Page 66 of Knot My Type

Kael appears in the doorway wearing jeans but no shirt, his dark hair still mussed from sleep and his eyes immediately scanning the room as if checking for threats. When his gaze lands on me, safe and whole and sitting with Fen, his shoulders relax visibly.

"Phone call," Fen explains before Kael can ask. "Best friend check-in."

Kael nods, moving to the coffee maker and starting a fresh pot with the efficiency of long practice. "How'd that go?"

"About as well as expected," I say diplomatically. "She's concerned but trying to be supportive. She wants to visit."

"Good," Kael says without hesitation. "We want to meet her too."

The casual acceptance, the assumption that of course my friend would be welcome here, makes my heart squeeze with gratitude. These men have never once suggested I should distance myself from my old life or the people who matter to me.Instead, they've consistently shown interest in integrating those relationships into our new dynamic.

Rhys appears just as the coffee starts brewing, drawn by the scent or maybe just the pull of wherever the rest of us are gathered. He's dressed in soft sleep pants and a t-shirt that clings to his lean frame, and his sandy brown hair is sticking up at impossible angles.

"Morning," he says, though the light outside suggests it's closer to evening. "Or afternoon. Or whatever time it is."

"Time for coffee," Kael declares, pulling mugs from the cabinet. "And food. When did we last eat actual food?"

I try to remember and realize I can't. The past day has been a blur of sensation and emotion and connection that exists outside normal time. My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, making all three men turn to look at me with identical expressions of concern.

"Right," Rhys says, moving toward the refrigerator with purposeful intent. "Food first, then we can figure out what comes next."

What comes next. The phrase hangs in the air, loaded with possibility and uncertainty. We've made our declarations, sealed our bond, committed to this path forward. But the practical reality of building a life together, of integrating our different needs and goals and dreams, still lies ahead of us.

"What are you thinking about?" Fen asks quietly, his perceptive gaze reading the shift in my mood.

"The future," I admit. "What our life is going to look like day to day. How we make this work in the real world."

Kael sets a mug of coffee in front of me, the ceramic warm against my palms. "One day at a time," he says simply. "Same as any relationship."

"Most relationships don't involve four people," I point out, echoing Rebecca's concern.

"Most relationships don't involve people who are this determined to make them work," Rhys counters, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. "We'll figure it out as we go."

"What if we can't? What if the logistics are too complicated, or the outside pressure is too much, or—"

"Hey." Kael's voice is gentle but firm, cutting through my spiraling anxiety. "Look at me."

I meet his dark eyes, seeing steadiness there, certainty that helps anchor my spinning thoughts.

"We've already survived a month of being snowed in together without killing each other," he points out. "We've navigated your heat, pack bonding, integrating an omega into an established dynamic. If we can handle all that, we can handle whatever comes next."

"Besides," Fen adds, "worrying about all the things that could go wrong isn't going to prevent them from happening. All it does is steal joy from the present moment."

He's right, and I know it. I've spent too much of my life borrowing trouble from the future, letting anxiety about what might happen prevent me from fully experiencing what is happening.

"Sorry," I say, taking a sip of coffee and letting its warmth center me. "I guess I'm still processing everything."

"Don't apologize," Rhys says, starting to dice vegetables with swift, efficient movements. "It's a lot to process. We're all figuring this out together."

I watch him work, noting the easy domesticity of the scene. Rhys cooking while Kael organizes and Fen quietly anticipates what's needed, all of them moving around each other with the fluid choreography of people who've learned each other's rhythms. And somehow, I've become part of that dance, fitting into spaces I didn't even know existed.

"I finished my book," I say suddenly, the words bursting out before I can second-guess them.

All three men go still, their attention focusing on me with laser intensity.

"The one you were working on?" Fen asks.

"No, a different one. The one I started writing here, about..." I gesture vaguely, suddenly shy about admitting the subject matter. "About finding home. About pack. About us, sort of."

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