Chapter nine
Willow
I wake up in a nest of warmth.
Not the warmth of blankets or heating vents or the weak morning sun filtering through penthouse windows.
The warmth of bodies. Three of them, pressed against me from every side, their scents woven together so tightly I can't tell where one ends and another begins.
Pine. Smoke. Cedar. And underneath it all, woven through it like a golden thread, my own honey and vanilla, no longer separate, no longer alone.
I'm home.
The thought settles into my chest like a key turning in a lock. Not the frantic, desperate hope from before, not the fragile belief that Serena's words had shattered. This is different. This is bone-deep. Certain. The kind of knowing that doesn't need proof because it is the proof.
I open my eyes.
The bedroom is bathed in early morning light, soft, golden, filtering through the curtains in hazy stripes. The nest surrounds me, a cocoon of fabric and scent, and I'm lying in its center like the heart of something living and breathing and real.
JD is behind me. His massive frame curves around my body, his chest pressed to my spine, his arm draped over my waist with a heaviness that speaks of unconscious possession.
Even in sleep, he holds me like he's afraid I'll disappear.
His breath is warm against the back of my neck, slow and steady, and every exhale carries the scent of pine.
Knox is in front of me. He's on his side, facing me, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other stretched across the nest so his hand rests on JD's hip.
His golden hair is a mess, tufts sticking up in every direction, and his face, slack with sleep, looks younger.
Softer. The wicked grin and the dirty mouth are dormant, and what's left is the boy from South Boston who grew up with nothing and somehow learned to love anyway.
And Deklan…
Deklan is at the foot of the nest. He's sitting up, his back against the headboard, his laptop balanced on his knees.
He's wearing his glasses - when did he put those on?
- and he's typing softly, the sound barely audible.
But his free hand rests on my ankle. His fingers are curled around the bone, holding me loosely, an anchor I didn't know I needed.
He's awake. Watching over us.
I lift my head and meet his eyes. He glances down at me, and something softens in his expression, just a fraction, just enough.
"Morning," he murmurs. His voice is barely above a whisper, careful not to wake the others.
"Morning." I stretch, and the movement presses me back against JD and forward against Knox simultaneously. Both men shift in their sleep, JD's arm tightening, Knox's hand sliding from JD's hip to mine.
My body aches. Not badly, not the kind of pain that signals damage.
The kind of ache that comes from being thoroughly, completely, impossibly well-used.
My thighs are sore. My hips are sore. Between my legs, I'm tender and swollen, and when I shift, I feel the evidence of last night, slick and cum, mine and theirs, cooling on my skin.
I should feel embarrassed. Should feel exposed. Should feel the creeping shame that usually follows intimacy, the quiet voice that says you gave too much, too fast, too soon.
But I don't. For the first time in my life, I feel none of those things.
What I do feel is safe.
"How long did I sleep?" I ask Deklan.
"Four hours." His thumb traces a circle on my ankle bone. "You needed it."
"Did you sleep at all?"
A pause, the briefest hesitation. "No."
"Deklan…"
"I wasn't going to sleep through our first night together." He says it matter-of-factly, like staying awake all night to watch over three sleeping people is a perfectly reasonable choice. "Someone had to keep watch."
"Keep watch," I repeat. "Against what?"
"Anything." His eyes flick to the window, then back to me. "Everything. The world is full of things that take what matters while you're not paying attention."
The words carry the weight of experience. Of foster homes and group homes and a lifetime of learning that good things get taken away if you don't guard them with everything you have.
I sit up, careful not to disturb JD or Knox, and crawl to the foot of the nest. Deklan watches me approach with an expression that's half wariness, half hunger, like he's not sure whether he wants to retreat or pull me into his lap.
I make the choice for him.
I settle beside him, my shoulder pressed to his, my head resting against his arm. He's warm, always warm, despite the Beta tendency to run cooler than Alphas, and his cedar scent wraps around me like a blanket.
"Sleep," I say. "I'll keep watch."
"You can't keep watch. You're exhausted."
"Then we'll both be exhausted." I look up at him. "Together."
Something cracks in his expression. That hairline fracture that I've learned to recognize, the place where Deklan's controlled exterior gives way to the man underneath.
He closes the laptop, sets it aside, removes his glasses and places them on the nightstand with the same careful precision he brings to everything.
Then he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest.
I go willingly. My head finds the spot below his collarbone, the place where his heartbeat is steadiest, and I press my ear there and listen. Thump. Thump. Thump. Alive. Present. Mine.
"Thank you," I say against his chest.
"For what?"
"For staying awake. For watching over us. For being the one who keeps the lights on while everyone else sleeps."
His arm tightens. His chin rests on the top of my head. "Someone has to."
"Not always you."
"Always me." His voice is quiet, certain. "That's my job. That's what I do. JD leads, Knox charms, and I keep the lights on."
I tilt my head back and look at him. Without his glasses, his face is different, softer, more open, the sharp lines blurred into something approachable. His dark eyes are tired but warm, and the scowl that usually lives between his brows has smoothed out.
"You're more than the lights-on guy, Deklan."
"Am I?"
"You're the heart," I say. "JD is the backbone. Knox is the spark. But you're the heart. The thing that keeps everything alive."
He stares at me, and I watch his throat work, swallow, swallow, swallow, and then he kisses me.
Not like last night. Not hungry or desperate or driven by the consuming need of the scent-match.
This kiss is soft and slow. The kind of kiss that doesn't ask for anything but gives everything.
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, and when he pulls back, his eyes are wet.
"Willow." He says my name like a prayer.
"Deklan."
"I love you."
The words fall over me, not with a crash, but a deep, sure settling. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. Like the last note of a song resolving into silence.
"I know," I say. "I love you too."
He pulls me closer, and I curl against his chest, and we stay like that while the morning brightens around us and the two Alphas sleep and the city wakes up sixty-eight floors below.
A squeal shatters the peace.
Lily's voice, high-pitched, delighted, and approximately three times louder than any human being that small should be capable of, cuts through the penthouse like a siren.
I'm on my feet before I'm fully awake, moving toward the door with the instinctive urgency of an omega responding to a child's call. Deklan catches my wrist.
"Clothes," he says.
I look down. I'm naked. Completely, utterly naked, and covered in evidence of last night that would be deeply confusing to a two-year-old.
Right.
I grab JD's discarded t-shirt from the floor, it falls to mid-thigh, massive on me, and pad barefoot down the hallway. Behind me, I hear Knox's groggy laugh and JD's rumbling - what the hell - as they wake.
Lily is in the kitchen. Grace has her in the high chair, and Lily is systematically dismantling a banana with the focused intensity of a demolition expert. Her dark curls are wild, her cheeks are smeared with banana, and when she sees me, her face splits into a grin so wide it crinkles her eyes.
"Willow!" She extends her banana-covered arms. "Up! Up!"
I cross the kitchen and lift her out of the highchair, banana mess and all. She clings to me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist, face buried in my shoulder, and she makes a sound. A small, satisfied hum.
"Missed you," she mumbles against my neck.
Something cracks in my chest. Not breaks, cracks open. Like a seed splitting its shell.
"I missed you too, baby," I whisper. "So much."
Grace smiles from the doorway. "She was asking for you all night. 'Willow? Willow?'" She mimics Lily's high, questioning tone. "I told her you were sleeping, and she said 'okay' and went right back to sleep. But she asked again every hour."
My eyes sting. I blink hard, fast, trying to hold it together.
"Thank you, Grace," I say. "Really."
"Of course." She glances toward the hallway, where three sets of footsteps are approaching. "I'll leave you to it. The invoice will be sent to Mr. Blaine's office."
She leaves, the private elevator closes behind her, and suddenly the kitchen is full.
JD appears first. He's pulled on sweatpants, but nothing else, and his bare chest is a wall of muscle and dark hair that makes my mouth go dry even after last night.
His dark hair is a mess, his eyes are still heavy with sleep, and he moves straight to the coffee maker with the single-minded focus of a man who cannot function without caffeine.
Knox follows. He's wearing boxers and nothing else, and his golden hair sticks up in a way that makes him look like a very attractive, very rumpled rooster. He yawns enormously, scratches his chest, and beelines for the fruit bowl.
And Deklan. Deklan is fully dressed in slacks, a button-down shirt, and glasses. How he managed to shower and change in the three minutes between the nest and the kitchen is beyond me, but he's already at the island, laptop open, coffee steaming beside him.
Three men, one omega, and one banana-covered toddler.
Family.
My Family.
The word doesn't feel scary anymore. It feels inevitable. Like gravity, like the sunrise happening right now beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the city in shades of gold and pink.
Lily lifts her head from my shoulder and surveys the kitchen. Her dark eyes land on each man in turn.
"Unca JD," she says. "Unca Knox. Unca Deklan."
"Morning, monster," Knox says, dropping a kiss on her curly head. "How's the banana?"
Lily holds up a mushy handful as evidence.
"Excellent," Knox says. "Five stars."
JD crosses to us, coffee in hand, and his free hand comes up to cup the back of my head.
The touch is proprietary, natural, like he's been doing it for years.
He presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering against my skin, and Lily watches the whole thing with the solemn fascination of a child witnessing something important.
"Willow," Lily says. She points at JD's hand on my head, then at Knox, who is leaning against the counter beside me, then at Deklan, who has looked up from his laptop to watch.
"Willow," she repeats. And then, with the devastating clarity of a child who sees the world without complication: "Ours."
The kitchen goes silent.
Four adults, frozen in place, processing the word that just came out of a two-year-old's mouth.
Ours.
JD's hand tightens on the back of my head while Knox goes very still, his green eyes wide, and Deklan's fingers freeze on his keyboard. And Lily, oblivious to the earthquake she's just caused, goes back to smashing her banana on my shoulder.
Knox is the first to speak. "Did she just?"
"Yes," Deklan says.
"She said…"
"Yes."
JD looks at me. His black eyes are soft, softer than I've ever seen them, and his mouth curves into a smile. Not the controlled, careful expression I assume he wears in boardrooms. A real smile. Full and warm and slightly stunned.
"She's right," he says. "You're ours."
"And we're yours," Knox adds. He steps closer, his hand finding the small of my back. "Don't forget that part."
Deklan closes his laptop. The click is definitive, final. He removes his glasses, sets them beside the computer, and crosses to where we're standing. He reaches out and takes my free hand, the one not supporting Lily, and presses it to his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my palm.
"Ours," he confirms. "And we're yours. Always."
I stand in a kitchen on the sixty-eighth floor, wearing nothing but an Alpha's t-shirt and banana handprints, holding a toddler who just defined the most complicated relationship of my life with a single word.
Three men surround me, touching me, holding me, and looking at me like I'm the answer to every question they've ever asked.
And I'm not scared.
I'm not running.
I'm not doubting.
I'm home.
THE END