Chapter seven #3
"I do." He pushes off the doorframe. "Because I know you. I've known you for twenty-five years. And in all that time, I've never seen you care about anything the way you care about her."
I look at him. My brother, not by blood, but by something stronger. By shared suffering, by survival, by the choice to stay together when the world gave us every reason to fall apart.
"I'm scared," I say. The admission costs me everything.
Deklan's expression doesn't change. But he crosses the room and puts his hand on my shoulder. Squeezes once. Hard.
"Good," he says. "Being scared means it matters."
He leaves, and I stand in the bedroom, surrounded by wildflowers and soft light and the ghost of her scent, and I let the fear sit in my chest.
It matters.
She matters.
Tonight, I'm going to show her how much.
At 6 PM, the sitter arrives. A calm, professional omega named Grace who shakes Willow's hand and immediately wins Lily over by producing a stuffed rabbit from her bag.
Lily shrieks with delight and grabs the rabbit, and Grace sweeps her off to the guest suite with the practiced ease of someone who has handled far worse than a sugar-high toddler.
Willow watches them go. Her hand is on her stomach, and her scent is shifting, nervousness threading through the warmth, making the honey go sharp.
"She'll be fine," I say from behind her. "Grace is the best the agency has. Experienced. Vetted. Lily will love her."
"She already does," Willow murmurs. Then she turns and looks at me. "JD."
"Yeah."
"Is this, I mean, are you…" She takes a breath. "I've never done this. With more than one person. I've barely done this with one person. Tommy Barker in the back of his truck was, it wasn't…"
"Willow."
"What?"
"Tommy Barker doesn't matter. What matters is you. What you want. What you need." I cup her face. "And if at any point tonight you want to stop, we stop. No questions. No arguments."
"Even if…"
"Even if." I press my forehead to hers. "You're in control, Willow. Not me. Not Knox. Not Deklan. You. This is your nest. Your choice. Your body."
She exhales. Shaky and warm. Her hands come up and rest on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
"What if I want everything?" she whispers.
"Then you'll get everything."
She nods. A small, certain nod. The nod of a woman who has decided. "Okay," she says. "I'm ready."
I take her hand and we walk down the hallway together. The bedroom door is open, the soft light spilling out into the hall, and the scent of the nest - pine, smoke, cedar, honey, vanilla, us - wafts toward us like an invitation.
Knox is already inside. He's standing by the window, city lights glittering behind him, and he's changed, dark jeans, black shirt, barefoot. His golden hair is pushed back, and his green eyes are burning.
Deklan stands at the foot of the bed. Glasses off. Laptop absent. He's wearing a simple gray t-shirt and dark pants, and without his armor, the screens, the spreadsheets, the glass barrier between him and the world, he looks younger. Softer. Almost vulnerable.
Three men. One omega. One nest.
Willow stops in the doorway. Her hand tightens in mine.
"They're here for you," I murmur. "We're all here for you."
She looks up at me. Brown eyes. Gold flecks. Trust.
"I know," she says.
She steps into the room and the air shifts.
Willow moves to the nest first. She kneels on the bed, her hands smoothing the fabric, adjusting, and arranging.
The nesting instinct is visible in every movement, careful, deliberate, and primal.
She adds a shirt that Knox left on the chair, tucking it into the circle.
She fluffs a pillow and places it at the center.
She breathes in, and her eyes close, and a soft, satisfied sound escapes her.
"It's ready," she says. Her voice is quiet. Certain.
Knox moves first. He crosses to the bed and kneels at the edge of the nest, not entering, waiting. "May I?"
Willow looks at him, reaches out, takes his hand, and pulls him in.
He settles beside her, his hand finding her hip, and the contact makes them both inhale sharply. The scent-match surges, pine, smoke, honey, and vanilla, blending and thickening until the air is saturated.
Deklan moves to the other side. He doesn't ask; he knows Willow already wants him there. He lies at the edge of the nest, his head propped on one hand, his dark eyes watching her face with quiet intensity.
I stand at the foot of the bed.
Willow looks at me and holds out her hand.
"JD."
I take her hand, climb into the nest, and the moment I'm inside, surrounded by our scents, by the warmth of the fabric, by the bodies of my brothers on either side of her, something clicks into place.
Home.
Not the penthouse. Not the building. Not the empire I built from nothing.
This. This nest. This woman. These men.
Home.
Are you sure?" I ask. One last time. One last chance to stop.
Willow looks at me. Then at Knox. Then at Deklan. Three faces. Three scents. Three men who knelt on a wet sidewalk and begged her to stay.
"I'm sure," she says. "I've never been more sure of anything."
She reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.