I shake my head. We’re predictable at this point.
“You need to take a nap. You have to fly out for a game and you haven’t slept well,” Liam says, switching the intact grocery bags and the milk to his other hand so he can check his phone. “I’m meeting Estelle in a little bit. After we talk with Chantel and Marilyn, I’ll get all the details on Ash.”
I stand up with the bag of broken glass. It clinks like a broken windchime. There are still probably little shards that I’ll have to sweep up once everything’s dry. I’m going to run out of household maintenance projects. None of us are sleeping. Beckett’s watching old hockey games. Liam’s glued to his computer. I’ve been tightening doorknobs, rubbing scuffs out of the baseboards. I’d rearrange the junk drawers, but Liam would have a meltdown if I moved things in his kitchen.
I’m just about to ask what we’re going to do for dinner now, when the sound of tires screeching to a stop cuts me off. We all turn as one, watching as the SUV rocks to a stop and the window rolls down. A blonde head pops out.
“Hello, hockey boys! Special delivery!”
The passenger door opens, and Ash steps out.
She looks smaller than I remember, in a baggy Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt and jeans that don’t really fit. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she has dark circles under her eyes. She’s bouncing from foot to foot on the curb.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Then she’s sprinting across the lawn and launches herself at Beckett. She hits him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, her arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his waist as he lifts her off the ground. His eyes close, face buried in her hair.
“Come on,” Liam says finally, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get inside.”
Beckett carries Ash into the house without setting her down, without loosening his grip for even a second. I wave the SUV off, grab the grocery bags, and follow behind.
“It’s okay,” Beckett murmurs against her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I hover uncertainly at the edge of the living room. Her scent suddenly fills the house, and I’m caught in a cloud of peach. Liam touches my elbow lightly, guiding me toward the kitchen.
“Let’s give her a minute,” he says quietly. “Help me with the groceries.”
We move through the familiar motions of unpacking bags, putting things away. The normalcy of it feels surreal after everything that’s happened. Liam places a carton of eggs in the refrigerator with exaggerated care. And I can’t look at her. She came back for Beckett, not me.
They come into the kitchen, and I have to edge around them to put away the boxes of mac and cheese. I try not to, but the space is tight, and my arm grazes her leg. The light touch burns all the way to my toes. I clear my throat.
“Hungry?” Beckett asks. He’s still holding her; apparently, the kitchen floor isn’t safe enough.
“We’ve got chips and dip. It’s a little early for lunch, but I could throw some burgers on the grill,” Liam offers.
“There have been so many snacks,” Ash says around a yawn. “Bella has a fully stocked minibar in her nest and a jar of M&M’s this big.” She holds her arms three feet apart, before snuggling back into Beckett’s neck.
“Liar. Even omegas don’t have candy jars that big.” The teasing is a reflex, but I want to choke on my words. What the fuck am I saying? I sheepishly glance at Liam to see how big I just fucked up.
Ash twists around and looks over her shoulder and down her back.
“I’m not lying. My pants aren’t on fire.” Her voice is whiney, and then she sticks her tongue out at me.
All I can do is stand here like an idiot with two blue boxes of mac and cheese in my hands as the love of my life, my best friend, and my scent match stand around chatting about snacks. I had no idea that all it took to fall in love was for a sassy omega to stick her tongue out at me.
“Pierce?” Beckett’s voice draws me back to the present. “We’re going to take a nap.”
I blink back to life to find him still holding Ash, her face pressed against his neck, legs locked around his waist. The words take a moment to register.
“A nap?” Ash asks. “Aren’t you a little big for naps?”
We all chuckle, and Liam shakes his head.
“Professional hockey players need naps,” Beckett explains with mock seriousness. “It’s practically in my contract. Coach rips us a new one if we miss naptime.”
She breaks out into giggles but that dies quickly.
“Uh, he’s mostly serious,” I say.
