Dylan exchanges a look with Maddox over my head. Something passes between them, some silent communication I can't quite read. Then Dylan shrugs, aiming for casual and almost pulling it off.
"I babysit a friend's kids every now and then," he says. "Besides, I know you secretly like those things. Come on. You go fix up your nest and we'll grab the ravioli."
"I can eat what Maddox made, it's fine," I say instead, glancing at Maddox's beautiful dinner sitting mostly untouched on my plate. I feel guilty for wasting it, for letting his effort go to waste, because I'm too messed up to even eat properly.
Maddox shakes his head firmly, squeezing my hand again. "And it'll be here tomorrow. Comfort food tonight, no arguing. Go!"
Knowing they're not annoyed with me makes it a little easier to digest all of this. They're not frustrated that I'm ruining dinner or being difficult. They just want to help. A soft giggle escapes me—another broken, watery sound that doesn't quite match the usual bright laugh I used to have. But it's something. It's a step back from the edge of the panic attack I can feel lurking in my peripheral vision.
I push back from the table on shaky legs, my knees feeling like they might give out at any moment. But I manage to make it to the hallway, my hand finding the light switch automatically, muscle memory from the past three weeks. I flip it on. Then the next one. And the next. Every single light in the hallway blazes to life as I make my way toward my room, leaving a trail of illumination behind me.
Dylan and Maddox were so forgiving in those first few days. So understanding when I'd barreled into their house at two in the morning, wild-eyed and terrified, begging for help. Shaken and scared of everything, I'd been a mess. Istill ama mess, if I'm being honest.
I jump at loud sounds, even Dylan's laugh when it's particularly animated. I look over my shoulder constantly, checking and rechecking to make sure no one's following me. I have to sleep with the lights on, because the darkness feels like it's full of threats I can't see. The electric bill must be astronomical, but neither Dylan nor Maddox has said a wordabout it. They've never shamed me for it or made me feel weak or broken or like I'm too much to handle.
My brother and his mate are the best things that have ever happened to me. The best things I have left.
I reach my bedroom door and push it open, my hand immediately reaching for the light switch inside. But I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the switch. The fairy lights I'd strung up along the wall over my nest glow softly in the darkness, tiny pinpricks of warm light that make the room feel almost magical. They illuminate the large nest I've built in the corner, a sanctuary unlike anything I ever had with Vincent.
I flip the main light off, plunging the room into darkness except for those fairy lights and the several night lights I've positioned strategically around my nest, which create a cocoon of light that feels safe without being overwhelming.
My heart kicks up in my chest anyway, beating hard against my ribs. The darkness presses in from the corners of the room, shadows stretching and shifting as my eyes dart around, cataloging every shape, making sure nothing's hiding in the dark spaces.
Nothing's there. No one's there.
But my body doesn't believe that. My body remembers all the times Vincent would burst through doors without warning, all the times he'd grab me from behind when I thought I was alone. My body knows that safety is an illusion, that peace can be shattered in an instant.
I dart into my nest and drag a blanket up over my shoulders, burrowing into the soft fabrics I've carefully arranged. The scent of lavender from my fabric softener surrounds me, mixing with the vanilla candle I burned earlier today.Safe,I tell myself.I’m safe here.
The lights in the hallway illuminate enough of the room that I can see everything clearly. No monsters in the corners.No Vincent materializing from the shadows. I wait, watching the doorway, half-expecting something terrible to happen. For Vincent to somehow appear, for all of this safety to be ripped away.
Nothing happens.
Minutes pass. My breathing slows, the panic receding, just a little, settling into the constant low-level anxiety I've learned to live with. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway, my body tensing all over again, every muscle going rigid.
"I'm coming through, sweetie, okay?"
Maddox's voice. Just Maddox.
"Okay!" I call back, my voice only shaking a little.
Maddox appears in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights, carrying a bowl with steam slowly rising from it. The smell of cheese and tomato sauce reaches me, and my stomach growls despite the nausea that's been sitting heavy in my gut since I read Vincent's text.
A second later, Dylan calls out, "Me too! And I brought a movie. Thought we could hang for a little bit."
My chest tightens with emotion that has nothing to do with fear this time. It's not even late, just after 5 pm, but I know for a fact that both Dylan and Maddox have shit to do and have to be up at five tomorrow morning for PT at the base. They should be finishing up their work, not catering to their broken little sister who can't even eat dinner at the table like a normal person.
But here they are anyway, carrying comfort food and movies, willing to stay with me just to make sure I'm okay.
Maddox crosses the room, mindful of the books and clothes scattered across the floor. I'm not the neatest person, especially lately. He reaches the edge of my nest and holds out the bowl, but doesn't come closer.
I'd explained it to them during that first week, trying to put into words what it's like to be an Omega with a nest. How it's asacred, intimate space. How having someone in my nest without permission feels like a violation, like someone rifling through a diary or going through my phone.
Vincent had never respected that. He'd barge into my nest whenever he wanted, rearrange things, take things out without asking. Another way to control me, to remind me that nothing was truly mine. But Dylan and Maddox get it. They always ask.
Maddox stands at attention, his movements a little exaggerated, and snaps off an awkward salute that makes me giggle. "Permission to enter, please!"
The formality of it mixed with that playful edge loosens something in my chest. These two massive military Betas, treating my blanket fort like it's sacred ground, making a game of it so I don't feel so broken for needing this boundary.
