Page 66 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“It can wait,” he says.

The ringing stops, and Theo’s grip eases a fraction.

Then it starts again.

Garrett’s scent cuts colder, mint sharpening as he reaches for the phone and checks the screen. His mouth tightens, and the hand at Theo’s hip flexes once before he forces it still. “Damn it.”

Theo’s hand catches his wrist. “Stay.”

“I know.” Garrett bends close, brushing his mouth to Theo’s temple with a tenderness that makes Sloane go very quiet. He's still buried inside Theo, the connection unbroken, and the effortof not moving shows in every line of his body. “It’s the Hayward case. I have to take this.”

Theo shakes his head once, panic flashing through the heat.

Garrett cups his face. “Look at me. Idris is here. Sloane is here. They’ve got you.”

Theo’s eyes move to me. I hold his gaze and let my voice settle low. “Yes. We’ve got you.”

Garrett looks at me over Theo’s head. The call keeps ringing in his hand, and he looks like he wants to crush the phone instead of answer it. When he speaks, the words are rough and possessive.

“Take care of him.”

“I will.”

I move closer, letting Theo track every step. Garrett eases back carefully, withdrawing from Theo with deliberate care so the loss doesn’t startle him. Theo makes a soft, distressed sound at the emptiness. I slide my hand under Garrett’s before he fully takes his weight away, replacing the contact so Theo never feels the gap for more than a breath.

Garrett’s eyes flick to Sloane. “Follow Idris.”

Sloane’s nostrils flare, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Garrett kisses him once more, then eases away only once his body can let Theo go without hurting him. The loss still hits Theo hard, a sharp break in his breathing that has Sloane shifting beside me and my hand sliding into the space Garrett leaves behind. I don't try to become Garrett. I give Theo another anchor before panic can turn the absence into being left.

Garrett answers the call at the door with his shirt still half-open and his scent thick in the room. His eyes stay on Theo until the last possible second. Then he leaves, and Theo reaches after him.

Then his hand finds me, and I close my fingers around his before his panic can decide Garrett’s absence means he’s been left.

I keep one hand flat on Theo’s chest, feeling the rapid beat under my palm, and the other steady at his hip. His body is still open, still slick and trembling from Garrett, the spike sharp in the air around us.

“Color,” I say, quiet and clear.

Theo’s eyes find mine. “Green.”

“Idris,” he adds, like he needs the name as much as the word.

“I’m here.” I settle between his thighs carefully, letting him feel the shift of my weight without crowding him. Sloane is already at the side of the bed, visibly fighting the rut-edge, his scent heavy and smoked-dark, but he stays where I need him. I glance at him once. He nods, jaw tight, and takes Theo’s hand when Theo reaches for him.

Theo’s fingers close around Sloane’s. “Sloane.”

“Right here,” Sloane answers, voice low and soft. He brings Theo’s hand to his mouth and kisses the knuckles, then the inside of his wrist. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

I lean down and press my forehead briefly to Theo’s. “Still green?”

“Green,” he whispers. “Please.”

I free myself and guide the head of my cock to him, moving slowly enough that he can feel every inch of the stretch as I push inside. Theo’s breath stutters. His free hand finds my forearm and holds on. I sink deeper in careful increments, watching his face the entire time, until I’m fully seated and the heat of him closes around me.

“Idris,” he says again, small and certain.

“I’ve got you.” I begin to move—slow, steady rolls of my hips that keep the pressure even and controlled. No urgency. No edge. Just the rhythm he needs to ride the spike withoutdrowning in it. Sloane stays close, one hand still laced with Theo’s, the other stroking gently through his damp hair.