22. Nora
NORA
Iwake up tangled in warm sheets that still smell faintly like Blade’s soap and the wine we drank last night.
For several long seconds I genuinely have no idea what day it is.
The room is dim, late morning sunlight filtering weakly through the curtains while my body feels heavy in that deeply relaxed way that only happens after sleeping harder than usual.
My hair is half across my face, one leg twisted into the blankets, and there’s a dull ache low in my hips that immediately reminds me exactly why the bed smells like Blade in the first place.
“Oh my God.”
I press both hands over my face. That does absolutely nothing to stop the memories.
Blade’s hands. His voice low against my mouth. The slow steadiness of him. The fact that I apparently now have a habit of sleeping with men who share women together while pretending this entire situation is somehow still manageable.
My phone ringing on the nightstand jerks me fully awake before I can spiral further. I grab it blindly, immediately expecting an emergency because nobody sane calls this early unless something’s wrong.
“Hello?”
“Nora.”
Stryker’s calm voice slides through the speaker while background noise crackles faintly behind him. I sit up immediately.
“What happened?”
A pause.
Then quieter amusement enters his voice. “Nothing happened.”
Before I can answer, Lena’s excited voice cuts loudly through the speaker.
“Can you and Paxton be ready in thirty minutes? We wanna go to the park!”
The park. Children. Normal life and not sex in my bed with emotionally devastating bikers.
I rub sleep from my eyes quickly. “Uh. Yeah. Yes, I think so.”
“Good,” Stryker says. “We’ll bring breakfast.”
Then the call ends. I stare at my phone for a solid five seconds afterward before slowly falling backward onto the mattress again.
The ceiling fan turns lazily overhead while embarrassment and happiness crash directly into each other inside my chest. The room still smells like wine and Blade and sex and something about that realization makes me groan quietly into my hands.
This is objectively reckless behavior. I slept with Viper. Now Blade and somehow the worst part is that I still want Stryker every bit as badly.
That realization sits heavy and uncomfortable in the center of my chest while I stare at the ceiling trying to make myself feel guiltier about it than I actually do.
Part of the recklessness last night was definitely the wine, but I’m honest enough with myself to know alcohol only lowered barriers I already wanted lowered.
The bigger issue is that I want all three men equally. That should probably horrify me more than it does.
Relationships have never worked like this for me before. My entire adult life has been about practicality. Stability. Bills paid on time. Safe apartments. Predictable routines for Paxton.
These men have destabilized my entire life in under a month.
Officially it’s only been three weeks since they found me again on the side of the road. Emotionally it feels both much longer and much shorter somehow.
Upstairs stays quiet enough that I know Paxton is still asleep, which honestly feels miraculous. He’s never been a particularly late sleeper. I force myself out of bed quickly before I can keep thinking about any of this and immediately start stripping the sheets.
I’m halfway through wrestling the fitted sheet off the mattress when movement appears in the doorway.
Paxton stands there sleepy and warm-cheeked from bed, his dinosaur pajamas twisted sideways while his hair sticks up wildly in the back. His eyes immediately narrow suspiciously at the stripped bed.
I point toward him first to get his attention before signing quickly.
Good morning. Did you sleep good?
His whole face brightens immediately.
Yes. I had a dream about dinosaurs and Lena was there.
“Of course she was,” I mutter automatically before remembering myself and signing instead. That sounds fun.
He nods enthusiastically before eyeing the mattress again.
Why are you taking the bed apart?
Because your mother apparently has terrible coping mechanisms.
Instead I sign, I want to wash the sheets.
That satisfies him enough thankfully.
Then I get his attention again. Stryker and Lena are coming soon. We are going to the park.
Paxton practically lights up.
Right now?
Soon. We need to get ready first. Wash your face and change your clothes.
He immediately spins and bolts back toward his room with the chaotic energy only five-year-olds seem capable of before breakfast. I follow slower, stopping briefly in the bathroom first to assess the situation in the mirror.
I look suspiciously happy.
That’s irritating.
By the time Stryker and Lena arrive thirty minutes later, the house smells faintly like coffee because I panic-brewed an entire pot while getting ready. Paxton is fully dressed and vibrating with excitement beside the window waiting for them.
The knock barely lands before he looks at me expectantly.
I point at him immediately before signing firmly. What is the rule?
He sighs dramatically.
No opening the door by myself.
Correct.
I walk with him toward the front entrance while he practically bounces beside me. The second I open the door Lena rushes inside wearing little pink sneakers and denim overalls while signing excitedly.
Good morning! I brought blueberry muffins!
Paxton grins so hard his entire face changes before signing back quickly.
I love blueberry muffins!
“Yeah,” Stryker says and signs from the porch behind her. “We heard and brought them specially for you bud.”
My stomach flips slightly seeing him standing there in jeans and a black thermal shirt with a coffee carrier balanced in one hand like this is something normal now.
Like showing up at my door first thing in the morning carrying caffeine and looking unfairly attractive is just part of our routine suddenly.
Broad shoulders filling the doorway while morning sunlight catches strands of silver threading faintly through his dark hair.
Unlike Viper’s polished ease or Blade’s quieter softness, there’s something deeply solid about Stryker physical presence.
Like nothing around him moves unless he allows it to.
His eyes move over my face once slowly. Then lower briefly.
“Morning,” I squeak out clearing my voice.
“Morning.”
His voice stays calm as always, but something about the way his gaze lingers half a second too long makes heat crawl slowly up my neck.
Lena and Paxton are already halfway into the living room arguing excitedly in sign about playground slides while Stryker steps inside carrying breakfast.
“Coffee,” he says, holding one cup toward me automatically. “Extra cream.”
“Thank you,” I respond gratefully, taking it and immediately taking a long sip.
The kitchen fills quickly with movement after that. We’re eating muffins and drinking coffee, kids drinking juice. Paxton trying to explain playground plans to Lena using increasingly dramatic signs while she follows along with fierce concentration.
Stryker moves through the space easily like he belongs there already.
He pulls plates from cabinets without asking because he apparently remembers where I keep them from helping around the house so often lately.
At one point he notices me reaching for paper towels across the counter and simply hands them to me before I ask.
I’m buttering a muffin when I realize he already fixed the loose cabinet hinge near the sink sometime last week without mentioning it.
Tiny things. Constant tiny things. They all do that, disrupting my entire gravity.
We should race today, Paxton signs excitedly toward Lena.
Lena nods immediately. I am very fast now.
No you are not.
Yes I am.
No.
“Okay,” I interrupt out loud while signing simultaneously. Nobody breaks bones before lunch please.
Lena giggles.
Stryker watches the three of us quietly over his coffee cup for a second before asking me, “You eat yet?”
I blink at him. “I’m literally holding food.”
“You’ve taken two bites.”
“I hate that you notice things.”
“No you don’t.”
Annoyingly, he says it calmly enough that I can’t even argue properly. So I just do the mature thing and roll my eyes at him before taking a bite out of my baked delight.
The park sits on the far side of town near the elementary school and baseball fields. By the time we get there the weather has warmed enough that the playground is crowded without being overwhelming.
Paxton climbs out of the Subaru immediately while Lena waits more patiently beside Stryker near the curb.
He gets Paxton’s attention before signing carefully.
Stay where we can see you.
The signs are slower than Blade’s and rough around the edges still, but recognizable enough that Paxton’s face immediately brightens.
Okay!
Then both children take off toward the playground and I watch Stryker watching them.
“You packed enough food to survive a natural disaster,” I comment eventually while staring at the sheer amount of snacks appearing from his backpack.
“Our kids are bottomless pits.”
“That’s actually fair.”
He hands me a granola bar and I take it, mostly because I know he’ll notice if I don’t.
The morning settles into something strangely easy after that. The kids run between slides and climbing structures while Stryker and I follow slowly behind them. Sometimes we sit on benches while they play. Sometimes we walk the perimeter path together.
At one point Paxton gets frustrated trying to explain some complicated game to another little boy who clearly doesn’t understand him. Before I can even stand up, Lena steps directly into the conversation already translating with determined little hands while Paxton signs rapidly beside her.
The little boy nods immediately afterward. Problem solved. My chest aches unexpectedly watching it. Stryker notices.
“You okay?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah.”
His eyes stay on me a second longer anyway.
Eventually he says quietly, “He’s doing good.”