Cobra is still there. Exactly where he was. At the edge. Not part of the group. Not engaging. Just watching. His eyes are on me. Not scanning the room. Not distracted.
Me.
It should make me uncomfortable. It does. But not in the way I expect. It feels like being… anchored. That thought shouldn’t make sense. It doesn’t. But it’s there anyway.
One of the prospects moves too fast, cutting across the room toward the kitchen. His path brings him too close to me, too quickly, and my body reacts before my brain catches up.
I tense. Just slightly.
But Cobra sees it. He shifts. Barely. A step. A look. That’s it. The prospect stops. Redirects immediately. Doesn’t even question it. Doesn’t look annoyed. Just adjusts like it was always the plan.
My breath catches.
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t say anything. But he controlled the space around me like it was his to control. Like I was his to protect. The realization hits hard.I don’t know how to feel about that.
A small weight bumps into my leg.
I look down.
One of the toddlers, Mason, has dropped his toy car at my feet. He looks up at me with complete seriousness, like this is the most important interaction of his day. “Car,” he says.
I blink. Then bend down slowly, picking it up and handing it back to him.
“Thanks,” he says, like I just did him a favor instead of the other way around.
I smile without thinking. Behind him, the women are watching. Not judging. Not analyzing. Just… watching. And smiling. Soft. Welcoming. Like I’ve passed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking.
I straighten slowly. My gaze lifts. Finds Cobra again. He’s still watching me. But something in his expression has shifted. Not softer. Not less intense.
Just… settled.
Like something he was waiting for just happened.
For one second, I feel it. Not safety. Not completely. But something close. Something structured. Something that holds instead of threatens. And before I can stop it, before I can question it, a part of me leans into it. Just a little.
Not enough to admit it. Not enough to accept it. But enough that I don’t pull away.
Not from the room. Not from the people. Not from him.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
Church leaves a taste in my mouth I don’t bother trying to get rid of.
Smoke. Tension. Logan’s voice cutting through the room like a blade. The weight of what I said settling into something permanent whether the rest of them are ready for it or not. Doesn’t matter. I meant it. I don’t rush when I step back into the main room. I don’t need to.
The noise hits first, louder than the quiet of church. Kids, voices, movement, the kind of lived-in chaos that makes this place what it is. It should feel normal. It doesn’t. Not until I see her.
Olivia is on the couch with the women like she’s been sitting there her whole life.
Knox is half asleep against her side, his head tucked into her shoulder like that’s where he belongs. Mac isn’t even watching him closely, like she trusts the position without question. Kya is leaning in, talking low about something that has Olivia nodding along, her brows pulling together slightly like she’s trying to follow the thread and fit it into something she understands. Brooke sits across from her, not hovering, not guiding, just there. And Olivia isn’t overwhelmed.
That’s the part that stops everything else.
She should be. New place. New people. Too many variables. Too much noise. Too much unknown. But she isn’t shrinking back from it. She’s adjusting. Listening. Letting it come to her instead of trying to control it.Her smile is small when it shows, careful like she’s still measuring the room, but it’s there. Real. She’s learning the rhythm.
Something in my chest settles. Hard. Final.
She fits.
