Page 58 of What We Don't Say: Part One

I kiss Sloane back.

His breath breaks. His fingers tighten for a second at my jaw, then loosen before the pressure can turn into anything I have to survive. He pulls back only enough to look at me.

“Still green?” he asks.

I tap once.

Sloane closes his eyes, forehead touching mine. “Thank you.”

I don't know what to do with being thanked for wanting, so I sit there between them with the phone pressed to my chest and Sloane’s mouth still close enough to feel. My body is too warm, but Garrett’s arm and Sloane’s restraint keep the warmth from turning sharp.

Sloane lowers himself to the floor once my breathing steadies, resting his shoulder against Garrett’s chair. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

The answer is easy, but the words aren't. I open the message thread again.

Can we do nothing?

Sloane reads it when his phone chimes, then looks up. Garrett looks at me too. Neither of them moves. They wait for me to tell them what nothing means, and the waiting gives me time to understand why the first message isn't enough.

Nothing alone sounds like the empty house. It sounds like rooms staying open with no one inside them. I type again, slower this time.

I want all of us together. Can I have that? Is that too much?

Sloane reads it and goes still as Garrett’s arm tightens around me. “That isn't too much.”

My breath shakes on the way out. Sloane covers my ankle with his hand where it rests against Garrett’s leg. “We can do that. Callie will come home. Idris will come back when he’s finished. I’m here now. Garrett’s here.”

Garrett nods. “Until everyone is home, the house can stay open around you. No one has to leave you alone for you to rest.”

I nod, then look toward the hallway. The moon socks are warm on my feet now, but I want the other pair from the closet. I want Callie’s cardigan too, the dove-gray one from last night, and the thought of wearing it when she comes home makes my face heat.

“I need more socks,” I say.

Sloane looks down at my feet, then back up at my face. “We’ll be here.”

Garrett lets me climb off his lap without making me feel like I'm losing my place there. Sloane stands but doesn't follow when I turn toward the door. I look back once from the threshold andfind both Alphas watching with the same careful patience, giving me space without letting the house turn empty around it.

I keep the phone in my hand all the way upstairs.

In the closet nest, I gather the extra socks from the little pile near the wall. Then I pick up Callie’s dove-gray cardigan and pull it over the hoodie, even though it makes me too warm. The sleeves cover half my hands. The fabric smells like her and the movie and the moment she kissed me at the door before saying goodnight.

I sit on the floor with the socks in my lap and open Callie’s contact.

No one is here to watch me. Garrett and Sloane are downstairs. Idris is at Blackline. Callie is at the school. The text box waits, and this time I know what I want to say.

Dinner is at home.

The message sends.

I watch the screen until it buzzes in my hand.

Who is this?

My stomach drops, and for a second I only stare at the words. Then I remember the number is new. She doesn't know it yet. I press my thumb against the side of the phone, breathe once, and open the camera.

I take the picture before I can decide my face is wrong. The photo catches me sitting in the closet nest with Callie’s cardigan slipping off one shoulder, one sleeve pulled close to my mouth, the gathered socks in my lap. Pieces of the pack show behind me in soft disorder.

I send it.