"Good. Now go enjoy your morning. Tell the Kanes I said hi."
We talk for a few more minutes before he has to go, something about PT at the base, and I'm left standing in the hallway wondering what paperwork he needs to discuss. But I push the worry aside, grab whatever I can find in terms of clothing to slip on, and head downstairs to start breakfast. The house is quiet in that peaceful morning way, everyone still asleep, and I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of cooking.
Pancakes from scratch, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, fresh fruit cut and arranged on a platter. The kind of elaborate breakfast that takes time and care, the kind I never got to make with Vincent because he said it was a waste of effort.
By the time everyone starts filtering downstairs, the kitchen smells like butter and coffee and home. Isaac appears first, rubbing his eyes and clutching his truck, his face lighting up when he sees the spread on the table.
"Mia made breakfast!" he announces, loud enough to wake anyone who might still be sleeping.
The sound of my nickname on his lips makes my chest warm. He's been calling me that for over a week now, shortened from Miss Amelia in that way kids do when they've decided you're important enough to warrant a special name. Every time he says it, my heart melts a little more.
Riley comes down next, already dressed for the day in her soccer uniform. She has a game this afternoon, and she's been talking about it all week with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. I make sure she gets extra protein, knowing she'll need the energy.
The Alphas appear last, all three of them together, and something about seeing them move as a unit makes my breath catch. They're talking quietly about something, their heads bent together, and when they look up and see me watching, Wyatt and Silas smile in a way that makes heat flood my face.
But Hunter's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. And when he passes behind me to get coffee, he doesn't touch me the way the other two have been doing all morning with casual brushes of hands, fingers trailing across my shoulder. He keeps a careful distance, and the absence of his touch feels pointed.
I try not to let it bother me, try to tell myself I'm reading too much into it. But the worry sits heavy in my stomach throughout breakfast.
Breakfast is chaos in the best way. Isaac talks with his mouth full despite Riley's corrections, telling an elaborate story about a dream he had involving dinosaurs and spaceships. Riley keeps stealing glances at me like she's checking to make sure I'm still here, still real. Wyatt and Silas pass dishes and pour coffee and touch me casually as they move around the kitchen, gentle reminders that last night happened and I'm part of this now.
But Hunter remains distant, polite but not warm, and the contrast is painful.
After breakfast, I help Riley with her shin guards and make sure her water bottle is filled. She's nervous about the game, her first one since the season started, and I can see the anxiety in the way she keeps fidgeting with her socks.
"You're going to do great," I tell her, kneeling down to her level. "And even if you don't, even if you miss every shot and trip over the ball, I'm still going to be proud of you for trying."
"Really?" Her eyes are wide and uncertain.
"Really. Trying is the brave part. The rest is just practice."
She throws her arms around my neck in a sudden, fierce hug that makes my throat tight. When she pulls back, she's smiling, some of the nervousness faded.
The morning passes in a blur of activity. I clean up breakfast while Wyatt helps Isaac with a puzzle. Silas disappears into his study for a video call with the base. Hunter leaves for a construction site, pressing a kiss to my temple on his way out but not quite meeting my eyes. The gesture feels perfunctory, obligatory rather than genuine, and it makes the worry in my stomach curl tighter.
The soccer game is at a local field, all the parents gathered on the sidelines with folding chairs and coolers. I sit between Wyatt and Silas while Isaac plays in the grass nearby, all of us watching Riley run up and down the field with determined focus.
The sun feels too hot on my skin despite the pleasant temperature. I shift restlessly on the folding chair, unable to get comfortable, that pre-heat energy making it hard to sit still. Silas notices, his hand coming to rest on my knee in a grounding touch that helps settle me.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his dark eyes concerned behind his glasses.
"Just warm," I admit, tugging at my shirt collar. "I'm fine."
But I'm not fine. My heat is getting closer. I can feel it building under my skin, a restless ache that no amount of cold water or sitting still can fix.
Riley doesn't score during the game, but she gets close twice, and when it ends in a tie, she's grinning with pride at her effort.
"Did you see me, Mia?" she asks, running over with flushed cheeks. "Did you see when I almost scored?"
"I saw. You were amazing." I hand her a water bottle and a towel, letting her lean against my legs while she catches her breath.
"Can we get ice cream to celebrate?" Isaac asks, appearing at my other side.
I glance at Silas, who nods. "I think that sounds like a perfect celebration."
We pile into the car and head to the ice cream shop, the kids debating flavors the entire way. Isaac changes his mind three times before we even get there, and Riley insists she wants two scoops even though she never finishes them both. It's normal and domestic and everything I never thought I'd have, and I find myself blinking back tears more than once.
The cold ice cream helps with the fever building under my skin, but only temporarily. By the time we're back in the car, I'm too warm again, the air conditioning barely making a dent in the heat radiating from my body.
