18. Theo #2
“Where’s Callie?” I ask softly.
Garrett’s hand pauses for a second. “At the school. She had work to finish before tomorrow.”
My fingers tighten in his shirt.
“She should be home before dinner,” he adds, and the answer helps without fixing everything.
I look toward the open study door.
“Sloane stepped out for a while,” Garrett says. “Idris is at Blackline.”
The house feels too quiet again as soon as he names everyone gone. My body folds closer to his before I can stop it.
“They thought quiet would help,” he says. “So did I.”
I shake my head once against his shirt.
Garrett sits with that for a moment. His arm shifts around me, holding me more securely, and when he speaks again, the words are careful without feeling fragile.
“Then we misunderstood the kind of quiet you needed,” he says. “We can change that. The house doesn't need to be empty for you to settle. Someone can be home, or close enough for you to find, while you learn the rooms.”
I nod into him.
He reaches into the desk drawer and takes out a phone in a plain black case. It is already charged. When he presses the side button, the screen wakes to a simple background and asks for a passcode.
“I was going to give this to you after dinner,” Garrett says, placing it in my hands. “When your voice locks, you shouldn't have to wait for someone to guess what you need.”
I hold the phone carefully.
Garrett gives me the code, then lets me unlock it myself. The contact list is already open. His name is at the top, followed by Sloane, Idris, Callie, Miller, and the Bellwether emergency line. I look at Callie’s name for longer than the others, my thumb hovering above it.
“It’s on the household plan,” Garrett says. “The passcode is written on the card tucked inside the case, so no one has to guess if it locks you out. If anything acts up, bring it to me.”
I nod, but I don’t press Callie’s name yet.
A door opens at the front of the house, and I jolt so hard the phone almost slips from my hand. Garrett’s arm closes around me before I can scramble off his lap.
“That will be Sloane,” he says.
I listen. Keys land in the bowl near the door. Shoes stop on the mat. A grocery bag rustles, then goes still as Sloane catches our scents and follows them down the hall.
He appears in the doorway with rain in his hair and a paper bag in one hand. His eyes find me in Garrett’s lap, then the phone in my hand, then Garrett’s arm around my back. He doesn't look upset. He looks like something in him has gone soft too fast for him to cover it.
“Hi,” Sloane says.
I look down at the phone, open his name, and type before the words can get trapped anywhere else.
You didn’t have to leave.
Sloane’s phone chimes in his pocket.
He sets the grocery bag down before he takes the phone out, and the care he uses with that ordinary movement makes my fingers tighten around my own screen. He reads the message. His mouth curves slowly, but his eyes stay serious when he looks back at me.
“I’m going to like this,” he says.
Garrett’s hand stays between my shoulders. "Don't overwhelm him with it.”
Sloane nods, still looking at me. “I won’t. I like that he can reach me.”
The warmth in my chest shifts. It doesn't feel like the heat pressure now. It feels like something opening where the quiet had been too large.
Sloane steps into the study and lowers himself beside Garrett’s chair instead of coming over me. “Idris is at Blackline for another hour. Callie’s probably still finishing things at the school. She told me she had papers to sort before Monday.”
I nod. Hearing Callie’s name helps. Hearing that she said where she would be helps more, even if she didn't say it to me yet.
Sloane glances at the phone in my hands. “You can text her when you’re ready.”
I nod again, but the thought of doing it while both Alphas watch makes my skin prickle. Sloane seems to understand, or maybe he just knows how to wait when he remembers to try.
I reach for him instead.
His gaze drops to my hand, and his body goes very still. He looks at Garrett first. Garrett gives the smallest nod, then shifts his arm so I have room to lean without feeling released.
“Color?” Sloane asks.
I tap once against the phone.
“Green,” he says.
Sloane comes closer on his knees, slow enough that every inch gives me time to change my mind.
He touches my cheek first. His hand is warmer than Garrett’s, restless even when he's trying hard to hold still.
The scent of him fills the space between us, smoked cedar and brown sugar, and my body answers with another wave of heat that makes my breath catch.
“I know,” Sloane murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
He kisses me.
Sloane’s careful has effort in it. I feel the strength he's holding back in the tension of his hand, in the way he keeps the first press of his mouth soft even though his scent flares as soon as I lean in. Garrett stays steady beneath me, one hand at my back while Sloane’s mouth warms mine, and the two of them together make the room feel full without making it too full.
I kiss Sloane back.
His breath breaks. His fingers tighten for a second at my jaw, then loosen before the pressure can turn into anything I have to survive. He pulls back only enough to look at me.
“Still green?” he asks.
I tap once.
Sloane closes his eyes, forehead touching mine. “Thank you.”
I don't know what to do with being thanked for wanting, so I sit there between them with the phone pressed to my chest and Sloane’s mouth still close enough to feel. My body is too warm, but Garrett’s arm and Sloane’s restraint keep the warmth from turning sharp.
Sloane lowers himself to the floor once my breathing steadies, resting his shoulder against Garrett’s chair. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”
The answer is easy, but the words aren't. I open the message thread again.
Can we do nothing?
Sloane reads it when his phone chimes, then looks up. Garrett looks at me too. Neither of them moves. They wait for me to tell them what nothing means, and the waiting gives me time to understand why the first message isn't enough.
Nothing alone sounds like the empty house. It sounds like rooms staying open with no one inside them. I type again, slower this time.
I want all of us together. Can I have that? Is that too much?
Sloane reads it and goes still as Garrett’s arm tightens around me. “That isn't too much.”
My breath shakes on the way out. Sloane covers my ankle with his hand where it rests against Garrett’s leg. “We can do that. Callie will come home. Idris will come back when he’s finished. I’m here now. Garrett’s here.”
Garrett nods. “Until everyone is home, the house can stay open around you. No one has to leave you alone for you to rest.”
I nod, then look toward the hallway. The moon socks are warm on my feet now, but I want the other pair from the closet. I want Callie’s cardigan too, the dove-gray one from last night, and the thought of wearing it when she comes home makes my face heat.
“I need more socks,” I say.
Sloane looks down at my feet, then back up at my face. “We’ll be here.”
Garrett lets me climb off his lap without making me feel like I'm losing my place there.
Sloane stands but doesn't follow when I turn toward the door.
I look back once from the threshold and find both Alphas watching with the same careful patience, giving me space without letting the house turn empty around it.
I keep the phone in my hand all the way upstairs.
In the closet nest, I gather the extra socks from the little pile near the wall.
Then I pick up Callie’s dove-gray cardigan and pull it over the hoodie, even though it makes me too warm.
The sleeves cover half my hands. The fabric smells like her and the movie and the moment she kissed me at the door before saying goodnight.
I sit on the floor with the socks in my lap and open Callie’s contact.
No one is here to watch me. Garrett and Sloane are downstairs. Idris is at Blackline. Callie is at the school. The text box waits, and this time I know what I want to say.
Dinner is at home.
The message sends.
I watch the screen until it buzzes in my hand.
Who is this?
My stomach drops, and for a second I only stare at the words. Then I remember the number is new. She doesn't know it yet. I press my thumb against the side of the phone, breathe once, and open the camera.
I take the picture before I can decide my face is wrong. The photo catches me sitting in the closet nest with Callie’s cardigan slipping off one shoulder, one sleeve pulled close to my mouth, the gathered socks in my lap. Pieces of the pack show behind me in soft disorder.
I send it.
Her answer comes fast.
Star?
I press the sleeve over my mouth and smile into the wool before I type back.
Yes.
The dots appear, vanish, and appear again.
Hi, Star.
My face hurts from smiling. I hold the phone with both hands, careful and tight, and send the message again now that she knows it is me.
Dinner is at home.
This time, her answer comes without a pause.
I’m on my way.
I hold the phone against my chest and close my eyes for a moment. Downstairs, Sloane says my name softly, careful not to pull too hard. Garrett answers him in a low voice, and the house fills with the small sounds of people staying where they said they would stay.
Callie is coming home.
I tuck the phone into the pocket of her cardigan, gather the socks in both hands, and stand. My body is still too warm, and the edge of heat still waits under my skin, restless and strange. But when I walk back toward the stairs, the quiet follows differently.
It no longer has to hold me by itself.