August relaxed his arms, pulling them out and letting them rest on the mattress so that Dylan could breathe again.
“You can take that side,” Ryker said, looking at Steve and nodding to the other side of the bed. He climbed up on the mattress and lay down next to August, the position giving him a clear view of the fresh bite on Dylan’s neck.
Only the knowledge that Steve’s father was dead prevented Ryker’s wolf from going into another rage.
Steve climbed up on the bed on Dylan’s other side, uncertain at first, but then relaxing when August reached out and grabbed his waist and pulled him in close so that they were almost sharing the space on top of Dylan.
The move pushed Ryker away a little, but he didn’t mind. He got up and crawled up to the headboard, sitting down and putting his legs down on either side of where his mates were cuddling. He reached down and petted the top of Steve and Dylan’s heads, stroking his fingers through their hair and smiling softly at the contented noises his petting produced.
“If you want to talk about what happened, we’re here for you,” he said.
Dylan went stiff, his breath catching in his throat.
“Or I could recommend a psychiatrist,” August added, his voice muffled from being pressed into Dylan’s neck. “I know some very good ones.”
Dylan didn’t say anything, but his muscles unclenched and he exhaled.
“That might be a good idea,” Ryker said. He stroked his fingers over Dylan’s forehead. “But it’s not something you have to decide now.”
“Maybe Steve should see one, too?” Dylan suggested after a moment. He looked up at Ryker, eyes wide and trusting.
“I’m fine,” Steve protested, lifting his head and frowning.
“You’re not,” Ryker said, reaching over and stroking his hair, soothing his outrage. “But you will be. We’ll be here for you as much as you need us.”
“We can talk about therapy when we get home,” August said, cutting off what looked like it would be another protest from Steve. “Though in my medical opinion, you would both benefit from talking to a professional.”
“Okay,” Dylan and Steve both mumbled.
Ryker kept stroking Steve and Dylan’s hair, brushing his fingers through their silky locks and scratching their scalps. Occasionally, he moved over and gave August a scritch, but he wasn’t the one who needed comforting.
“It’s okay if you’re mad at me,” Steve said after a while, his voice small.
“I’m not!” Dylan insisted. He lifted his face so that he could look at Steve. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s really not,” Ryker agreed.
“But he was my dad,” Steve said, sounding miserable. “Marcus said he got more unstable when I left. If I’d just listened to Marcus and let him talk to Dad when I wanted to go to work in Anchorage, he could have fixed everything and none of this would have happened.”
Ryker couldn’t really say that he was happy with the way things had turned out – that would be a lie – but he didn’t regret Steve being in their lives. He took a deep breath, weighing his words carefully.
“You’re not responsible for the choices your dad made,” he said. “There was no reason for you to think that anything bad would happen just because you made the decision to go off on your own for a while.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I met you and got to claim you as my mate,” August said. “Even though you’re an annoying puppy.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” Dylan added.
Steve swallowed, visibly moved. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad I met you, too. I’m just sorry my dad lost his mind and hurt you, Dylan.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dylan repeated.
August’s stomach interrupted the heartfelt moment by letting out a loud rumble. Ryker grinned as August lifted his face from Dylan’s neck, an embarrassed look on his face.
“Sorry about that.”
None of them had eaten since breakfast. It was no wonder that August’s stomach was protesting.
“How about you guys stay here while I go scrounge up some pizzas?” Ryker suggested. He’d been ignoring the fact that he was hungry, but now that August’s stomach had reminded him, the need for something to eat became pressing.
