head, and the other played idly with my hair—soft strokes from crown to nape, slow and soothing. Over and over again.
It felt so good I nearly purred.
He must’ve felt it, too—some subtle change in my breathing, a little hum in my throat—because his mouth curved in a smirk I could feel without even looking.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” I said, trying for dry, but it came out softer.
His fingers slid down, just behind my ear, making me shiver. “Only because you’re letting me.”
I arched a brow, glancing up at him. “And you think that’s about you, not me?”
Rhett’s grin deepened, but when his eyes met mine, something else flickered beneath the surface.
The playfulness was still there—he wore it like armor, like instinct—but I saw the edge of something rawer behind it. A kind of focused intensity. A need he didn’t know how to ask for without dressing it in jokes and charm.
And for all his alpha swagger, I could see it clearly now—he didn’t want to be brushed off. Not by me. Not after what we’d shared.
I reached up and brushed his cheek with the backs of my fingers. His stubble rasped against my skin, and his hand went still in my hair.
“Will you keep petting me?” I asked quietly.
It wasn’t a question, not really. It was my answer. My way of saying yes. I liked it. I wanted it. I wanted him.
Rhett made a low sound in his throat, almost a grunt—satisfied, like something in him had unclenched—and his hand resumed its slow strokes through my hair.
I smiled to myself and rolled back to my side, facing the doorway. He shifted with me, settling in again with his chest warm against my back, his breath ghosting over my shoulder.
And that was when I saw them.
Roan stood in the doorway, bare-chested, arms crossed over his chest. Watching. Always watching. Jay was just behind him, leaning in the frame, expression unreadable but warm.
They weren’t interrupting.
They weren’t assuming.
They were waiting.
And that was what did me in.
Not the heat. Not the knots. Not even the claiming.
This. The restraint. The careful, patient way they were holding back now, like I was breakable. Like I needed space to breathe.
Maybe I did.
But I didn’t want the distance.
My throat tightened, something sharp blooming behind my ribs. I reached out under the blankets, fingers stretching toward the door.
Not a command.
Just an invitation.
Roan’s gaze dropped to my hand. His whole body shifted—so subtle I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. The tension across his shoulders eased, his eyes gentled.
Jay didn’t say a word, but I could feel the change in him too. Like maybe they’d all been holding their breath since the heat broke.
Maybe now… we could exhale.
I let my hand rest where it was, fingers lightly curled, reaching out into the quiet. The warmth from Rhett behind me and the soft shifting of the bed beneath us was a balm, but then I felt something else—movement, steady and deliberate.
Jay eased onto the bed beside us, settling in close, his body warm against mine in a way that sent a fresh pulse of calm through me. I felt the steady beat of his breath, his hand finding mine, fingers intertwining like a silent promise.
Then Roan joined us, his presence filling the space with that familiar weight of power and protection. He settled at the head of the bed, careful not to crowd, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His hand lifted, gentle as a whisper, to cradle my cheek.
Slowly, the tension in my chest began to ease, the sharp ache of uncertainty dulling to something softer—something I hadn’t been ready to admit before now.
As the minutes stretched, the quiet breathing around me slowed.
One by one, the men drifted off to sleep—Rhett still tracing lazy patterns in my hair, his hand heavy but gentle on my side.
Jay’s fingers laced with mine, warm and grounding.
And Roan’s touch, featherlight against my cheek, kept me tethered to the moment.
There was something in that—something utterly captivating.
Not the wild ferocity that had pulled me into them before.
No. This was different.
This was care.
Deep, steady, unyielding care.
As my eyelids fluttered shut, I realized I craved it even more than the heat, more than the storm of passion and claim. Still, sleep remained elusive and I kept looking, checking to make sure they were still there.
The soft light in the room caught the faint shimmer around Roan’s eyes—the tired gold of a man who had given everything and wasn’t finished giving.
His fingers brushed against my skin, featherlight, and his voice was just a breath, a murmur meant for me alone.
“Sleep, Wren. We have time.” It wasn’t just words. It was a promise. One that settled inside me, quiet but fierce, from his soul to mine.
When I reached for his hand, he linked our fingers and everything inside of me settled. This time when I let my eyes close, sleep wrapped me up and I drifted off, safely cradled by all three.