“I’m the best,” he corrected. “And,” he added with a flourish, “I made sandwiches.”

  Jay kissed the side of my face and murmured, “Told you he was good for something.”

  “I heard that!” Rhett called as he disappeared again.

  But their laughter didn’t quite cut the tension. It just danced over it. The air still buzzed faintly—thick with their scents, with mine. With the lingering threads of bondless claim, with all the pressure we’d kept carefully at bay. There was no regret. But there was something else.

  A quiet knowing.

  Like they could feel me differently now. Like I could feel them. Not just physically, not even chemically—but on a level so deep it didn’t have words.

  The heat might have passed, but the burn hadn’t gone out.

  I was still curled against Jay’s chest when Roan stepped into the doorway, steam curling around him like smoke.

  His skin glowed a deep, sun-warmed gold, ruddy from the punishing heat of the shower, like he’d needed the scalding water to rinse off the last of the frenzy. It hadn’t worked—nothing could rinse away what we’d done. The proof was still etched on his body with long, raised marks down his arms and shoulders, angry red where I’d clawed him in the thick of it.

  My face flushed. The bite he’d made on my neck throbbed. Like my body knew the mark it bore, and recognized the one who left it. Roan’s gaze flicked to it the second he stepped inside. His jaw ticked—just once. But when his eyes met mine, they were softer than they had any right to be.

  “You ready to eat?” he asked.

  The words were simple. But his tone wasn’t.

  There was that quiet thread of command again, woven into his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. He didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. He wore authority like a second skin, even with his hair still wet and water dripping down his chest.

  Still, there was a gentleness there too—beneath the dominant aura cloaking him. It calmed me, loosening something tight in my chest.

  I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to Jay’s thigh under the water. “We probably need to talk.”

  Roan didn’t even blink. “We can wait.” There was no hesitation. No anxiety about what might come next. Just complete, unshakable calm. “Right now, you need food. Water. Rest. Talk can wait until you’re whole again.”

  “He’s right.” Jay nodded behind me, fingers brushing along the inside of my arm. “We’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

  Even from the other room, Rhett chimed in—his voice lighter, but his words still firm. “Yeah, no deep thoughts until you eat at least two sandwiches. Non-negotiable.”

  I laughed softly, but it caught in my throat. They were giving me space—gentle, deliberate generosity in the wake of everything I’d given them.

  But I could feel the clock ticking, even in this snow-wrapped hideaway. Outside, the world hadn’t stopped turning.

  The playoffs were coming. The team would need them back for drills. I’d need to return to the city, to the office, to the PR cleanup and the mess I’d left on pause.

  Real life was waiting.

  And whatever this thing was between us—this fire, this bondless ache—still didn’t have a name.

  Yet, in this moment, with Jay holding me steady, Roan’s presence filling the room, and Rhett being irreverent and loud just to make me smile…

  For just a little longer, I let it all wait.

  The new bed felt like a dream—fresh sheets, clean blankets, soft pillows that hadn’t been tangled and soaked in the heat of bodies and scent. Someone had aired the room out, wiped down the surfaces. There were even bottles of water on the nightstand and snacks within reach.

  They were taking care of me. Still.

  I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until I was curled under the blankets, muscles aching in ways I didn’t want to admit, belly full for the first time in days.

  Rhett lay stretched beside me, loose-limbed and lazy like a lion in the sun. One arm was tucked under his head, and the other played idly with my hair—soft strokes from crown to nape, slow and soothing. Over and over again.

  It felt so good I nearly purred.

  He must’ve felt it, too—some subtle change in my breathing, a little hum in my throat—because his mouth curved in a smirk I could feel without even looking.

  “You’re enjoying this a little too much,” I said, trying for dry, but it came out softer.

  His fingers slid down, just behind my ear, making me shiver. “Only because you’re letting me.”

  I arched a brow, glancing up at him. “And you think that’s about you, not me?”

  Rhett’s grin deepened, but when his eyes met mine, something else flickered beneath the surface.

  The playfulness was still there—he wore it like armor, like instinct—but I saw the edge of something rawer behind it. A kind of focused intensity. A need he didn’t know how to ask for without dressing it in jokes and charm.

  And for all his alpha swagger, I could see it clearly now—he didn’t want to be brushed off. Not by me. Not after what we’d shared.

  I reached up and brushed his cheek with the backs of my fingers. His stubble rasped against my skin, and his hand went still in my hair.

  “Will you keep petting me?” I asked quietly.

  It wasn’t a question, not really. It was my answer. My way of saying yes. I liked it. I wanted it. I wanted him.

  Rhett made a low sound in his throat, almost a grunt—satisfied, like something in him had unclenched—and his hand resumed its slow strokes through my hair.

  I smiled to myself and rolled back to my side, facing the doorway. He shifted with me, settling in again with his chest warm against my back, his breath ghosting over my shoulder.

  And that was when I saw them.

  Roan stood in the doorway, bare-chested, arms crossed over his chest. Watching. Always watching. Jay was just behind him, leaning in the frame, expression unreadable but warm.

  They weren’t interrupting.

  They weren’t assuming.

  They were waiting.

  And that was what did me in.

  Not the heat. Not the knots. Not even the claiming.

  This. The restraint. The careful, patient way they were holding back now, like I was breakable. Like I needed space to breathe.

  Maybe I did.

  But I didn’t want the distance.

  My throat tightened, something sharp blooming behind my ribs. I reached out under the blankets, fingers stretching toward the door.

  Not a command.

  Just an invitation.

  Roan’s gaze dropped to my hand. His whole body shifted—so subtle I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. The tension across his shoulders eased, his eyes gentled.

  Jay didn’t say a word, but I could feel the change in him too. Like maybe they’d all been holding their breath since the heat broke.

  Maybe now… we could exhale.

  I let my hand rest where it was, fingers lightly curled, reaching out into the quiet. The warmth from Rhett behind me and the soft shifting of the bed beneath us was a balm, but then I felt something else—movement, steady and deliberate.

  Jay eased onto the bed beside us, settling in close, his body warm against mine in a way that sent a fresh pulse of calm through me. I felt the steady beat of his breath, his hand finding mine, fingers intertwining like a silent promise.

  Then Roan joined us, his presence filling the space with that familiar weight of power and protection. He settled at the head of the bed, careful not to crowd, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His hand lifted, gentle as a whisper, to cradle my cheek.

  Slowly, the tension in my chest began to ease, the sharp ache of uncertainty dulling to something softer—something I hadn’t been ready to admit before now.

  As the minutes stretched, the quiet breathing around me slowed. One by one, the men drifted off to sleep—Rhett still tracing lazy patterns in my hair, his hand heavy but gentle on my side. Jay’s fingers laced with mine, warm and grounding. And Roan’s touch, featherlight against my cheek, kept me tethered to the moment.

  There was something in that—something utterly captivating.

  Not the wild ferocity that had pulled me into them before.

  No. This was different.

  This was care.

  Deep, steady, unyielding care.

  As my eyelids fluttered shut, I realized I craved it even more than the heat, more than the storm of passion and claim. Still, sleep remained elusive and I kept looking, checking to make sure they were still there.

  The soft light in the room caught the faint shimmer around Roan’s eyes—the tired gold of a man who had given everything and wasn’t finished giving.

  His fingers brushed against my skin, featherlight, and his voice was just a breath, a murmur meant for me alone.

  “Sleep, Wren. We have time.” It wasn’t just words. It was a promise. One that settled inside me, quiet but fierce, from his soul to mine.

  When I reached for his hand, he linked our fingers and everything inside of me settled. This time when I let my eyes close, sleep wrapped me up and I drifted off, safely cradled by all three.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  WREN

  Iwoke to the smell of coffee and the low murmur of voices, warm and familiar.

  The bed was mostly empty—just the lingering indentation of where bodies had been, sheets rumpled and still holding the scent of skin and salt and something softer that hadn’t quite faded. My muscles protested as I sat up, not sharply, but enough to remind me just how thoroughly I’d been… handled.

  I stretched slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in my thighs, the tender pull across my hips. Even my scalp was sensitive where Rhett had threaded his fingers through my hair half the night.

  Despite the way I moved like I was made of half-cooled wax, I felt… good.

  Whole.

  Wrecked, maybe. But good.

  The soreness was just another echo of what we’d done. What we’d been. I caught Jay watching me from across the room as I padded in, still in one of their long shirts, his mouth twitching at the corners.

  “You okay?” he asked, though his tone already said yes, obviously, because he’d been cataloging every blink and breath of mine since dawn.

  “Bit stiff,” I said, stretching again with a wince.

  Rhett, naturally, leaned in from the kitchen with a wicked grin. “You’re welcome.”

  I groaned and threw a clean towel at him. “I hate you.”

  “No, you love me,” he called after me as I wandered toward the coffee pot.

  “I tolerate you,” I corrected.

  Roan glanced over his shoulder from where he was zipping up a duffel. “You’re moving like you got tackled by a pack of wild animals.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” I muttered into my mug, cheeks heating even though they were all being—almost annoyingly—affectionate about it.

  After breakfast, they packed efficiently. Roan’s SUV was already warming up outside, snow dusted across the windshield. Rhett and Jay drove off to the other cabin to grab my car and the rest of my things. I took my time cleaning up—brushing my teeth, putting on something clean, trying to pull myself back together for the world outside this snowy cocoon.

  But the closer we got to leaving, the heavier something settled in my chest.

  It wasn’t dread. Not quite.

  Just… reluctance.

  When the cars were packed, we stood in a loose little cluster by the vehicles. My car sat in the driveway beside Roan’s, looking much smaller now—like it didn’t belong to the same story.

  No one really wanted to break the moment, but logistics eventually forced the issue.

  Roan jerked his chin toward his SUV. “She drives her own. We’re three deep in mine.”

  Jay raised an eyebrow, then looked at Rhett.

  Rhett mirrored the look. “Oh no. You’re not gonna Jedi mind-trick me out of this one.”

  “You two figure it out,” Roan said dryly as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Jay and Rhett stared each other down in mock seriousness. Then, wordlessly, they began:

  One. Two. Three. Shoot.

  Rhett’s grin was immediate. “Scissors beats paper, baby.”

  Jay sighed, dramatic, but there was amusement tugging at his mouth as he turned toward Roan’s passenger side. “Unbelievable.”

  I watched the whole thing with this strange, warm pull in my chest. It was almost gooey, but not in a way I hated. It was a kind of affection that didn’t feel fragile or forced. No one was trying to control me, not now. Not with choices or cars or touches.

  This wasn’t about power.

  It was about being allowed to enjoy each other.

  That was… new.

  The fun part? I didn’t mind it. Not even a little.

  I was still smiling as Rhett loaded himself into my passenger seat, long legs stretched out and already fiddling with the music settings like he owned the space.

  I glanced sideways at him as I buckled in. “You gonna survive not being the driver?”

  Rhett didn’t hesitate. “Baby, I’ll be your passenger penis anytime you want.”

  I choked on a laugh, half startled, half delighted. It burst out of me before I could stop it—loud, unguarded, and real.

  He grinned like he’d just won the lottery.

  “You’re the worst,” I said, still laughing.

  “Only the best parts,” he said with a wink, leaning back, completely at ease.

  And as I pulled onto the snowy road, my car full of warmth and inappropriate charm and something I wasn’t quite ready to name—I didn’t feel alone.

  Not anymore.

  The roads were clear enough, the snow compacted into neat lanes bordered by trees still flocked in white. The whole world looked soft around the edges, like it hadn’t quite woken up yet.

  Rhett, however, had no such delay.

  He leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm slung across the console like he belonged there permanently. The music he'd queued up was a ridiculous mix of upbeat funk and indie covers, and he was drumming on his thighs with more rhythm than I wanted to admit was impressive.

  “Do you do this in every car you ride in?” I asked as we turned onto the main road out of the forest.

  “Only the ones with hot drivers,” he said, flashing a grin. “Also, ones with working speakers. I have standards.”

  I shook my head, but I couldn’t help smiling. His energy was infectious—big, bright, and impossible to ignore. He was like a campfire, warm and a little wild, always drawing you closer whether you meant to come or not.

  Somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, the music mellowed and so did he. His fingers moved lazily against the console, more a comfort than a beat now.

  “So,” I said, “fifteen cousins? Was that an exaggeration or real numbers?”

  Rhett huffed a laugh. “That was just the ones I see regularly. If we’re counting all of them, it’s more like thirty-something. Both of my parents come from huge families—five siblings on one side, six on the other. And everyone bred like they were trying to start their own colony.”

  “God,” I said, wide-eyed, “that’s not a family tree. That’s a forest.”

  He grinned. “Exactly. We’ve got this… compound at home. My mom’s parents and my dad’s parents both live there—opposite ends of the land. Bunch of little cottages scattered around, one big main house where everyone eats and drinks and yells at football games.”

  I blinked. “Wait, like a literal family compound?”

  “Oh yeah. We’ve got bunk rooms, guest suites, one of those industrial kitchens that could feed an army. There’s a pool, a pond, an old converted barn that we turn into a party hall during the holidays. If you bring someone home for Christmas, they basically need a map and a buddy system.”

  “Is that… normal?” I asked, enchanted despite myself.

  “God, no,” Rhett said, grinning. “But it’s ours. Loud as hell, kind of chaotic, but it’s home.”

  I glanced over at him. He looked so easy in that moment—no posing, no playacting. Just Rhett, warm and open, talking about his clan like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” I said quietly.

  He glanced at me, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

  “My family’s… not exactly like that.”

  He didn’t push, just let the silence stretch until I found my words.

  “My mom left when I was little,” I said finally, eyes still on the road. “My parents tried, I think. But they were never really… a match. My mom was post-heat wildness, and my dad—he wanted something stable. I think I was the moment they tried to get serious, but it didn’t work.”

  There was no bitterness in my voice, not anymore. Just the truth.

  “I was a heat accident,” I added, the words coming out more easily than I expected. “Used to hate saying that out loud. Like it made me a mistake.”

  Rhett was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Doesn’t sound like a mistake to me.”

  My throat tightened.

  I risked a glance over. His gaze was steady—no jokes, no smirk. Just listening. Just seeing me.

  “I think,” I said slowly, “part of why I was so reluctant when my designation came in was… I didn’t want to turn out like her. To lose control. To leave people behind.”

  He didn’t speak right away. His hand slid across the console and rested palm up, open, between us.

  Not reaching for me. Just there if I wanted it.

  I let my fingers slip into his.

  “Wren,” he said, voice low and sincere, “you are nothing like her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’ve seen the way you hold yourself back. The way you fight for control. That’s not weakness. It’s strength. You didn’t run. You stayed. And if you hadn’t, we never would’ve had this.”

  My chest ached in a different way now. “You really are good at this, you know,” I said quietly.

  “At what?”

  “Seeing people.”