Xavier goes very still, his hazel eyes turning arctic behind his glasses. "I'm not the one who uses work as an excuse to avoid difficult conversations."
"And I'm not the one who thinks reading about emotions counts as actually having them," Griff says.
Logan slams his palm against the counter hard enough to make the coffee mugs rattle. "Both of you need to shut up. This is exactly why she left in the first place."
The words hit the kitchen like a physical blow. Everyone freezes. Griff stops pacing. Xavier's hand drops from his nose. Even Emma stops her nervous reorganizing.
My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles. The familiar sting of old wounds reopens, and I can feel my scent shifting toward something bitter and hurt.
Griff's face goes pale, his brown eyes finding mine across the kitchen. "Logan..."
"No," Xavier says quietly, his hazel eyes meeting Logan's with something that looks like disappointment. "She left because Logan broke her fucking heart."
The silence that follows is deafening. I feel a tear prick at the corner of my eye, but I blink it back before anyone can see.
"Don't flatter yourselves," I say, my voice steady despite the moisture threatening to spill over. "I wouldn't touch any of you if you were on your hands and knees begging."
But even as I say it, that single traitorous tear escapes, sliding down my cheek before I can stop it.
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch this spectacular display of alpha dysfunction with a mixture of fascination and horror. It's like watching a car accident in slow motion, except I used to be emotionally invested in all the cars involved.
Emma grabs my wrist, her grip tight enough to leave marks. "Living room. Now."
She practically drags me toward the doorway while the three alphas stand frozen in their triangle of dysfunction, each one looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.
As we reach the threshold, I hear Griff’s voice, quiet and defeated: "I don't know how to be what you need me to be."
"We're not asking you to be anything other than yourself," Xavier responds, his clinical edge softening. "We're asking you to be present. To show up."
"I try," Griff says, sinking onto one of the bar stools.
"Trying isn't enough anymore," Logan adds, but his voice has lost its angry bite. "We need consistency. All of us."
Emma pulls me into the living room and closes the kitchen door behind us. Her jasmine scent carries stress and something that might be embarrassment.
"Do you see what I mean?" she says, gesturing toward the muffled voices coming through the door.
I sink onto her overstuffed couch, my legs suddenly unsteady. The weight of what I just witnessed settles over me like a heavy blanket. "Emma, I thought that you were exaggerating."
She sits beside me, tucking her legs underneath her. "I wish it was."
Through the door, I can hear their voices, no longer sharp with anger but earnest and searching. The shift makes something twist painfully in my chest. They're just drowning in their own inability to communicate.
And apparently, I'm supposed to be their life preserver.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as it intrigues me.
Thank you, universe, for orchestrating the most elaborate emotional minefield known to womankind and then handing me the map with a cheerful "good luck!" Because clearly what I needed in my life was to play relationship counselor to threegorgeous, dysfunctional alphas who already broke my heart once.
8
XAVIER
"Ican't believe I fucking agreed to this. I’m leaving to go stay with three alphas who didn’t bother to pick me up and fight like kids," she mutters, shoving the last of her clothes back into her suitcase.
"But if anything like what happened in the kitchen happens again, I'm changing my mind. You got it, Emma?"
I watch Emma nod quickly from where she's hovering in the doorway.
