I fixed them. Me. The woman who accidentally dispatched half the county's law enforcement to battle a trash panda.
Take that, Callum.
I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms over my head. The guest room has become my command center. Laptop on the desk. Clipboard on the nightstand. Stack of equipment requisition forms on the dresser that I've been working through every night before bed.
Sergio gave me actual responsibility. Not busywork. Not pity tasks. Real work that matters, that helps people, that makes me feel like something other than a disaster in borrowed clothes.
Speaking of borrowed clothes.
I look down at myself. Nacho's grey hoodie, the one I've been wearing since that first night. Carlos's flannel over top, soft from a thousand washes, smelling like sawdust andsandalwood. Pedro's wool socks, thick and warm, borrowed after I complained about cold feet at breakfast.
And underneath all of it, Sergio's old hockey jersey that I found in the laundry room and definitely did not steal.
I stole it. I absolutely stole it.
The fabric is worn thin from years of use, the number faded, his name barely visible across the shoulders.
I've been doing this for days. Collecting things. Soft things. Things that smell like them.
The rational part of my brain knows this is weird. Knows I'm acting like some kind of fabric-hoarding goblin, surrounding myself with textiles that belong to four men I'm not sleeping with.
The irrational part of my brain doesn't care. The irrational part wants more.
A knock at my door makes me jump.
"Yeah?"
"It's Pedro. Can I come in?"
My heart does something stupid in my chest. "Sure."
The door opens and he steps inside, and I immediately forget how to breathe.
He's fresh from the shower. Hair damp and pushed back from his face. Grey t-shirt clinging to shoulders that should require a permit. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband that makes my mouth water.
Pedro’s scent cuts through all the other scents layered on my body. My omega perks up and starts purring like a broken engine.
Down, girl.
"I wanted to check on you." His voice is gruff. Clipped. Classic Pedro. "See how you're feeling."
"I'm fine. Great. I finished the equipment orders and updated the travel schedule for the next three months and I think I found a cheaper supplier for replacement helmets."
He's not listening.
He's staring at my bed.
I follow his gaze and feel my face catch fire.
The bed is a disaster. But not a normal disaster. Not a "I forgot to make my bed this morning" disaster.
It's a nest.
Blankets piled in a careful circle. Pillows arranged in a specific pattern that my brain apparently decided was necessary at three AM. Hoodies and flannels and soft things tucked into every available space, creating walls around a central hollow that looks exactly like what it is.
A place to curl up. A place to hide. A place to ride out a heat surrounded by the scents of alphas I trust.
Oh no.
