Luther rumbles. “One day, when you are not in this state, I hope you will trust me with your story. With your past. But I will not rush you, not until you are ready.”
I don’t offer a response, my focus on not tearing all of our clothes off and begging for his knot out here in the snow. But his words ease the terror curled up in the recesses of my mind.
Once inside, I see Pierce in the kitchen, cursing away as he moves around erratically. Even still, he looks up to offer me a soft mischievous smile. “I’ll see you in there soon.”
Luther leads us to the opposite end of the house I haven’t been to yet. There are three doors and when he opens the first one, I recognize it as his bedroom. His scent douses the area delectably, and I wriggle until he frees me from his arms. Stumbling down, I move in a trance to his bed, my noseguiding my intent. I fall onto it, wrapping myself in his blankets, bringing his pillow into my arms and hugging it in comfort.
The space is warm, well-lived in, but still orderly and neat.
“I’ll bring those to the nest for you. Let’s go to Pierce’s room next.” He takes all of the items I touch and gathers them up, opening the door across the hall.
Pierce’s room is—what can only be described as—organized chaos. His entire space is filled with bike parts, clothes, and jackets. And everything from the floor to the ceiling is black. The walls, the bed, the clothes, even the curtains.
I don’t make it to his bed before I have what I want. A leather jacket and a pair of sweats. They are well-worn and coated in his scent. Making it clear they are his favorite items, even if they are in a pile on the floor.
Adding to the bundle Luther carries, I don’t wait for him before making my way to the last door.
To Wren’s room. When I swing open the door, my mouth opens in surprise. I expected a sterile space, maybe even similar to a hospital.
But it’s messy. There is no organized chaos, instead, it appears as if a bomb has imploded and thrown things on his walls. On the floor. On the bed. There is not a single space that isn’t covered in…yarn?
My shock quickly wears off as his scent takes hold of me, forcing me forward. Towards a single item. A large crocheted blanket.
Luther laughs from behind me. “You would choose that. I’ll add it to the rest. Anything else?”
Shaking my head, I take in all of the crocheted items all over the place. There are cute little stuffed creatures with large eyes. “What are these?”
“Wren was stuck at home a lot with Charles, he needed a hobby that didn’t take his entire focus. He tried out crochetingand started making items that Charles loved. He doesn’t follow a pattern, so they’re not exactly anything. But he calls themBoodles.”
The explanation fills my heart with warmth. Another reminder of the sweet man that Wren truly is. But then another crippling stab of pain hits me and I nearly fall to my feet, using the night stand to catch me.
“Come on, it’s time for you to set up your nest, and I need to wash up.”
I reach out, swiping one of the Boodles before allowing Luther to guide me to our nest.
Anticipation, excitement, and genuine happiness course through me.
But underneath all of that is fear and guilt.
Tony would kill me if he were alive to see me now. I shouldn’t do this, I made him a promise.
But then I remind myself of what Serena said. Our vows were until death did us part. And it has been over a year since he passed away.
twenty-one
Luther
Luther scoops their Little Omega into his arms as soon as she finishes organizing her nest. He peppers kisses across her face, on the tip of her nose, attempting to cover each freckle.
“The bath is ready.” Pierce is in the bathroom doorway watching them, a lopsided grin on the typically grumpy man’s face.
Luther couldn’t remember a time that Pierce was truly happy in the last decade. Prison had changed him, hardened the few soft edges the Stellars had allowed him to keep. It was his parents’ testimony that landed him in there at all. And being away from Charles was just another part of the torture. For all of them.
But Luther and Wren never blamed him.
Nia wriggles in Luther’s arms, bringing him back to the present.
“What is it?” She looks up at him with her endlessly soulful eyes.
