By the time we reached the house—the one Mia shared with the guys—the rain had turned heavier, louder. It drummed against the windshield like it had something to prove, the roadwas slick and shining under the headlights. The place sat a little back from the street, weathered cedar siding softened by years of salt air and storms, the kind of house that had been loved hard and repaired often.
The porch light glowed warm and amber against the rain, casting a soft circle over the steps. Wind chimes clinked gently under the eaves, off-beat but comforting. For the first time since I’d left Anthony’s, my shoulders dropped an inch without me telling them to.
Inside, the house felt alive. Not tidy—but cared for. Comforting in a way my house hadn’t for far too long.
The air smelled like coffee grounds and clean laundry, with something sweet baking underneath it all—vanilla, maybe, or cinnamon. The walls were a mismatched gallery of surf photos, old concert posters, candid Polaroids taped crookedly at eye level. A long couch sagged in the middle of the room we walked into like it had held too many bodies and secrets. Blankets were thrown everywhere, each one clearly claimed by habit rather than rule.
Shoes lined the doorway in chaotic pairs.
“I’m home,” Mia said softly, toeing hers off. “I brought home a stray too. Think he’ll make a great pet.”
My eyes narrowed in her direction. In retaliation she stuck her hand out and waved to where my—Anthony’s—sneakers should go.
The sound of voices carried from the kitchen before we even had time to settle—deep laughter, a sharp bark of protest, the clatter of a pan. That sounded more like it had been used to hit someone than for the purpose of cooking.
Drax appeared first, broad-shouldered and barefoot, holding a beer like it was an extension of his hand. His gaze softened the second it landed on me. “Well shit,” he said gently. “Look what the tide dragged in.”
“So I’m a cat now?” Mia huffed as she stomped into the kitchen muttering under her breath something I didn’t catch.
Jet followed close behind, all easy grin and observant eyes. “You good, man?”
I nodded, throat thick. “I think I will be.”
Dix swept in last like a force of nature—bright hoodie, eyeliner already half-smudged from the day, energy buzzing even through the exhaustion that seemed to linger in the lines of her face. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.
“Oh my god,” she said, clapping her hands once. “Another pretty face in this house? Finally. Balance is restored.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. It felt strange—rusty—but good.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “And just so you know, Iwillbe doing your makeup one day. I don’t care what anyone says. That bone structure is begging for it.”
Jet groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Too late,” Dix shot back. “He’s already one of us.”
They handed me a drink—something warm and sweet and spiked just enough to take the edge off—and for a while, I just… sat. Listened to them bicker and talk all over each other. It was complete chaos, but I let the noise wash over me.
The argument about dinner started after about an hour when I was curled up on the corner of the couch. Anthony’s hoodie pulled over my legs that were folded against my chest. Chin resting on my knees when my stomach decided that was the opportune moment to silence the room with a growl.
“Well that settles it,” Mia said. “Who's cooking dinner? Not it!”
“Nah, let’s get takeout,” Drax insisted.
“We had takeout yesterday,” Jet countered.
“I’m not cooking,” Dix declared.
Mia raised an eyebrow. “You literally cooked this morning.”
“That was emotional support cooking. This is survival cooking.”
“What do you want?” Jet asked me.
I blinked, startled by the sincerity of the question. “I-I don’t mind,” I said. “Anything’s fine.”
Dix shook her head. “Wrong answer. You’re new. You get a vote.”
I thought for a second. “Something warm?”
