Tank smirks—that devastating half-smile that makes my knees want to buckle—and pushes off the doorframe to walk deeper into the kitchen. "Nah, she's exactly what you're thinking." He pauses, considering. "But worse."
"WORSE?!" I gawk at him, mortification reaching new heights. "What do you meanworse?! I'm not—I didn't—you're making it sound like I?—"
"Like you tried to devour me?" Tank's smirk widens as he gestures at the marks covering his chest. "Sweetness, you absolutely did. Multiple times. I'm not complaining—in fact, I'm very much hoping for a repeat performance."
I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Right now. Immediately. I will accept any form of escape from this conversation.
Tank walks past me toward Elias, completely unbothered by his state of undress or the evidence of our night displayed across his skin. He pats Elias on the shoulder—a casual gesture of affection between packmates—and raises an eyebrow at the mug still sitting on the counter.
"Now why the fuck are you crying?" he asks, and despite the blunt words, there's concern beneath them. The kind of concern that only comes from knowing someone well enough to recognize when something's wrong.
Elias laughs—still a little wet, but steadier now—and offers the mug to Tank. "Try this."
Tank arches an eyebrow skeptically but accepts the cup. There's clearly only a bit left—maybe a quarter of the original drink—but he takes a sip anyway, rolling it over his tongue like he's assessing a fine wine rather than a latte.
Silence.
Not again. Please not more silence. I can't handle more silent reactions to my coffee. My heart can't take it.
Tank's expression shifts. Something flickers behind his eyes—recognition, maybe, or memory. His jaw tightens briefly before relaxing, and when he looks at Elias, there's an understanding between them that requires no words. The kind of silentcommunication that only comes from shared experience. Shared loss. Shared love.
"Damn," Tank says quietly. He takes another sip, slower this time, savoring. "We haven't tasted coffee made like this since Granny, huh?"
Elias smiles—soft and sad and grateful all at once—and nods. "Yeah. Exactly like hers."
Granny. They shared a grandmother? Or maybe it's a pack grandmother—someone who helped raise them both, who taught them both what it meant to be part of something bigger than themselves?
I think about my own grandmother—long gone now, but she was the only person in my family who ever treated me like a person rather than an asset. She used to make me hot chocolate on cold mornings and tell me that my worth wasn't determined by who wanted to claim me.
I miss her. I miss having someone who saw me clearly and loved me anyway.
The moment feels private. Sacred, almost. I suddenly feel like I'm intruding on something I shouldn't be witnessing—a grief shared between two men who clearly loved someone deeply and are still learning how to exist in a world without her.
"Wherever you found her," Elias says, and the playful tone is back in his voice but softer now, tempered by emotion, "can we tell them we're keeping her?"
My face, which had just started to cool down from the earlier embarrassment, flames red all over again.
Keeping her? Keeping ME? Did he just—are they seriously—what is happening right now?
"H-H-Hey!" I stutter, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. "I'm not for sale! You can't just—I'm a person, not a—not a?—"
What's the word I'm looking for? A possession? A commodity? A piece of property to be claimed?
The irony isn't lost on me that just yesterday, I was worried about being exactly that. Being traded. Being collected. Being "reclaimed" by a family that never saw me as anything more than a bargaining chip.
"Can you be for sale?" Elias asks, and his grin is back to full wattage. "So you can be ours?"
Tank smirks into the coffee cup. "Fuck, I wouldn't mind. If it means waking up to the smell of breakfast every morning..." He takes another sip, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation. "Fuck, I'm hungry."
"You're both ridiculous," I manage, though my voice is still wobbling from the combined assault of embarrassment and whatever complicated feelings are swirling through my chest. "You can't justkeepsomeone because they make good coffee."
"The breakfast was also excellent," Elias points out helpfully. "That's two points in your favor."
"And she likes Sasha," Tank adds. "Three points."
"Sasha actually likesher," Elias counters. "That's practically unheard of. Four points."
"Can't we?" Elias tilts his head, faux-innocent. "What if we ask nicely?"
