Chapter Twenty-Eight Mateo
Her phone rings at eight in the morning, and I know exactly whose name is on the screen before she even looks at it, because I watch her shoulders find that particular brace they haven’t needed in weeks.
She steps into the hallway to take it. I keep flipping pancakes and don’t listen, which takes real effort, because I am constitutionally incapable of minding my own business, but I’ve learned a few things living beside Wes for six years, and one of them is that some silences you protect on purpose.
She comes back four minutes later. Doesn’t say anything. Sits down at the table and looks at her coffee like it owes her an explanation.
I don’t ask.
I know what the call was anyway. Morrison’s name has been sitting over this station all week like a weather system nobody wants to name out loud, the assignment’s closed, the caseload’s waiting, come home after New Year’s.
I’ve watched her carry that possibility around for days now, the same way she used to carry her files, close to her chest, giving nothing away.
I slide a plate in front of her. Eggs, good bacon, a pancake shaped like a snowman because Rico dared me, and I have never once backed down from a dare involving breakfast food.
“Coming back for the toy drive next year?” I ask.
She looks up.
It’s not the question I mean. We both know it isn’t. It’s small enough to answer over pancakes, low stakes, easy, wearing the coat of an ordinary logistics question about a charity event eleven months away.
But I watch it land on her the way the real question would land, watch something behind her eyes go very still and very careful, the way it does when she’s deciding how much truth a moment can hold.
“I don’t know where I’ll be next December,” she says.
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
“I’ll take it.” I sit down across from her with my own plate. “For the record, the crew’s already decided you’re running the drop-offs next year. Kowalski’s been telling people.”
“Kowalski doesn’t get a vote.”
“Kowalski’s been here since before the building had indoor plumbing. Kowalski gets several votes.”
That gets something out of her, not quite a laugh, but close, the corner of her mouth giving up half a fight. She eats her eggs. I eat mine. That’s my attempt at the question, small as I could make it, and now the day gets away from me before I can see whether it landed.
Crossing the bay a while later with a box of returned toy drive extras, I catch someone else’s version of the same question.
Wes is at the side entrance with Noelle. I’m not close enough to hear what he’s saying, if he’s saying anything at all, which with Wes could go either way.
What I see is his hand, closing around hers for a second, pressing something small into her palm, and then he’s already turning away, already walking back toward the equipment room like the moment’s finished before it started.
She stands there looking down at whatever it is.
I don’t ask him either. I catch his eye on his way past me, and he doesn’t explain, doesn’t need to, just gives me the smallest possible nod.
I glance back at her. She’s closed her hand around it now, whatever it was, and she’s still standing there at the door a moment longer than the moment requires.
Three of us, I think, carrying the box back to the storage rack.
Three different men asking the same question three different ways in one morning.
I see the third one through the gap in the stairwell door, on my way up for more folding tables.
Grant and Noelle at the window at the end of the hall, the one that looks down over the street, not touching but just close.
I don’t hear what he’s saying. I don’t need to.
I’ve watched that man hold himself at a distance from every good thing in his life for six years, and I’ve watched him stop doing it exactly once, on Christmas Eve, in a kitchen that used to have a wall of space in it where his self-control lived.
He’s not holding that distance now.
I don’t linger. I grab my tables and head back down.
By evening we’re all four in the kitchen, and it’s Danny, actually, who lights the fuse.
“So,” he says, apropos of absolutely nothing, setting down his coffee, “which room’s she sleeping in, permanently, I mean, once the mezzanine renovation’s done? Because the contractor’s asking, and I told him I didn’t know, on account of nobody around here saying it plain.”
The kitchen goes quiet in the specific way a room goes quiet when someone’s finally said the thing everyone’s been circling.
Wes doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, but something in the set of his shoulders shifts, waiting. Grant’s jaw works once. Noelle goes very still in her chair, coffee mug halfway to her mouth.
I look at all three of them. Then at Danny, who is doing an outstanding impression of a man not enjoying this at all.
“Hers,” I say. “Just build out hers. Bigger, if he can manage it.”
Nobody corrects me.
Grant reaches over and takes her hand on the table, plain as anything, not hiding it, not performing it either. Wes’s hand finds the back of her chair.
I grin so wide it probably makes me look unhinged, and I don’t care, because weeks ago this woman walked into my station glaring at Christmas lights as they’d personally wronged her, and tonight she just told my crew, out loud, over coffee, that she’s staying.
“Well,” Danny says, standing, gathering his mug like the show’s over and he’s satisfied with the ending. “That’s settled, then.”
He leaves the kitchen looking far too satisfied with himself. The door swings shut behind him and the four of us are left sitting around the table in the sudden quiet.
Grant still has Noelle’s hand in his on the table. Wes’s hand rests on the back of her chair. I’m grinning so hard my face hurts.
“Well,” I say after a second, “Danny’s going to be insufferable about this for at least a week.”
Noelle huffs a small breath that is almost a laugh. Grant’s mouth twitches.
We sit there a little longer. Nobody rushes. The tree is still blinking in the common room. The station feels quieter than it has in weeks.
Eventually Grant stands. He keeps hold of her hand and looks down at her.
“Come upstairs?” he asks, voice low.
She nods.
We follow them down the hall without discussion. Grant pushes open the door to his room, and we all step inside.
The door closes with a soft click.
The room is dim and warm. Snow is still falling straight down outside the window.
Noelle sits on the edge of the bed first. Grant sits beside her. I settle on her other side. Wes takes the chair for a moment, then moves to the bed as well when she looks at him.
For a while we just sit close. Grant leans in and kisses her slowly.
I watch for a few seconds, then press my mouth to the side of her neck, soft and unhurried.
She tilts her head to give me better access and reaches back to rest her hand on my thigh.
Wes moves in on her other side and kisses her when Grant pulls back.
There is no urgency in any of it. Just the quiet certainty of four people who already know they belong here.
I smile against her skin and murmur, “This is just our life now, huh?”
She turns her head and kisses me, soft and sure.
We take our time undressing each other.
I pull her shirt over her head while Grant works on the button of her pants. Wes helps slide them down her legs. She does the same for us, unbuttoning my shirt with slow fingers, then Grant’s, then reaching for Wes.
There is no hurry.
Every piece of clothing comes off with quiet kisses and soft touches.
I take my time with the buttons of her shirt, pressing my mouth to each new inch of skin I uncover.
Grant does the same with her pants. Wes helps slide them down her legs and leaves a slow kiss on the inside of her knee.
She returns the favor for each of us, unhurried, almost thoughtful, like she’s learning us all over again now that everything is out in the open.
When we are all bare, she lies back in the middle of the bed. I settle on one side of her. Wes takes the other. Grant moves between her legs.
He doesn’t rush. He kisses his way up the inside of her thighs first, lingering until her breathing changes.
Only then does he put his mouth on her. I watch her face the whole time; the way her eyes flutter shut, the soft sound she makes when he finds the right pressure, the way her fingers curl into the sheets.
I lean in and kiss her mouth slowly while Wes kisses along her collarbone and down to her breast, taking one nipple between his lips.
She reaches for both of us at the same time.
One hand wraps around my cock, stroking me with the same unhurried rhythm Grant is using on her.
The other finds Wes. We stay like that for a long time.
Grant between her legs. Me and Wes on either side of her.
Her hands working us while she softens under our mouths.
Eventually Grant shifts up the bed and lies on his back. Noelle climbs over him without being asked. She sinks down onto him slowly, taking every inch, and stays completely still once he’s fully inside her. I watch the quiet pleasure settle over her face.
She starts moving in deep, rolling hips. I kneel beside them. She turns her head and takes me into her mouth without hesitation. Wes stays close on her other side, one hand stroking her back, the other reaching between her and Grant to rub her clit in slow circles.
The room stays quiet except for soft sounds and breathing. No one is rushing toward anything. We just move together in the warm dim light, unhurried and certain.
I run my fingers through her hair while she takes me deeper.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I murmur. “Just like this. All of us here.”
She looks up at me for a second, eyes soft, and keeps going.
She keeps riding Grant in those same deep, unhurried rolls. I stay close enough that she can take me into her mouth whenever she wants. Wes stays on her other side, his fingers still moving slowly between her and Grant.
“That’s it,” I say against her hair. “Just like that. You feel so good.”
She makes a soft sound around me and keeps moving. Grant’s hands stay on her hips, steady but not demanding. Every now and then he lifts his head and kisses whatever part of her he can reach — her collarbone, the side of her breast, her jaw.
After a while she pulls away from me and turns toward Wes instead. He shifts closer without a word. She takes him into her mouth slowly while I lean down and press open-mouthed kisses along her spine.
“You’re perfect like this,” I tell her quietly. “All of us here. Nothing else matters.”
Grant’s voice is low and rough underneath her. “Stay with us.”
She does. She keeps moving between the three of us, unhurried, fully present. The pleasure builds in long, slow waves. No one is chasing it. We just let it happen.
When she starts to tighten around Grant, I feel it. Her breathing changes. Her hand finds mine and squeezes hard.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
She comes with a soft, broken sound against Wes, her whole body shaking between us. Grant holds her through it and follows right after, burying his face against her neck as he finishes.
I pull out of her mouth just long enough to stroke myself a few times. She looks up at me, still breathing hard, and takes me back in. That’s all it takes. I come with a low groan, one hand in her hair, the other still holding hers.
Wes lasts only a little longer. She stays with him until he comes too, swallowing quietly, then rests her forehead against his stomach and just breathes.
We rearrange ourselves slowly afterward. Noelle ends up in the middle of the bed with her head on Grant’s chest.
I curl in behind her, one arm draped over her waist, my face pressed to the back of her shoulder. Wes settles on Grant’s other side, close enough that his hand can rest on her hip.
For a long time none of us speak. The only sounds are breathing and the soft brush of snow against the window.
Eventually I press a kiss to her shoulder and smile against her skin.
“This is just our life now,” I say quietly.
Grant’s hand finds mine over her waist and gives a small squeeze. Wes makes a low sound of agreement.
Noelle doesn’t say anything, but she reaches back and links her fingers with mine, holding on.
I close my eyes and stay right there.
Later, after everyone’s gone to bed and the station’s settled, I stand in the kitchen looking at the wreckage of the day.
Pancake batter dried onto the counter. Danny’s mug still sitting where he left it, smug even in absentia. The toy drive boxes stacked against the wall, waiting for their trip out tomorrow.
I wipe down the counter. Turn off the light over the stove. Leave the tree glowing in the common room because nobody in this house has ever once managed to remember to unplug it, and honestly, I don’t want to be the one who starts now.
Two months ago I thought the toughest thing about this Christmas would be keeping the eggnog jug out of the trash before Callum noticed.
Turns out the toughest thing was watching someone learn how to stay, one careful day at a time, and somehow being part of the reason she finally could.
I’ll take that trade every year for the rest of my life.