Right?
“Let’s not worry about labels right now,” Dax says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds almost... careful? Like he’s choosing his words deliberately. “Right now, you need to recover. We’re going to take care of you. That’s all that matters.But first—” He stands. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”
It takes my heat-fogged brain a second to process what he means. Then I realize. He’s offering to help me get dressed.
Which means they’re acknowledging that I’m naked.
Which they obviously know because they were there for all of it.
God, this is mortifying.
I open my mouth to protest, but the look in their eyes…
This isn’t obligation or politeness. They genuinely want to take care of me.
When did that happen?
When did the Knightley pack, who I’ve considered arrogant and annoying and everything I dislike, become people who look at me with genuine care in their eyes?
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Okay, but... can we not make this weird?”
Malik’s eyebrows rise. “Sweetheart, I think we’re way past weird.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It comes out shaky and a little hysterical, but it’s real. “Fair point.”
“How about this,” Cole suggests. “We pretend like the heat part is over and done with. No awkwardness, no analyzing. We just... hang out.”
“Hanging out,” I repeat slowly. “You want to just... hang out. In my nest. After...”
I gesture vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.
“Yes,” all four of them say in unison.
I blink a few times, actually not expecting the answer they gave.
“Okay,” I whisper. “But if this gets weird, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted,” Cole says with a grin. Then he stands and claps his hands together. “Okay. First priority: getting some food in you.”
“And making sure you’re comfortable,” Jalen adds.
Dax moves to the dresser, and I realize they must haveunpacked some of my things at some point. He pulls open a drawer like he knows exactly where everything is and emerges with one of my sleep tees. An old, soft one that’s probably two sizes too big.
“Arms up,” he instructs gently, and I comply even though the movement makes my whole body protest.
He slides the shirt over my head with such care, such gentleness, that my throat gets tight. His hands guide my arms through the sleeves, patient when I move too slowly, steadying me when I sway.
The soft fabric settles over my skin, and I immediately feel better. More covered. More like myself.
“Good?” Dax asks, and I nod.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Always,” he says simply, and something about the way he says it sends a sharp, pleasant ache right through my center.
Cole disappears for a minute and returns with a sandwich and some fruit on a plate. I accept it even though my hands are still shaking slightly, and take a bite. It tastes better than anything has a right to taste, probably because I’m starving.
“Slow down,” Malik murmurs, one hand coming to rest gently on my back. “You’ve got time.”
