Page 114 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“Calliope,” he says quietly, gentle enough that the others don’t look over right away. “I know the last few days have felt difficult.”

“They’ve been a lot.” My fingers curl against the empty air where the basket was.

“They have.” He adjusts one folded cloth that doesn’t need adjusting. “I want you to know none of this is a reflection of your worth here. You’ve been generous with Theo. More generous than anyone could have asked. I’m only trying to make sure that generosity doesn’t become something the heat takes from you.”

I stare at the cloth in his hand.

The sentence is kind. It sounds like concern. It sounds like he’s seeing how tired I am and offering to ease a weight from my shoulders. My throat hurts anyway.

Garrett’s hand brushes my upper arm, light as a reassurance. “Go to your interview today. Let the pack carry the harder pieces while you do something for yourself.”

My eyes sting so fast I don’t have time to hide it. I blink once, then again, but it makes the room blur around the edges. Garrett notices. Of course he notices. His brow draws together, and the concern on his face looks so believable that I feel ungrateful for being hurt by it.

“Calliope?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” My voice cracks on the lie.

Sloane is already moving. He crosses the kitchen in two strides and gets between me and the island without looking at Garrett first. One hand goes to my waist, the other to the back of my neck, and his mouth presses into my hair hard enough that my knees soften.

“Baby,” he says, and his voice is wrong in the way it gets when he’s trying not to scare me with how scared he is. “Look at me.”

I do, because Sloane asking is different from anyone else arranging. His eyes move over my face, then toward Garrett, then back to me. Idris appears on my other side a second later, quiet and close, his gaze dropping to the basket in Garrett’s hands before he touches my wrist.

“What happened?” Idris asks.

“Nothing.” I try to laugh, but it comes out thin and wet. “That’s the problem. It was nothing bad.”

Garrett sets the basket down slowly. “I was reassuring her.”

“I know,” I say too quickly, turning toward him before Sloane’s arm can tighten. “I know you were. I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“You don’t need to apologize for being nervous,” Garrett says, still soft, still careful, and somehow that makes the tears harder to hold.

Idris watches my face, not Garrett’s. “Calliope,” he says, and there’s enough command in my name to steady me without taking me over. “Come with us for a minute.”

I almost say I don’t have time. I almost say the eggs are getting cold, Theo is watching, the interview clothes are upstairs, the house needs to stay calm. Sloane’s hand rubs once over the back of my neck, and the excuses scatter before they can become useful.

They take me into the short hall between the kitchen and the mudroom, close enough that Theo can still see us if he needs to, far enough that Garrett isn’t standing beside my shoulder. Sloane keeps me against his chest, one arm locked around my waist, while Idris stands in front of me with my wrist in his hand. I’m held on both sides, and the tears finally spill because my body trusts the shape before my mind can organize the reason.

“I really don’t know what’s wrong,” I say, and the confession comes out ragged. “Everything is fine. It’s great, even. Theo’s being cared for, and the house is ready, and Garrett’s trying to be kind.”

Sloane’s mouth presses to my temple. “But?”

I close my eyes. “It feels like he’s pulling away from me. Or pulling me away from everyone else. I don’t know how to say it without sounding dramatic. He keeps saying things that should make me feel better, and they make me feel smaller instead.”

Idris’s thumb moves over the inside of my wrist. “Baby, we’ve all seen it.”

The words hit harder than I expect. My eyes open, and I look at him because if he says it, if Idris says it in that steady voice, then it isn’t only my fear twisting kind sentences into threats.

“No,” I whisper. “Please don’t make this real right now.”

“It’s already real,” Sloane says, rough against my hair. “I’ve been feeling it too. The way he talks around you. The way Theolocks after Garrett gets him alone. The way every reasonable sentence somehow puts you one step farther from the room.”

My chest tightens so hard I have to breathe through my mouth. “Sloane, please. I have the interview. Theo’s close to his heat. We can’t do this today.”

“We’re not doing a fight today.” Idris steps closer, and his free hand comes up beneath my jaw, tilting my face until I have to meet him. “But we can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, and my voice sounds younger than I want it to.