Page 79 of What We Don't Say: Part One

He pats the place beside my sweater. “Here.”

I look at the nest again, then back at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nest.” He says it like I’ve asked him why the sky is dark at night, then pats the spot again with more insistence. “Here.”

My chest goes soft enough to ache. “You want me there?”

Theo nods, curls falling into his eyes. “You.”

I cross the room slowly, stepping over the corner of a blanket and the pair of socks Sloane has been missing since Monday. Theo watches every movement, his fingers twisting in the edge of my sweater until I sit where he pointed, and the second I’m down, he exhales like something painful has finally unlocked.

“There?” I ask, trying not to smile too hard.

He considers me very seriously, then catches my ankle and tucks it farther into the nest. After that, he takes the throw behind me and pulls it up around my shoulders with careful little tugs. “There.”

“Bossy tonight,” I murmur, and my laugh comes out soft because his face is too earnest for teasing to land hard.

Theo’s mouth curves. “Yes.”

The warmth moving through me has nothing to do with the blankets. He doesn’t look frightened, and he doesn’t look like he’s hiding. He looks focused, fever-bright, and pleased with himself in a way I haven’t seen enough from him, and when he crawls closer to press his cheek against my knee, I put my hand near his hair without touching until he nudges into it.

A shadow fills the doorway a minute later. Sloane leans there in sleep pants and nothing else, hair wrecked, eyes dark, and every inch of him already awake now that he’s found me on the floor with Theo.

His gaze drops to the nest, then to my sweater in the middle of it, then to Theo’s cheek against my knee. His scent rolls into the room, heavy and warm, and Theo lifts his head like Sloane’s presence has pulled on some invisible thread inside him.

“Well,” Sloane says, voice still rough from sleep. “Someone’s been busy.”

Theo reaches for him. “Sloane.”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Sloane pushes away from the doorframe, but he stops at the edge of the nest instead of stepping in. His eyes flick to mine for half a second, and beneath the sleepy heat, I see the question. “You want me in there too?”

Theo nods, then points behind me. “Callie.”

Sloane’s face changes so fast it almost hurts. The rut-edge in him doesn’t soften, but something under it melts completely, and he steps into the nest like Theo has just offered him something holy.

He lowers himself behind me, one knee on either side of my hips, and his chest is hot against my back before he even settles fully. His arms slide around my waist, his mouth brushing my hair, and the low sound he makes has my toes curling against the blanket.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Got yourself placed like treasure.”

I laugh, helpless and quiet. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t start anything.” His mouth brushes my shoulder, then the side of my neck, soft enough to tickle. “The bossy little menace did.”

Theo makes a pleased sound and tugs Sloane’s hand until it rests over the blanket across my stomach. Sloane follows every direction like Theo has handed down sacred law, though his mouth keeps moving against my neck until my laugh catches and thins.

“Sloane,” I warn, tilting my head even while I try to make the warning sound convincing.

His teeth graze the place just below my ear. “What, baby?”

The second kiss isn’t meant to make me laugh. It lands slower, warmer, with his arm tightening across my ribs and his body curling around mine like he plans to take root there, and my breath changes before I can stop it.

Sloane smiles against my skin because he feels the exact second the laughter leaves me. Theo watches the movement of Sloane’s mouth on my neck with wide, hungry eyes, and something inside me answers before anyone asks for it.

Idris appears in the doorway without a sound. He has pulled on loose pants but not a shirt, and his hair is still sleep-rumpled in a way he’ll deny if anyone mentions it.

His gaze moves over the room once: the stripped bed, the nest, Theo flushed and proud near my knee, Sloane wrapped around me and already too scent-heavy for anyone’s good sense. Then his eyes come to mine, and something in my chest settles because he doesn’t look surprised. He looks like the room has handed him a puzzle and he already understands the shape.

“Theo,” Idris says, low and even. “Color?”