Emma joins us a few minutes later, quieter than the others but just as steady. “You’re up early,” she says to me.
“Couldn’t sleep in,” I answer.
She nods like that makes sense. “Give it time,” she says. “You will.”
I believe her. That’s the part that surprises me the most.
Knox decides at that exact moment that being held is no longer acceptable, and he starts twisting in Mac’s arms like he’s trying to escape a life-threatening situation. “Absolutely not,” Mac says, tightening her hold. “You are not climbing the counter again.”
He protests loudly.
Remy sees this as an invitation to join the chaos and immediately heads for the same direction Knox is being denied.
Mason watches both of them with interest, then decides he wants in too. Within seconds, the kitchen turns into controlled mayhem.
I don’t freeze. I don’t step back. I don’t wait to see who’s responsible for what. I just move. I scoop Remy up before he can make it to the counter, shifting him onto my hip like I’ve done it a hundred times even though I haven’t. He squirms for a second, then settles when I adjust my grip. “Not today,” I tell him lightly.
He blinks up at me like he’s considering arguing. Then doesn’t.
Kya pauses mid-step, watching me for a second before her mouth curves slightly. “Look at that,” she murmurs. “She’s got him already.”
“I’ve got him for five seconds,” I correct.
“Five seconds is impressive,” Brooke says. “Mason lasted three this morning before he threw something at Carter.”
“It was a soft toy,” she adds quickly when I glance at her.
“That doesn’t make it better,” I say, but I’m smiling.
Mac finally gets Knox settled with a distraction, and the chaos levels out into something manageable again.
I set Remy back down, brushing my hands over his hair once before stepping back. The women are watching me. Not intensely. Not like I’m under a microscope. Just noticing. That matters more than anything they could say. I don’t need them to tell me I’m doing this right. I can feel it. It fits. Not perfectly. Not seamlessly. But enough.Enough that I don’t feel like I’m pretending.
The main room fills slowly as the rest of the house wakes up. Men move through the space, grabbing coffee, exchanging quiet words, slipping in and out of conversations that don’t stop just because someone new joins. I move with it. Not around it. Through it.
I grab another cup without asking. I refill someone else’s when they pass by without thinking about it. I answer when someone says my name instead of hesitating. It’s small. All of it. But it builds. It stacks into something real.
I don’t even look for Cobra. I don’t need to. I can feel him. The way the room adjusts around me. Not because I asked it to. Because he exists in it. Because he’s watching. Because everyone else knows what that means.
He doesn’t cage me. He doesn’t keep me locked away or isolated or controlled in the way I thought something like this might feel. He holds the space around me. Creates boundaries without touching me. Keeps me safe without making me feel small. That matters. More than I expected it to.
I glance up finally.
He’s across the room, exactly where I knew he’d be. Watching. Not hovering. Not closing in. Just there. His eyes meet mine immediately, like he felt me look at him. Something in his expression shifts just slightly when he sees me standing there, coffee in hand, surrounded by people who no longer treat me like an outsider. Approval. Possession. Something deeper I don’t have a word for yet.
I don’t look away. I don’t feel the need to. That’s the difference. I turn back to the women, slipping into the space on the couch beside them like I’ve been doing it long enough that no one questions it anymore.
Conversation picks up where it left off. Someone mentions lunch plans. Someone else complains about laundry. Mac is trying to convince Logan that Knox absolutely does not need a toy that makes noise.
“He does,” Logan says.
“He doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Buy two,” Blaze calls from across the room. “One for Knox, one for Logan so he stops whining.”
