He gave me a smile that was half-shy, half-devastating. “I like seeing you.”

  The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It was full of breath, feeling, and something deep that didn’t need to be named out loud.

  I squeezed his hand once and let go, easing the car into the slow curve of the freeway ramp. He didn’t protest. He just leaned back again, one leg stretched long, one hand behind his head.

  “By the way,” he said after a moment, the grin returning like sunlight through clouds, “passenger penis offer still stands. Long drive? Road trip? Stop-and-go traffic? I’m your guy.”

  I barked a laugh so hard it shook me.

  “Jesus, Rhett,” I wheezed, wiping my eyes.

  “Hey, you get snacks and entertainment,” he said, smug. “It’s a package deal.”

  “Oh my god,” I groaned, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that the ache in my chest was starting to feel a lot like hope.

  We stopped about an hour outside the city at a little gas station with a drive-thru coffee hut and a convenience store that promised hot snacks in flickering neon.

  Everyone stretched their legs, and I took my time inside, grabbing two iced coffees, one hot, and a pile of snacks that looked like they’d been fried yesterday and kept under a heat lamp out of spite. Rhett made a delighted noise like I’d brought him a bouquet of chicken tenders when I handed him his coffee and a greasy paper bag.

  Roan was finishing up at the pump when I walked over, the wind lifting strands of my hair across my cheeks. He glanced at me over the top of the SUV.

  “If you want a break,” he said casually, “I’ll take Rhett the rest of the way. No problem.”

  I blinked, then shook my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I don’t mind dropping him off.”

  Roan nodded once, like he expected that answer, but something flickered in his expression when I didn’t immediately turn to go.

  And before I could second-guess it, I said, “Hey… would you guys want to come over later? For dinner or something. I have no idea what’s actually in my fridge, but we could eat. Talk.”

  The words tumbled out too naturally. No big drama. Just a soft, open offer. But a part of me held still after saying them, braced without meaning to.

  Because the truth was, letting someone into your bed was easy.

  Letting them into your home—into the quiet—that was harder.

  Roan’s eyes softened instantly.

  “I’d love to come over,” he said simply. “If you’ll let us bring dinner. Keep it easy.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

  Something flickered between us then—unspoken but grounding. And I didn’t think. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  He folded me in like I belonged there, big arms wrapping tight around my back, the solid wall of his chest pressed to mine, anchoring me to the ground and holding me up at the same time.

  We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to.

  When I finally stepped back, a little steadier, I turned to head toward my car—but paused beside Jay, who was leaning against the back of Roan’s SUV sipping his coffee like the world was no big deal.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  He looked up, curious.

  I stepped in and gave him a hug too.

  He made a surprised little sound in the back of his throat, but his arms came around me easily, warm and secure, and his chin brushed the top of my head for just a second.

  “Anytime,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “You ever need me, I’m there.”

  Then, with a hint of mischief, he added under his breath, “Cough twice if you want me to stash Rhett in Roan’s truck.”

  I snorted against his chest. “Tempting.”

  He leaned back, one brow arched. “The offer stands.”

  I shook my head, grinning, then turned to head back to my car where Rhett was already sprawled in the passenger seat like he owned it—again—chicken tenders in one hand and his sunglasses on, despite the fact that it was cloudy as hell.

  I slid in behind the wheel, heart feeling full in a way I wasn’t used to.

  My phone vibrated on the charging plate as I buckled in. I picked it up, eyed Marchand’s name on the caller ID. There was an ungodly number of missed calls, voicemail messages, and texts. I hadn’t paid attention to a single one so far. They were all tomorrow’s problems.

  And so was Marchand. I put the phone back down and let it roll over so he could leave a message too. Rhett didn’t comment, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile.

  “Rhett?”

  He cocked his head toward me.

  “Crank it up.”

  His grin grew. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Then we were pulling out and I followed right behind Roan’s vehicle, head beginning to nod to the music. Tomorrow could also wait.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  WREN

  By the time the doorbell rang, I’d changed clothes three times, wiped down the already-clean counter twice, and made the monumental decision to let my kitchen exist in its natural state of organized chaos.

  I wasn’t hosting a PR event. I wasn’t meeting someone’s parents.

  Still, my stomach flipped as I crossed the room and opened the door.

  Roan stood there, big and warm and so familiar now it almost startled me. No armor, no uniform, no scent of woodsmoke and snow. Just him. His eyes landed on mine, and for a second, we didn’t speak.

  Then he held up a six-pack of ginger beer and said, “Told the others to come later.”

  I stepped back to let him in, heart skipping a little. “Did you tell them why?”

  He glanced at me sideways, his mouth curving. “Told them to grab something decent for dinner and give us space. They got the message.”

  I liked that. Not the part where he took control, but that he made space for this. For me. For us.

  He moved into the kitchen like he’d been there before, setting the drinks on the counter and turning back to face me, easy in his body but alert under the surface, like he’d been turning this conversation over in his head for hours.

  And then, without preamble, he said, “I wanted to talk to you. About how you want to handle… this.”

  There it was.

  This.

  The unsaid, unclaimed territory between heat and real life. The thing that lingered after the mating haze cleared and you had to figure out if anything was still left standing.

  I leaned against the counter, arms loose at my sides, heart ticking faster. “Handle it how?”

  His gaze was steady. “You tell me.”

  I hesitated, then asked the only question that mattered. “Do we have a relationship?”

  His eyes flared faintly. Not startled. Just fierce. Then, very calmly, he said, “Yes.”

  Before I could react or respond to that, a low growl slipped from somewhere in his chest. It wasn’t threatening. If anything it was almost… reluctant. Like it had broken free without his permission.

  Roan paused, took a breath, and visibly dialed himself back.

  “Yes,” he said again, quieter now. “We do. And if you need more convincing…” He stepped closer, not crowding but present, his voice dropping an octave, “I’m on board.”

  There was no teasing in his tone. No manipulation. Just Roan being absolutely clear. He wasn’t asking if I wanted him to claim me. He was offering to stay. To be mine, if I’d have him.

  I felt the corners of my mouth lift. Whatever awkwardness I’d braced for… it just wasn’t here. He didn’t leave room for it.

  It wasn’t pressure. It was him being here, with me, in this moment—together. I should have known he would do this, that he would sand the edges off and make this about us as a team. This was him saying, I’m here. What do you want?

  I took a breath, giving myself a moment in the quiet humming between us.

  “I think I’m still figuring out what that looks like,” I admitted. “For you. For Rhett. For Jay. For me. For all of us.”

  While I may not know everything, I did know that there was an us. It had been there before they’d come for me and it was definitely present the morning after, the day after, and tonight now that we were home.

  “No matter what or how we decide, I know I want something real.”

  Roan’s nod was slow. “Then we’ll build it. On your terms. But ours, too.” The fact he added that last bit settled some of the unease in my system. He’d given me a lot of power while I’d been in the throes of heat and I adored him for it. But…

  “Good,” I said, answering what felt like a promise from him with one of my own. “If you didn’t include your thoughts and feelings in this, I’d have more objections.”

  “Oh, really?” A hint of challenge gleamed in his eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” I said, matching the glint in his eyes. “If you think you’re just going to agree to whatever I want, you’ve clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with.”

  Roan’s smile was slow, dangerous only because of how soft it was. “Oh, I remember exactly who I’m dealing with.”

  He took a step closer, deliberate but unhurried, the air between us thickening with awareness. His hand came up, rough fingers brushing the side of my jaw as though asking permission.

  I didn’t move away. If anything, I leaned into his touch.

  “Wren,” he said, voice lower now, quieter as if my name was something sacred and heavy in his mouth. “You know I meant what I said, right? That this isn’t about what happened in the cabin. It’s about what happens now.”

  “I know,” I whispered. I understood exactly what he was saying and it made me even more eager to explore what we could be.

  The pulse of heat that sat like a live wire under my skin for the past several days was gone, replaced by something far steadier, and deeper.

  Roan’s thumb stroked along my cheekbone, tracing the faintest path. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

  Then he kissed me.

  It wasn’t a claiming. It wasn’t about control or chemistry or dominance. It was simply him—warm, sure, and unhurried. God, the man’s charm was as much a part of him as his talent on the ice. The way his lips moved against mine said so much without saying a word.

  It was slow enough that I could taste the breath between us. His other hand came up to cradle the back of my neck, and he exhaled against my mouth, the sound turning into a soft hum that vibrated right through me.

  When I parted my lips, it wasn’t because I had to, it was because I wanted to.

  It was all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss, just slightly, enough to draw a small sound from my throat that he swallowed with a satisfied sigh. My fingers found their way to his shirt, gripping the fabric, not to pull him closer but to steady myself.

  He smiled against my lips. I felt it.

  Felt the tease before he even pulled back to say it.

  “Still figuring it out, huh?” he murmured, voice roughened at the edges.

  “Apparently,” I said, a little breathless. “Though I think we’re making progress.”

  His answering grin was pure delight, chased quickly by something quieter, something that sat deep in his eyes. He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip once more, then dropped his hand, letting the touch linger in absence.

  “I’ll take progress,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”

  “Even if I trip sometimes?”

  “I’ll be right there to catch you,” he said, simple and sure.

  “What happens if you trip?” As unlikely as that case might be, Roan was by far the steadiest of us all, it still needed to be asked.

  He chuckled. “You’ll have my back, little flame. You always do.”

  The warmth present in that declaration of trust dazzled me. Roan Whittaker was not known for taking prisoners, but I had a feeling that between us—we might just change that.

  The pleasure in his voice lingered long after he stepped back. It felt like sunlight spreading beneath my skin, quiet but alive. I was still holding that feeling when the doorbell rang again.

  Roan gave me a faint, amused look. “Timing.”

  “Apparently, they’re incapable of being fashionably late,” I murmured, smoothing my hair as I went to answer.

  Jay and Rhett stood on my front step, the winter air curling around them, both holding brown paper takeout bags that smelled absolutely sinful. Rhett’s grin was wolfish. Jay’s was smug.

  “Dinner delivery,” Rhett announced, holding one up like a trophy. “Your favorites.”

  I blinked, then laughed outright as the scent hit me. “Is that—oh my God—Ethiopian? You actually remembered?”

  Jay’s mouth quirked. “Of course we remembered. You nearly bit Rhett’s hand off last time he tried to steal your tibs.”

  “Nearly?” Rhett said, scandalized. “That was a real bite.”

  “You deserved it,” I said sweetly, stepping back so they could come inside.

  Roan had already pulled plates from the cupboard and was setting out the ginger beers he’d brought, the glass bottles clicking softly against the counter. The whole thing unfolded so naturally that I had to take a beat just to absorb it.

  Four people in my kitchen, unpacking food, laughing over dumb jokes, the kind of easy chaos that felt like family.

  Dinner was messy and delicious. Rhett tried to pretend he didn’t like injera until I caught him sneaking another piece. Jay added his usual quiet wit to the mix, throwing in small, dry observations that had me laughing until I nearly choked on my drink. Roan mostly watched, amused, adding a comment here and there, that golden calm in his eyes like an anchor holding us all steady.

  At some point, the food gave way to cards—Rhett insisting on teaching me a game that made absolutely no sense, Roan cleaning up the table, and Jay calling him a shark under his breath when Roan won three hands in a row. The ginger beers disappeared, replaced by sparkling water and half a bowl of chocolate-covered almonds that Rhett guarded like treasure.

  For a few blissful hours, everything was easy. No heat. No tension. No complicated questions waiting just outside the light.

  Just us—real, relaxed, laughing so much my cheeks hurt.

  Eventually, Roan stretched, checked his watch, and sighed. “All right. Drill at eight tomorrow.”

  The groans were immediate.

  Jay tossed down his cards. “You’re the devil.”

  Slouching dramatically in his chair, Rhett shot Roan a droll look. “Can’t we just—stay? She’s got couches. Blankets. Snacks.”

  I laughed. “I’ll even let you have the rest of the almonds if you go quietly.”

  He brightened. “Done.”

  They helped me clean up in their normal modes with Roan’s efficiency, Jay’s attention to detail, and Rhett causing good-natured chaos. When it came time to leave, the goodbyes came naturally, too.

  Roan kissed me first. It was softer than before, a brush of promise that left my pulse skipping.

  Then Rhett caught me up in a bear hug that lifted me clean off the ground. “You’re amazing,” he said into my hair, voice rougher than I expected. “Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t,” I managed, breathless and smiling.

  Jay was last. He didn’t say anything at first, just pulled me into a quiet, lingering hug that felt like calm itself. When he finally leaned back, his gaze was steady and fond.

  “I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “Jay—”

  “Don’t argue.” A small smirk curved his mouth. “Croissants still your favorite, or have you switched to danishes?”

  My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Croissants,” I said softly. “Always.”

  He nodded, satisfied, brushing his thumb briefly along my knuckles before stepping back.

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The space was too quiet once the door shut behind them. Not in a bad way, just in the way silence always seemed to follow something good. The echo of laughter still lingered, faint and sweet, like the warmth on my lips where Roan had kissed me, or the low brush of Jay’s voice in my ear.

  I let myself stand there for another beat, toes curling into the rug, one arm crossed over my waist like I could hold the feeling a little longer.

  Sadly, reality didn’t wait no matter how much we might want it to.

  So I padded into my bedroom, grabbed my laptop and my phone from where they’d been haphazardly abandoned when I got home, then carried them out to the living room. After I made a cup of tea, I curled up on the couch, a fresh blanket over my lap and then I opened the floodgates.

  First up: the news.

  The front page of two major league sports networks had the Vultures front and center, head coach in the middle of a press conference and a banner headline screaming:

  PLAYOFF SPOT AWARDED: VULTURES WIN LOTTERY SLOT IN UPSET SHAKE-UP

  Which would’ve been a whole thing by itself… except the subheader made my stomach tighten.

  Accusations of Poaching: Are the Howlers Trying to Lure Talent Ahead of Time?

  I clicked the link.

  The article wasn’t subtle.

  In fact, it was practically a manifesto. One that accused the Howlers’ management of “inappropriate communications,” “unprofessional overtures,” and “targeted tampering.” There was even a vague allusion to specific players being approached—though no names were listed.

  The article had quotes from Vultures PR. And none of them were friendly. I rubbed a hand down my face and opened my email.

  And there it was. A subject line that lit up my stomach with dread:

  RE: DAMAGE CONTROL — WE NEED TO TALK IMMEDIATELY

  From: Marchand

  I opened it.

  And winced.

  Wren,

  I don’t know what the hell kind of vacation you thought you were on, but it’s time to show up. The Vultures are spinning this like a full-scale PR war, and we’re bleeding goodwill by the hour.