19. Vayda #2
A few days blur together into a new normal.
A League doctor visited the house to draw our blood.
The lab rushed the compatibility tests, and the results confirmed our scent match.
The team's PR department issued an official statement to validate the bond.
They also negotiated a strict deal with the League executives to secure my privacy.
The binding agreement bans the tabloids from printing my photo and keeps me out of the spotlight.
The media storm rages on the sports networks, but the private security detail the guys hired guards the neighborhood entrance. Locked doors and drawn blinds shield the house. The four of us settle into a quiet routine behind closed doors.
The guys hang around the kitchen island, drinking water and talking about their morning workout. The smell of roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and charred Brussels sprouts fills the air. Grabbing a knife, I carve the rested chicken on the cutting board into thick, juicy slices.
Simon leans over and steals a piece of meat from the wood. Kel nudges him out of the way and grabs a stack of plates from the cabinet to set the dining room table.
A generous portion of mashed potatoes and a few tender pieces of chicken go into the food processor next. Leaving the Brussels sprouts on the counter keeps the flavor good. After adding a scoop of thickener and a splash of chicken broth, my finger hits the blend button.
The motor whirs, breaking the food down into a smooth, even consistency. Testing the mixture with a spoon confirms the paste holds its shape on the metal. The texture stays smooth and slides down easy. It is safe for Brendan to swallow, protecting his lungs.
Pouring the blended meal into a bowl, a quick taste confirms the good flavor. Pureeing his meals sucks, but he enjoys the taste, and the texture keeps a feeding tube out of his stomach. Grabbing a rubber-tipped spoon, I carry the bowl to the dining room table.
Simon and Wally follow me out of the kitchen. They carry the platter of carved chicken, the bowl of mashed potatoes, and the pan of roasted sprouts.
We gather around the table, taking our seats and passing the serving dishes around to fill our plates.
Taking my seat at the head of the table puts Brendan right beside me in his wheelchair.
His everyday drool bib rests over his shirt.
His arms bend at the elbows, keeping his curled hands tucked near his chest. His eyes track the movement in the room.
He feels more present the last few weeks.
The guys talk to him and include him in the daily rhythm.
He’s waking up a little more every single day.
Wally sits in the chair next to Brendan. He finishes piling his own plate high with meat and vegetables. Reaching across the corner of the table, he pulls Brendan's bowl toward his own placemat.
"Eat your hot food, Vayda." Wally picks up the rubber-tipped spoon. "I have him tonight."
He scoops a small amount of the blended food and holds the spoon steady near Brendan's mouth.
"Here you go, Bren." Wally keeps his voice low and even. "Chicken and potatoes tonight. Vayda cooked."
Brendan blinks and parts his lips. Wally slides the spoon inside, pressing the food onto Brendan's tongue. Withdrawing the spoon, he waits and watches Brendan's throat.
Brendan swallows. A content hum rumbles in his chest.
Wally scoops another bite, repeating the process.
He handles the task with intense focus. Known for checking defensemen into the glass, the ruthless center displays endless patience right now.
He takes his time with Brendan, waiting for the swallow, and uses a napkin to wipe a small drop from Brendan's chin.
"Vayda cooks a damn good bird, Bren." Wally keeps his voice a low rumble. He rests his elbows on the table between bites. "Simon is going to lose his spot in the kitchen."
Brendan blinks and parts his lips. His steady humming continues as Wally feeds him the next spoonful.
Leaning back in my chair, my plate sits forgotten. The scene unfolds in front of me. Kel bumps shoulders with Simon across the table as they fight over the butter dish. Simon catches my eye and winks.
Wally feeds my disabled Alpha mate with genuine care.
The last lingering knot of anxiety dissolves in my chest. The instinct to push these younger men away vanishes. The guilt over Hale, Emmett, and my past life fades.
Looking at the three men sharing my table brings total clarity.
They pulled me out of a darkness I expected to die in.
Taking their knots cured the fatal fever of bond rejection sickness.
Warmth and health hum through my veins. My body feels settled.
Missing Hale and Emmett still take up space in my chest. But moving forward is the only option.
Living for them, for Brendan, and for myself becomes the priority.
They look at Brendan and see a member of their family.
Picking up my fork, I stab a piece of roasted chicken and take a bite.
Dropping the walls around my heart seals my thoughts about the bond. These three Alphas belong in my home and in my family. I claim them right back.
Simon checks his phone. He taps the screen and leans toward Wally and Kel.
"My agent sent a text. A group of super fans pieced together why I was in this area weeks ago. It started with that grocery store selfie I took with some fans. They tracked my location, linked it to the neighborhood, and tipped off the tabloids. I overlooked the risk when I took the shot. I’m sorry, Vayda. "
I set my fork down on my plate. The mystery of the leak is solved.
"It won't matter for much longer." Wally takes a sip of his water. "Once we win the Alpha Cup and the new season starts, we retire. All the media heat shifts right off us and onto the new rookies entering the league."
"He has a point." Kel reaches out and rests his hand over mine. "We’ll finish this playoff run and leave the circus behind. We just want to focus on our family."
I turn my hand over, weaving my fingers through his. The warmth of his grip grounds me. I look around the table at my Alphas.
"I can handle a few more months of the circus." I squeeze his fingers. "Just bring the Cup home."