Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
WREN
Jay looked better. Still pale, still moving gingerly, but the shadow that had haunted his face last night was gone. It was replaced by something softer, and—if I was being honest—by the smug curl of a man who’d woken up in the middle of a very pleasant tangle.
Not that I was complaining.
My body ached in all the ways that made me want to smirk into my coffee instead of limp to the shower.
Roan’s handprint was still faint on my hip, a ghost of possession that somehow didn’t make me bristle the way it once might have.
And Jay—damn him—had managed to make being injured look rakish, half-lidded and dangerous when he’d leaned in between us earlier that morning.
It was ridiculous how easily they both unraveled me. Worse, how easily I’d let them.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and something buttery, sunlight pooling across the counter where Rhett stood barefoot, shirt unbuttoned, looking every inch the chaos he was. His grin split wide when he caught sight of us.
“You could at least pretend,” he said, voice low and teasing, “that you didn’t enjoy yourselves without me there.”
Jay made a sound that might have been a laugh, though it came out rough. Roan only shook his head, calm as ever, reaching for a mug like Rhett hadn’t just accused us of debauchery.
I would’ve rolled my eyes if my legs didn’t still feel like jelly. “Maybe if you’d been in there, you’d be suffering too instead of ready to go for later.” The last slipped out of me, far dirtier than I intended but I found I didn’t mind it that much.
Rhett’s dimples flashed, wolfish. He was such a bad boy and so damn over the top with his comments. Not that I was complaining. Nope, not even a little.
“Suffer?” he scoffed on a laugh. “Sweetheart, that’s not what it sounded like, but I promise to be up to any other pleasuring you might need later.”
My face heated, traitorous thing that it was, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of a blush. “Keep talking and I’ll make sure later is a lot later.”
Roan’s quiet chuckle from behind me was almost worse than Rhett’s grin. It slid under my skin, steady and sure, like it always did, like he knew how to disarm me without saying much at all.
Jay leaned his hip against the counter, eyes half-lidded, that faint, sharp smile tugging at his mouth. “Play nice, Wren. He’s just jealous.”
“Damn right I am,” Rhett said. “You all look far too pleased for my liking.”
“Maybe we’re just happy you’re awake before noon for once,” I shot back, reaching for the coffee pot. My hands were steady, my voice light, but under it all, something quiet and full had settled in me.
Peace.
It was strange, that word. Foreign. But I could feel it all the same, threading through the soreness, the laughter, the way they looked at me like I wasn’t just an omega to be managed, but a person they wanted to know.
Rhett swept a hand toward the counter, where takeout containers were lined up like a feast. “Before anyone complains, yes, I went out. Got the good stuff—croissants, eggs, fruit. Don’t say I never do anything for this pack.”
This pack. That phrase hit hard. Were we becoming a pack? Was that what we were building? Even as I tried to process the words, I tucked them away. If I focused on them too hard, it could disrupt the warm serenity of the moment. I wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
Jay eyed the spread, then reached for his mug.
“No coffee,” I said quickly, catching his wrist before he could take a sip.
He made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, glaring at me through a strand of black hair. “You can’t be serious.”
“Head injury,” I reminded him. “Caffeine’s a no-go for at least another few hours.”
Roan was already circling around him, calm and methodical. “Look at me, Jay.” He tilted Jay’s chin up gently, checking his pupils in the morning light. Jay tolerated it, barely.
“Still reactive,” Roan murmured.
“Still in pain,” Jay countered, voice rough.
Leaning against the counter, Rhett folded his arms and watched them both with a faint smirk. “Could probably take another pain med now. Or—” his grin went wicked, “you know, science says orgasms help with pain management.”
This time Jay didn’t measure his reaction, he half-groaned, half-growled even as he rubbed a hand over his sweet face. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re welcome,” Rhett said with a wicked grin warming his expression. His honey brown skin held a glow in the morning sun, but nowhere near as much as the glee shining in his brown eyes.
Roan’s shoulders shifted like he was trying not to laugh. It didn’t work. He turned away, the corner of his mouth betraying him.
Without missing a beat, I smiled sweetly as Rhett took a deep drink of his coffee, probably as much to taunt Jay as to enjoy the caffeine himself, then said, “Thank you for volunteering our time later for Jay. I want him to orgasm as much as he needs.”
Rhett sputtered coffee so violently it almost came out his nose. Roan outright laughed this time—low and rich—and my poor Jay looked like he was regretting every decision that had led to this conversation.
“Guess I walked into that one,” Rhett said, wiping his chin with a napkin, still grinning.
“Walked? You strutted,” I shot back.
“Alright, fine.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be good.”
“Doubtful,” Jay muttered, taking his pills with a swallow of water.
We made quick work of unpacking the food, the clatter of dishes and easy ribbing filling the quiet corners of the kitchen. It felt… good. Comfortable, like something we’d all been pretending we didn’t need until it was right here in front of us.
When we finally sat down, Roan caught my hand before I could take a seat. With a single tug, he pulled me down onto his lap instead. His arm settled around my waist, heavy and warm, his nose brushing just beneath my jaw in a lazy kiss that sent a shiver down my spine.
His eyes—steel-gray and intent—held mine. “Mind if we share you this morning,” he asked softly, “or would you rather sit on a hard chair?”
I snorted. “As opposed to your hard thighs?”
It was Jay who nearly choked this time, on his orange juice. Rhett thumped the table, laughing outright.
Mouth curving, Roan met my gaze entirely unrepentant. “Hard muscle and hard wood are totally different things.”
“Lucky for you,” I said, leaning back against him with a smirk, “I’ve got experience with both.”
Rhett let out a low whistle. Jay groaned again—but this time, there was laughter under it.
Just like that, the morning light turned a little warmer. The pain and chaos of the night before faded beneath the hum of connection, messy, imperfect, but real.
I rotated from Roan’s lap to Jay’s side mid-bite, teasing Rhett with a wink as I balanced a forkful of scrambled eggs. The coffee steamed between my fingers, the rich smell mingling with the buttery scent of croissants and the faint tang of orange juice.
“Careful,” Rhett said, leaning forward to snag a bite from my plate. “You’re making me hungry and distracted.”
“Good,” I said, sliding onto Roan’s lap again. “That’s the point.”
Jay snorted beside me, reaching for his glass, while Roan kept his arm snug around my waist. We laughed, joked, rotated seating, passed food back and forth. It was lazy, easy, and for a brief time, completely ours.
Then my phone buzzed on the counter and I popped up to grab it. The screen flashed Marchand’s name.
“Oh, hell,” I muttered.
Roan’s gaze flicked to me, steel-gray eyes unreadable, while Rhett leaned back, eyebrows lifting. Jay’s dark gaze narrowed in a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
“Marchand?” I answered, lifting the phone.
“Wren!” His voice was sharp, electric, laced with anger—but also that gleeful undertone that always made my teeth grit with excitement. “I don’t even know how the game went into overtime! And now the league decides after the fact?”
I could practically see him pacing. “It’s gone all the way to the Vultures. Can you believe it? The audacity.”
And then that undertone, that almost feral thrill he always had when there was a chance to annihilate a rival team—well, it slithered through the phone line like liquid fire. “I want the fans whipped into a frenzy. I want the Howlers howling while I’m speaking. You’re on press duty—now.”
I inhaled, steadying my voice as my fingers tapped out notes in the air. “Understood. I’ll get the messaging out.”
Marchand let out a bark of approval. “Good. Don’t waste a second. The next ten days are going to be vicious unless the Howlers lock down four wins immediately—best of seven. I don’t want excuses, Wren.”
I exhaled into the phone. “No excuses here.”
As I spoke, I felt their eyes on me, the three men in my dining room.
Every so often, one of their phones buzzed.
Likely Coach. Jay’s lips pressed into a thin line as he read whatever popped up.
Rhett’s dimples flickered with restrained amusement at a text, and Roan’s calm demeanor didn’t falter, but I knew he had already scanned the alert before I even noticed.
The air was charged already from the warmth of breakfast, the sunlight, and the feel of their bodies pressing into mine. But that same air now went electric as it pulsed with strategy, stakes, and the knowledge that the next ten days weren’t going to be gentle.
“Alright, Marchand,” I said, my tone tight and professional now, though my body hummed from breakfast and the morning’s playfulness. “Fans are about to get very excited. And you’ll have the Howlers behind you all the way.”
“Good,” he growled, and the line went dead.
I set my phone down, letting out a slow breath. The playful chaos of our morning hadn’t vanished, just… shifted. Now the work was about to hit, full force. I had three very patient, very aware men here to keep me grounded, entertained, and maybe a little dangerously distracted.
I set my coffee down, finally letting myself acknowledge the truth I’d been skirting all morning.
They couldn’t be a distraction for me, and I didn’t need to be one for them.
Not now. Not with the Vultures breathing down our necks.
Especially Rylan. That bastard had an axe to grind, and the rest of his team wasn’t far behind.
Roan sighed softly, just once, but it was enough to make me glance at him.
He wasn’t tense, at least not outwardly.
Yet the quiet weight in his shoulders told me he had already begun bracing himself.
Rhett scowled at my words, muttering creatively about every slight Rylan had ever inflicted, and even Jay, usually sharp with his humor, gave a slow, deliberate nod.
The pain around his eyes had eased, but he was still fragile.
I knew him well enough to recognize the subtle twitch of restraint he used to keep from moving too soon.
But if he sensed even a hint of weakness in the team, he’d be on the ice.
And they needed Roan focused. I could see him already steeling himself, setting aside his personal wants, his desires.
The captain the Howlers needed, not the man I wanted to press against in moments like these.
That ability to hold himself apart from his own urges.
It was one of the things I loved most about him.
Despite Rhett’s bitching, which was relentless, loud, and increasingly creative about Rylan and the rest of the Vultures, no doubt existed within me that he would back Roan’s plays every step of the way.
Jay’s voice broke through my thoughts, quiet but firm. “Your work starts now.”
I offered him a small smile, the warmth softening the tension. “Yes,” I said, “but you can still stay here…”
Both Roan and Rhett raised their brows, amused, incredulous, maybe even slightly scandalized. I grinned. “All of you can.”
They knew, though. Once the finals started, this cozy, messy, sunlight-filled breakfast, this teasing and laughing and leaning on each other, would have to be put on hold.
Their focus would need to be absolute. I wouldn’t pressure them, wouldn’t pull at them.
I’d be there to support however I could, quiet and steadfast, from wherever they needed me to be.
Roan’s clear steel gray-eyed gaze found mine, unwavering and serious. “When the finals are done—we talk.”
There was no question in that statement. None of the others intervened. I didn’t fight it, didn’t push. None of them had asked about the suppressants, and I hadn’t volunteered a word.
“Yes.” My voice was simple. Clear. Certain.
Win or lose, when the finals were done, we would figure out our pack.