Instead, he opens the door for me, and as I step inside, I can still feel the echo of that memory clinging to my skin.
I used to think I could never belong anywhere.
Now I’m not so sure. Maybe you don’t need a scent match to be happy; maybe you can be happy with a pack you choose for yourself.
The door swingsshut behind us, and I know something’s off.
Not with Carson—he’s still humming under his breath, acting as if the walk and ice cream detour wasn’t a calculated rescue mission. As if he didn’t just drag me out of a spiral and coax a smile out of me with sugar and mischief.
The shift is in the kitchen.
Hunter’s propped against the island, arms crossed, forearms flexed tight. Controlled, but not casual. Not really.
Graham’s at the stove, fiddling with the oven dial even though dinner was finished hours ago. His sleeves are still rolled to his elbows, a faint smear of flour marking his wrist—proof he’s been finding busywork just to keep out of his own head.
They don’t look at me when I walk in.
Which is a choice, I guess.
Carson breezes in behind me, grabbing a glass from the cupboard without asking. “Home sweet home,” he says, acting as if he hasn’t already clocked every tense line in the room. “Miss anything, boys?”
Hunter doesn’t answer.
Graham exhales slowly, finally turning toward the fridge. “Glad to see she’s still breathing.”
The heat in my chest isn’t anger. Not exactly. Frustration, maybe, twisted with the ache of disappointment. He’s going to pretend none of it happened earlier. I can feel it. And I hate it.
“Barely,” Carson says, grin sharp before he tosses me awink, knowing exactly what he’s doing. Stirring the pot. “She had a few close calls with that mint chip, but I kept her safe.”
Hunter’s eyes cut to me, lingering on my mouth, memory burning there. The last time he kissed me and the question hanging between us—if it’ll happen again.
Graham finally looks at me, too. Not quite meeting my eyes, but close enough that I catch the flicker of guilt before he masks it.
“So,” I say, pretending my heart isn’t thudding in my chest. “Is this the part where we go back to pretending everything’s normal?”
Hunter clears his throat. Graham says nothing.
“Because if we’re playing that game, I didn’t get kissed and dismissed earlier. And I definitely didn’t feel like a misbehaving kid sent to her room while the grown-ups had Important Alpha Feelings.”
Graham tenses, and Hunter’s jaw ticks. Carson, still calm, just takes a sip of water, watching a drama unfold, and loving every second.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Graham says finally. “But I realize now—I made it worse.”
“You did,” I say quietly.
Hunter steps closer, arms still crossed, his eyes flicking to Carson. “Is that your way of fixing things now? Ice cream?”
Carson grins, cocky as ever. “Fixing things? Nah. I just gave her ice cream and reminded her how it feels to be wanted, because she deserves to be happy at all times. I didn’t fix anything.”
Hunter arches a brow, staring him down.
“He’s right, but he did help me,” I say. “Carson helped because he listened. Because he didn’t treat me with kid gloves as if I couldn’t handle what I was feeling. And he didn’t make me feel bad about my feelings.”
“And what are you feeling?” Graham asks. His expression isn’t cold anymore; it’s raw and open.
“Like I’m already in too deep,” I admit. “And trying to figure out if it’s safe to stop treading water. If anyone will be there to save me if I do.”
That quiets them. Even Carson doesn’t have a comeback for that one.
