Jalen wraps the towel around her, Cole steadies her with a hand on her waist, and Malik grabs a second towel for her hair. I stay close, ready to catch her if she stumbles.
She doesn’t stumble, though. Just stands there, wrapped in warmth and surrounded by us, looking more centered than she has in days.
“Better?” I ask.
“So much better,” she confirms. Then, softer, “Thank you. All of you. This was... I don’t have words for what this was.”
“You don’t need words,” Jalen says, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. “We know.”
We help her dry off, working together like we’ve done this a thousand times before. Malik towels her hair while Cole helps her into fresh clothes. Another soft sleep shirt and shorts we found in her bag. Jalen and I make sure the bathroom is clean, water drained, towels hung to dry.
Like we’ve been doing this forever.
Like we could keep doing this forever.
By the time we’re done, Sierra is looking more alert. Her color is better, her movements steadier. Still tired, but recovering.
“Breakfast now?” she asks hopefully.
“Breakfast now,” Cole confirms. “But you’re not cooking.”
“I wasn’t going to offer,” Sierra says. “I can barely stand. Cooking seems ambitious.”
“You sit,” Malik instructs. “We’ll handle it.”
We help her to the kitchen, settling her at the table with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a glass of water in her hands. She watches us move around the kitchen with an expression I can’t quite read. Soft and wondering and maybe a little overwhelmed.
Cole immediately claims the stove, pulling out a pan with theconfidence of someone who knows his way around a kitchen. Malik starts gathering ingredients. There’s eggs, bread, and fruit. Jalen sets about making coffee, the rich aroma filling the kitchen almost immediately.
And I... I just watch her watch us.
She’s so beautiful like this. Soft and relaxed and surrounded by pack. Her hair is still damp from the bath, curling slightly around her face. The sleep shirt is several sizes too big, hanging off one shoulder. She looks comfortable and safe.
Happy.
There’s that word again.
“What do you want?” Cole asks, turning from the stove. “Scrambled? Fried? Omelet?”
“Surprise me,” Sierra says. “I trust you.”
The words are casual, thrown out without thought. But they land heavy anyway.
She trusts us.
After everything. The rivalry. The competition. The heat. The vulnerability. She trusts us.
Cole’s expression softens. “Scrambled it is. With cheese and vegetables. The good stuff.”
He moves around the kitchen, and I find myself gravitating toward the counter to help. Malik is already there, chopping vegetables. We fall into a rhythm without discussion with Cole cooking, Malik prepping, and me setting plates and utensils.
Jalen brings Sierra a steaming mug of coffee.
“Perfect,” Sierra says after the first sip, and Jalen’s smile could light up the whole house.
“I’m glad,” he says, settling into the chair across from her.
I put the radio on, and it begins playing softly in the background, some morning talk show we’ve had on for white noise. But as Cole plates up the scrambled eggs and Malik slices fruit, the programming shifts to news.
