Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
WREN
Iwoke to the smell of coffee and the low murmur of voices, warm and familiar.
The bed was mostly empty—just the lingering indentation of where bodies had been, sheets rumpled and still holding the scent of skin and salt and something softer that hadn’t quite faded. My muscles protested as I sat up, not sharply, but enough to remind me just how thoroughly I’d been… handled.
I stretched slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in my thighs, the tender pull across my hips. Even my scalp was sensitive where Rhett had threaded his fingers through my hair half the night.
Despite the way I moved like I was made of half-cooled wax, I felt… good.
Whole.
Wrecked, maybe. But good.
The soreness was just another echo of what we’d done. What we’d been. I caught Jay watching me from across the room as I padded in, still in one of their long shirts, his mouth twitching at the corners.
“You okay?” he asked, though his tone already said yes, obviously, because he’d been cataloging every blink and breath of mine since dawn.
“Bit stiff,” I said, stretching again with a wince.
Rhett, naturally, leaned in from the kitchen with a wicked grin. “You’re welcome.”
I groaned and threw a clean towel at him. “I hate you.”
“No, you love me,” he called after me as I wandered toward the coffee pot.
“I tolerate you,” I corrected.
Roan glanced over his shoulder from where he was zipping up a duffel. “You’re moving like you got tackled by a pack of wild animals.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” I muttered into my mug, cheeks heating even though they were all being—almost annoyingly—affectionate about it.
After breakfast, they packed efficiently.
Roan’s SUV was already warming up outside, snow dusted across the windshield.
Rhett and Jay drove off to the other cabin to grab my car and the rest of my things.
I took my time cleaning up—brushing my teeth, putting on something clean, trying to pull myself back together for the world outside this snowy cocoon.
But the closer we got to leaving, the heavier something settled in my chest.
It wasn’t dread. Not quite.
Just… reluctance.
When the cars were packed, we stood in a loose little cluster by the vehicles. My car sat in the driveway beside Roan’s, looking much smaller now—like it didn’t belong to the same story.
No one really wanted to break the moment, but logistics eventually forced the issue.
Roan jerked his chin toward his SUV. “She drives her own. We’re three deep in mine.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, then looked at Rhett.
Rhett mirrored the look. “Oh no. You’re not gonna Jedi mind-trick me out of this one.”
“You two figure it out,” Roan said dryly as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Jay and Rhett stared each other down in mock seriousness. Then, wordlessly, they began:
One. Two. Three. Shoot.
Rhett’s grin was immediate. “Scissors beats paper, baby.”
Jay sighed, dramatic, but there was amusement tugging at his mouth as he turned toward Roan’s passenger side. “Unbelievable.”
I watched the whole thing with this strange, warm pull in my chest. It was almost gooey, but not in a way I hated. It was a kind of affection that didn’t feel fragile or forced. No one was trying to control me, not now. Not with choices or cars or touches.
This wasn’t about power.
It was about being allowed to enjoy each other.
That was… new.
The fun part? I didn’t mind it. Not even a little.
I was still smiling as Rhett loaded himself into my passenger seat, long legs stretched out and already fiddling with the music settings like he owned the space.
I glanced sideways at him as I buckled in. “You gonna survive not being the driver?”
Rhett didn’t hesitate. “Baby, I’ll be your passenger penis anytime you want.”
I choked on a laugh, half startled, half delighted. It burst out of me before I could stop it—loud, unguarded, and real.
He grinned like he’d just won the lottery.
“You’re the worst,” I said, still laughing.
“Only the best parts,” he said with a wink, leaning back, completely at ease.
And as I pulled onto the snowy road, my car full of warmth and inappropriate charm and something I wasn’t quite ready to name—I didn’t feel alone.
Not anymore.
The roads were clear enough, the snow compacted into neat lanes bordered by trees still flocked in white. The whole world looked soft around the edges, like it hadn’t quite woken up yet.
Rhett, however, had no such delay.
He leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm slung across the console like he belonged there permanently. The music he'd queued up was a ridiculous mix of upbeat funk and indie covers, and he was drumming on his thighs with more rhythm than I wanted to admit was impressive.
“Do you do this in every car you ride in?” I asked as we turned onto the main road out of the forest.
“Only the ones with hot drivers,” he said, flashing a grin. “Also, ones with working speakers. I have standards.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t help smiling. His energy was infectious—big, bright, and impossible to ignore. He was like a campfire, warm and a little wild, always drawing you closer whether you meant to come or not.
Somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, the music mellowed and so did he. His fingers moved lazily against the console, more a comfort than a beat now.
“So,” I said, “fifteen cousins? Was that an exaggeration or real numbers?”
Rhett huffed a laugh. “That was just the ones I see regularly. If we’re counting all of them, it’s more like thirty-something. Both of my parents come from huge families—five siblings on one side, six on the other. And everyone bred like they were trying to start their own colony.”
“God,” I said, wide-eyed, “that’s not a family tree. That’s a forest.”
He grinned. “Exactly. We’ve got this… compound at home. My mom’s parents and my dad’s parents both live there—opposite ends of the land. Bunch of little cottages scattered around, one big main house where everyone eats and drinks and yells at football games.”
I blinked. “Wait, like a literal family compound?”
“Oh yeah. We’ve got bunk rooms, guest suites, one of those industrial kitchens that could feed an army. There’s a pool, a pond, an old converted barn that we turn into a party hall during the holidays. If you bring someone home for Christmas, they basically need a map and a buddy system.”
“Is that… normal?” I asked, enchanted despite myself.
“God, no,” Rhett said, grinning. “But it’s ours. Loud as hell, kind of chaotic, but it’s home.”
I glanced over at him. He looked so easy in that moment—no posing, no playacting. Just Rhett, warm and open, talking about his clan like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” I said quietly.
He glanced at me, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”
“My family’s… not exactly like that.”
He didn’t push, just let the silence stretch until I found my words.
“My mom left when I was little,” I said finally, eyes still on the road. “My parents tried, I think. But they were never really… a match. My mom was post-heat wildness, and my dad—he wanted something stable. I think I was the moment they tried to get serious, but it didn’t work.”
There was no bitterness in my voice, not anymore. Just the truth.
“I was a heat accident,” I added, the words coming out more easily than I expected. “Used to hate saying that out loud. Like it made me a mistake.”
Rhett was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Doesn’t sound like a mistake to me.”
My throat tightened.
I risked a glance over. His gaze was steady—no jokes, no smirk. Just listening. Just seeing me.
“I think,” I said slowly, “part of why I was so reluctant when my designation came in was… I didn’t want to turn out like her. To lose control. To leave people behind.”
He didn’t speak right away. His hand slid across the console and rested palm up, open, between us.
Not reaching for me. Just there if I wanted it.
I let my fingers slip into his.
“Wren,” he said, voice low and sincere, “you are nothing like her.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you hold yourself back. The way you fight for control. That’s not weakness. It’s strength. You didn’t run. You stayed. And if you hadn’t, we never would’ve had this.”
My chest ached in a different way now. “You really are good at this, you know,” I said quietly.
“At what?”
“Seeing people.”
He gave me a smile that was half-shy, half-devastating. “I like seeing you.”
The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It was full of breath, feeling, and something deep that didn’t need to be named out loud.
I squeezed his hand once and let go, easing the car into the slow curve of the freeway ramp. He didn’t protest. He just leaned back again, one leg stretched long, one hand behind his head.
“By the way,” he said after a moment, the grin returning like sunlight through clouds, “passenger penis offer still stands. Long drive? Road trip? Stop-and-go traffic? I’m your guy.”
I barked a laugh so hard it shook me.
“Jesus, Rhett,” I wheezed, wiping my eyes.
“Hey, you get snacks and entertainment,” he said, smug. “It’s a package deal.”
“Oh my god,” I groaned, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that the ache in my chest was starting to feel a lot like hope.
We stopped about an hour outside the city at a little gas station with a drive-thru coffee hut and a convenience store that promised hot snacks in flickering neon.
Everyone stretched their legs, and I took my time inside, grabbing two iced coffees, one hot, and a pile of snacks that looked like they’d been fried yesterday and kept under a heat lamp out of spite.
Rhett made a delighted noise like I’d brought him a bouquet of chicken tenders when I handed him his coffee and a greasy paper bag.
Roan was finishing up at the pump when I walked over, the wind lifting strands of my hair across my cheeks. He glanced at me over the top of the SUV.
“If you want a break,” he said casually, “I’ll take Rhett the rest of the way. No problem.”
I blinked, then shook my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I don’t mind dropping him off.”
Roan nodded once, like he expected that answer, but something flickered in his expression when I didn’t immediately turn to go.
And before I could second-guess it, I said, “Hey… would you guys want to come over later? For dinner or something. I have no idea what’s actually in my fridge, but we could eat. Talk.”
The words tumbled out too naturally. No big drama. Just a soft, open offer. But a part of me held still after saying them, braced without meaning to.
Because the truth was, letting someone into your bed was easy.
Letting them into your home—into the quiet—that was harder.
Roan’s eyes softened instantly.
“I’d love to come over,” he said simply. “If you’ll let us bring dinner. Keep it easy.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”
Something flickered between us then—unspoken but grounding. And I didn’t think. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.
He didn’t hesitate.
He folded me in like I belonged there, big arms wrapping tight around my back, the solid wall of his chest pressed to mine, anchoring me to the ground and holding me up at the same time.
We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to.
When I finally stepped back, a little steadier, I turned to head toward my car—but paused beside Jay, who was leaning against the back of Roan’s SUV sipping his coffee like the world was no big deal.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He looked up, curious.
I stepped in and gave him a hug too.
He made a surprised little sound in the back of his throat, but his arms came around me easily, warm and secure, and his chin brushed the top of my head for just a second.
“Anytime,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “You ever need me, I’m there.”
Then, with a hint of mischief, he added under his breath, “Cough twice if you want me to stash Rhett in Roan’s truck.”
I snorted against his chest. “Tempting.”
He leaned back, one brow arched. “The offer stands.”
I shook my head, grinning, then turned to head back to my car where Rhett was already sprawled in the passenger seat like he owned it—again—chicken tenders in one hand and his sunglasses on, despite the fact that it was cloudy as hell.
I slid in behind the wheel, heart feeling full in a way I wasn’t used to.
My phone vibrated on the charging plate as I buckled in. I picked it up, eyed Marchand’s name on the caller ID. There was an ungodly number of missed calls, voicemail messages, and texts. I hadn’t paid attention to a single one so far. They were all tomorrow’s problems.
And so was Marchand. I put the phone back down and let it roll over so he could leave a message too. Rhett didn’t comment, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile.
“Rhett?”
He cocked his head toward me.
“Crank it up.”
His grin grew. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then we were pulling out and I followed right behind Roan’s vehicle, head beginning to nod to the music. Tomorrow could also wait.