“Thank you for catching me.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth—soft, lingering. “Always.”
We peel out of our clothes quietly, then help Berk out of hers with the same care, easing fabric away instead of tugging it free. She sleeps hot, always has, and layers only make the restlessness worse—but it’s more than that. Skin to skin grounds her, settles her breathing, keeps the nightmares at bay. We settle in close, bare arms and chests forming a steady circle around her, sharing warmth the way we share watch. It isn’t about sex or want; it’s about comfort, about reminding her body she’s not alone, that she’s held, protected, and allowed to rest.
She clings to my chest, reluctant to let go, so I don’t make her. Instead, I climb in and settle her on top of me, where she can curl close like a small kitten seeking warmth. Ronan slides in behind her, solid and steady, while Emerson stretches out on our other side, anchoring the space. Our bodies form a quiet enclosure around her—shared heat, slow breaths, an unspoken promise of protection that finally lets her rest.
Her eyes flutter shut almost instantly as exhaustion takes her.
“We all need sleep,” I whisper to the guys. “Tomorrow, we tear the world apart again.”
Emerson nods. Ronan drapes an arm over both of us with a soft grunt. And for the first time since Kimber disappeared, the house settles into something close to peace—unsteady, temporary, but real.
Sleep finds us slowly, but it finds us together.
When the sun finally blinks its way through the blinds, the light cuts across my eyelids and pulls me toward consciousness. I stretch slowly, muscles tight and heavy, and the first thing I register is the warm weight pressed against my chest. Berk is still draped over me exactly where she fell asleep, her cheek resting over my heartbeat as if she has always belonged there. I tighten my arms around her instinctively, pulling her closer, breathing her in.
She hasn’t moved all night, not even when Em slipped out of bed a couple of hours ago. I remember the shift of the mattress but was too far gone to do more than grunt and tighten my hold on our girl, so she didn’t roll away. Ronan is on my other side, still dead to the world. That alone tells me how worn down we all are. My twin is usually the first one up, prowling the house like some restless wolf before any of us have even cracked an eyelid. But now his breathing is deep and even, face slack in sleep, one arm thrown possessively over Berk’s waist as if even unconscious he refuses to let her go.
We haven’t been waking up with Berk for long, not like this, not in a bed that finally feels like it was built for all four of us rather than three lonely brothers. But I am already addicted to every small thing she does when she surfaces from sleep. Right now, her lashes flutter, brushing my skin lightly. Then she makes those soft noises, the ones that sound almost like a kitten stretching in a sunbeam. Little mewling sounds that absolutely gut me in the best way. Her body shifts, a gentle wiggle that slides heat right through me, her hips adjusting, legs shifting across mine, her nose nudging my throat like she’s burrowing closer before being fully awake.
I swear to fuck, I could live in this moment forever.
Her fingers flex against my ribs, delicate but claiming, and she lets out another tiny sound that curls straight down myspine. It’s ridiculous how something so small can undo me so completely. But it’s her. It has always been her. Even half asleep, she anchors me, like we can face all the nightmares instead of drowning in them.
I lower my chin, brushing my lips against her hair, letting my voice rumble softly against her skull. “Morning, kitten.”
She stirs again at the sound, another quiet little sigh slipping from her lips. And just like that, the world is bearable again.
Ronan shifts beside me, stretching with a low groan as he wakes. He leans in without hesitation, brushing a slow kiss along the curve of Berkley’s bare back. She lets out the softest little sigh in her sleep, a sound that goes straight through both of us.
“Good morning, baby,” Ronan whispers, his lips barely leaving her skin.
She stirs, a tiny movement that presses her even closer somehow. Her breath warms my throat as she nuzzles in, a sleepy instinct she has when she’s still half in a dream. Ronan lifts his head and meets my eyes over her shoulder.
“Morning, brother,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep.
“Morning,” I answer with a lazy grin. My arm tightens around Berk automatically, protective, greedy, unwilling to let her go for even a second.
Ronan glances around the room, taking in the faint early light leaking through the blinds. “Where’s Em?” he asks quietly.
“He got up a little while ago,” I whisper back. “Kitchen or the war room, probably.”
Ronan nods once, then turns his eyes back to Berkley. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his lips—the one that means trouble and pleasure in equal measure.
His tone drops, soft but unmistakably suggestive. “So… how are we waking our girl up this morning?”
My grin mirrors my twins with equal enthusiasm. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Right on cue, Berkley lets out a tiny, muffled giggle against my neck. Like she’s been listening, pretending to sleep, hoping we’d keep talking.
We freeze for half a beat, then Ronan laughs quietly.
“Oh, she’s awake,” he teases.
She makes a noise—something between a groan and a laugh—and burrows deeper into me like she’s trying to hide under my skin.
“Am not,” she mumbles, her voice scratchy and soft with sleep.