She blinks, lashes fluttering. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s something vulnerable about her in this moment that hits me straight in the chest. She looks between the three of us—still half-asleep, still trusting—and everything feels right. The four of us together feels perfect.
“Let’s eat and then we need to talk.” Lincoln leans in, giving her a soft kiss on her lips and damn if I’m not jealous.
She tosses the blanket to the side and slowly stands. Lincoln takes her hand in his and we make our way to the kitchen. He leads her to the table, having her sit while Korbin of all people rushes over to make her a cup of coffee.
I choose to take the moment to occupy the empty seat beside her before one of them does. Personally, I think I made the smarter choice.
“I don’t think so,” Lincoln barks at me. “The three of us are cooking for Bayleigh.”
And then chaos begins.
Lincoln burns toast. He actually burns it. I didn’t even know you could do that. The smoke alarm goes off, and we’re not able to get it to stop. Korbin climbs onto a chair, rips the battery out of it, and tosses it onto the counter.
In the midst of all this, I flip a pancake a little too enthusiastically, and it smacks the backsplash with a wet, sugarysplaaat.
Korbin opens a jar of jam, like the lid insulted his entire lineage.
And Bayleigh—God, she starts laughing.
It’s the most beautiful sound.
Silent at first, shoulders shaking. Then bright. Contagious. She moves over to the counter and leans against it, taking in the disaster before her, eyes watering, and I swear my lungs expand for the first time in days.
Lincoln refills her coffee before leaning on the counter beside her, letting his hand slip around her back.
I reach out and brush the happy tears from her cheek without thinking. She goes still, eyes soft, at my touch.
None of the touches are intentional. All of them are instinct. One that a pack has with their omega.
But then she signs something—fast, clipped, eyebrows pinched.
All three of us freeze.
Lincoln squints, getting her attention. “Wait—uh—do that again? Slower. Still learning.” He laughs.
She signs it bigger. Sharper.
Lincoln frowns. Korbin’s brows draw together. And well, I look like a deer in headlights. None of us gets what she’s saying. Lincoln obviously being the only one who actually has a chance of understanding. For now, anyway. I am signing up for courses today.
I can see the visible signs of frustration taking hold of Bayleigh. Her shoulders hunch, jaw tight. She huffs sharply and storms off to the living room, leaving us with our jaws dropped, clueless to what just happened and scared shitless we’ve screwed shit up. She returns a few seconds later with her phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen before she holds it up in our direction to read.
I’m sick of signing and no one understands me. You guys can talk to each other. I’m stuck typing.
My stomach drops. For the first time, it hits me how hard it is for her to communicate. How isolated she must feel. “Bayleigh… I’m sorry. Lincoln’s trying. I’m going to take classes, Korbin?—”
Lincoln steps in, voice firm. “I’m not stopping classes. I meant it. I’ve already completed the first section and have signed up for the next level. I’ll go to four hundred if I have to. I will get fluent.”
Her fingers hover over the screen again before she types out:
I know it’s not your fault. This is new. But I’m tired of typing too.
I want to talk.
Fuck, I wish she could talk.
Lincoln’s breath catches. “Bayleigh, we wish you could too. All we want is for everything to be easier for you. That's why I’m learning sign language.”
She shakes her head hard.
