He spins me like he spun the kids, and for one brief moment, I forget to be afraid. I forget about Vincent and trauma and all the very good reasons I should keep my distance from these Alphas.
I just dance.
The song ends too soon, leaving all four of us panting and smiling. Wyatt looks at me with such warmth in his blue eyes that I have to look away, heat flooding my cheeks. That's when the terror comes flooding back in because it’s the same way Vincent looked at me in the beginning, before everything went wrong. Before the charm turned to control and the gentleness turned to cruelty and I learned that warm looks can hide cold intentions.
I step back, trying to keep the smile plastered on my face even though my heart is hammering against my ribs hard enough to hurt. I clasp my hands behind my back where no one can see them shaking.Breathe. Just breathe. He's not Vincent. This isn't that,I try telling myself. But my body doesn't care about logic or reason.
All it knows is that feelings are dangerous, and I'm dangerously close to feeling something.
Wyatt's expression shifts from warm to confused, his smile faltering as he tries to understand the sudden change. "Amelia?"
"Dinner." My voice comes out a little too high. I clear my throat and point toward the kitchen, still trying to maintain my smile. "Dinner is in the oven. You just have to take it out in about thirty minutes, and it'll be ready."
"You're leaving?" Isaac's face falls, the disappointment in his expression making me feel like the worst person in the world.
"Dylan is coming to pick me up," I explain, hating how the words taste like lies even though they're technically true. "My uh... You said you just needed me until dinner, right?"
Wyatt follows me to the kitchen, leaving the kids in the living room with instructions to tidy up their toys. "Will you stay for dinner? You made it, after all. Seems only fair you get to enjoy it too."
His voice is soft with hope, and that somehow makes it so much worse. I can't handle his hope, can't handle the way he looks at me like I might say yes.
"I can't." The words tumble out, desperation coating them. "Dylan is on his way and—"
As if summoned by the conversation, the front door opens. "Amelia? You ready to go?"
"In here!" I call back, grabbing my bag from where I left it near the door.
Dylan appears in the kitchen doorway with Maddox right behind him, both of them still in their PT gear from the base. They must have come straight here without stopping home first. Dylan takes one look at my face and his expression shifts to concern, but he doesn't say anything. He knows better than to push when I'm like this.
Wyatt doesn't push either, which I'm grateful for even as part of me wishes he would. Instead, he turns to Dylan with an easy smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, man. Convince your sister to stay for dinner. She made it, after all. Would be a shame to miss out."
Dylan looks between us, reading the tension in the room with the accuracy of someone who's known me my whole life. Then he looks at me, letting me make the call.
I'm about to say no, about to insist we need to leave right now, when Dylan steps forward and kisses the side of my head. The gesture is so familiar, so completely devoid of any expectation that some of the panic in my chest eases just a fraction.
"I think we could swing that," Dylan whispers, and I want to strangle him and hug him at the same time. "It's been too long since I've had your cooking, sis. We're definitely staying."
I swallow nervously, trapped between my need to run and my complete inability to disappoint my brother. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, painfully aware that everyone in this kitchen is watching me, reading my discomfort, and probably drawing their own conclusions about what a mess I am.
But Dylan said he’d help me become who I used to be again and I can only think that maybe this is a step in the right direction. It’s just a dinner with his friends and I already know I’ll like the lasagna. I did it. So, it’s fine.
"Okay," I whisper, the word barely audible. "We'll stay."
Amelia
It's been years since I've sat at a full table like this. Definitely not since before Vincent, back when family dinners were normal instead of minefields of potential mistakes.
I pull the lasagna out of the oven, steam rising from the bubbling cheese, filling the kitchen with the smell of garlic, tomato, and herbs. I made it the way my mom used to, layering the noodles, ricotta, and meat sauce with care, trying to remember the exact proportions she always used.
Everyone gathers around the table, the kids scrambling into their seats while the adults arrange themselves in what seems like practiced positions. Dylan sits on one side of me, Maddox on the other, creating a protective barrier that I'm grateful for even if I don't want to need it. Hunter takes the head of the table, Wyatt at the other head, and Silas between the kids across from us.
I start to serve everyone, though Wyatt takes over after a few seconds, Dylan laughing at how easily the Alphas step up when it comes to their kids. It’s not lost on me that Hunter barely receives any, Wyatt throwing him a glare before helping everyone else.
And I just watch.
The conversation starts flowing easily between my brother, Maddox, and the others, each of them adding their own commentary and jokes like it’s just another day. Even Hunter contributes occasionally, his deep voice rumbling through the chaos.
I curl into myself a little, making myself smaller between my brother and his mate, trying to figure out how all these pieces fit together. How Dylan and Silas move around each other with the ease of people who've known each other for years, finishing each other's sentences. How Maddox balances Dylan's energy with quiet support. How the three Alphas interact with each other, the way Wyatt teases Hunter, Silas mediates, and Hunter grounds them both.
