Dylan moves closer, his teasing expression shifting into something more serious. "Why not? They're good Alphas, Amelia. Really good. Their kids are adorable and clearly adore you. And honestly, I'd love an excuse to go over there more often. Silas is my best friend, and I miss hanging out with him like we used to."
I stare at my brother, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "That's not... this isn't about that."
"Why not?" Dylan asks again, gentler this time. He reaches out to cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You deserve to be happy. You deserve people who treat you well, who appreciate you, who make you smile like you've been smiling lately. And if that's them, if they make you feel safe and wanted, then why are you fighting it?"
Because I'm terrified. Because the last time I let myself want something it ended with me broken and beaten and running for my life in the middle of the night. Because wanting things feels dangerous, like giving someone ammunition they can use to destroy me.
But I can't say any of that out loud. Not right now, not when I'm already running late and my emotions are too close to the surface.
Maddox crosses the kitchen and pulls me into a hug before I can protest, his solid warmth immediately soothing. "Just let it happen, okay?" he murmurs against the top of my head. "Stop fighting it so hard. And remember, we're just a call away if you need us. For anything."
I nod against his chest, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over. Dylan joins the hug, sandwiching me between them, and for a moment I just let myself be held by the two people who've been my safe harbor through all of this.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll try."
"That's my girl." Dylan kisses my forehead before stepping back. "Now go. Make them breakfast. Smile at them when they say something sweet. And for the love of god, stop overthinking everything."
I grab Maddox's car keys from the hook by the door, the little keychain shaped like a coffee cup that I gave him last Christmas jingling as I fumble with them. "Thank you. For everything. I'll be back tonight."
"Or don't," Dylan calls after me with a laugh. "We're perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves."
I flip him off over my shoulder, which just makes him laugh harder, and then I'm out the door and climbing into Maddox's car. He's been letting me use it for the past few weeks, insisting that it's easier than coordinating rides all the time. The gesture is so typically thoughtful that it makes my chest ache.
The drive to the Kane house is familiar now, the route memorized through repetition. I know which streets to take to avoid the worst traffic, which stop signs are slightly hidden by overgrown trees, which houses have the barking dogs that startle me every time. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange that make everything look soft and new.
I pull into their driveway at six forty-five, early enough that I'm surprised to see lights already on in the kitchen. Someone's awake, which throws off my plan to slip in quietly and have breakfast ready before anyone stirred.
I let myself in with the key Hunter gave me two weeks ago, his hazel eyes serious as he pressed it into my palm. "So you truly don't have to knock," he'd said. "This is your space too now."
The house is warm, the heat already turned on against the early morning chill. I can smell coffee brewing, which means whoever's awake has already started their morning routine. I toe off my shoes by the door, leaving them lined up neatly next to the kids' sneakers and rain boots, and pad quietly toward the kitchen.
Silas is standing at the counter in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt, his hair still mussed from sleep, no glasses yet. He's pouring coffee into two mugs, moving with the slow, careful movements of someone who isn't quite fully awake yet. When he hears me enter, he looks up, and the smile that spreads across his face is sleepy and warm and makes my stomach flip.
"Morning," he says, his voice rough and deeper than usual. "Didn't expect to see you this early."
"I wanted to make breakfast." I set my bag down on one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly feeling awkward. "I know I don't usually come in on weekends, but I thought maybe..."
"You thought we might need help." He finishes preparing both mugs, then turns to face me fully. "Or maybe you just wanted to be here."
The observation is too accurate, too knowing. I look away, heat creeping up my neck. "I like being here. With the kids. The house."
"And us?" He moves closer, holding out one of the mugs. "Do you like being here with us?"
I take the coffee automatically, my fingers brushing against his. The mug is warm in my hands, prepared exactly how I like it with two sugars and a splash of milk. I take a sip to buy myself time, to figure out how to answer that question without giving away too much.
"You always know how I like it." I say instead, nodding at the coffee.
"I pay attention." His dark brown eyes hold mine, something intense in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe. "To you. To the little things that make you happy. The way you take your coffee, how you fold the dish towels, that you hum when you're content. I pay attention to all of it."
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. We're standing too close, the kitchen feeling suddenly smaller, the air between us charged with something I'm afraid to name. I should step back, should put distance between us before I do something stupid like close the gap and find out what his lips taste like.
But I don't move. I just stand there holding my coffee mug like a shield, staring up at him, watching the way the early morninglight catches in his eyes and makes them look warmer than usual.
"Amelia," he says softly, setting his own mug down on the counter behind him. "Can I..."
He doesn't finish the question, but I know what he's asking. Can he touch me? Can he cross this line we've been dancing around for weeks? Can he turn this tentative thing between us into something real?
I should say no. Should protect myself, protect my heart, protect the fragile peace I've been building. But when I open my mouth, what comes out is "Yes."
