Reid's hand in his hair stilled for just a moment, then resumed—gentle, steady, listening.
"I was in eleven different homes before I aged out," Cody went on. "Some of them were fine. One or two were actually great. There was this couple in Austin when I was thirteen—Marlene and Terry. They let me pick my own sheets the first day I got there. Nobody had ever asked me what I liked before. I stillremember that." He paused. "But Terry got sick a few months later, and they couldn't keep fostering, and I went back into rotation. After that, I stopped unpacking my bag. Lived out of it for the next five years. It just hurt less that way."
Reid made a low, pained sound in his chest—not quite a growl, not quite a word. His arm tightened around Cody's shoulders, tugging him closer.
"I thought if I could just become somebody," Cody said. "Really somebody. Famous. Wanted. Then I'd never have to feel like that again. Like a guest in somebody else's house. Like someone who could be sent back whenever it got inconvenient. I thought if enough people knew my name, if enough people wanted me in the room, I'd finally belong somewhere." He shook his head slightly against Reid's chest. "It didn't work. I've never been more known, and I've never felt more like a stranger in my own life. The houses I bought never felt like homes. They felt like places I was staying until someone decided I had to move on."
For a long moment, Reid didn't speak. Cody could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the steady thump of his heart beneath his ear.
Then Reid shifted, lifting Cody's chin until their eyes met.
"Listen to me," Reid said, and his voice was low, and rough, and absolutely certain. "You are never going back in rotation. Not ever. Not while I'm breathing, and not after. You hear me?"
Cody's eyes stung.
"What we have—it isn't a foster placement, Cody. It isn't a trial run. It isn't conditional on you being useful or easy or quiet or anyone's idea of the perfect kid. You don't have to earn a single day of it. Do you understand what that means?"
"I—" Cody's voice cracked. "I don't know if I know how to believe that yet."
"Then I'll tell you every day until you do." Reid cupped his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. "You're home, Cody.Right here. Not a house. Not a ranch.Me. Wherever I am is where you belong, and wherever you are is where I'll be. Nobody is ever sending you back. Nobody ever could."
The tears spilled over before Cody could stop them. He didn't try to hide them. He let Reid see. He let Reid wipe them away with a gentleness that should have been impossible from a man that size.
"I've been waiting my whole life for someone to say that to me," Cody whispered. "And mean it."
"I mean every word. And I'll keep on meaning it. Every day. For as long as you'll let me."
Cody pressed his face into Reid's neck and breathed him in. Honey and cut grass and warm cotton, Reid had said earlier. Home had a scent for shifters. Cody wasn't a shifter, but lying there against Reid's chest, breathing in the clean, warm, woodsmoke-and-soap scent of him, he finally understood what Reid had meant.
For the first time in his life, he was somewhere he wasn't going to be asked to leave.
* * *
The following day, Cody went looking for Reid in his office. He knocked on the door, then entered the room, stopping dead when he realized Reid wasn’t there. He must have stepped out to check the perimeter again—though why he felt the need to keep doing that, Cody couldn’t be sure. As far as he was aware, they were safe at the ranch and his stalker had no way of knowing where Cody was, but he supposed Reid was just being cautious.
Cody was just about to turn around and leave when he noticed Reid’s laptop screen was open, and glowing in the dim light. He hadn’t meant to read what was on the screen. He’d just beenbored and restless. The kind of restless that came from feeling too safe for too short an amount of time, like his body didn’t quite trust it yet and couldn’t fully relax. On the screen was an email thread from Reid’s brother, Garett.
An email thread about Cody.
Cody debated with himself internally for a moment, then started reading. At first, it looked like nothing. Logistics. Security updates. Dry, procedural language.
Then his stomach dropped.
Unknown IP activity flagged. Attempted access to Cody’s personal accounts. Blocked. Monitoring ongoing.
Cody’s pulse stuttered.
He scrolled.
Second attempt successful through third-party breach. This guy is good. Limited data exposure. Investigating scope.
“What the hell…” Cody whispered.
The cursor blinked at the bottom of the screen.
Another message, newer.
We have a problem. He knows what he’s doing. Obviously has hacker skills. Possible compromise. I haven’t been able to track him.
