Page 28 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“I appreciate this,” I murmur, but instinct kicks in again as I try to clear the rest of the floor. “Just let me get the tea stain—”
“You’re literally on your knees with a dish towel,” Dane says, stepping over and plucking the rag from my hands. “This is an intervention.”
“It’s not that bad,” I argue.
Jamie raises a brow. “Cam, it looks like a tornado made of cookies touched down.”
“Gram would be mortified if strangers saw her house like this,” I protest.
“Are we still strangers?” Jamie asks, crossing his arms.
“Technically, we’re your landlords,” Dane says. “But emotionally, I’m somewhere between concerned friend and backup sous chef.”
“And I’m a volunteer in this intervention,” Theo adds.
I try not to laugh, but it bursts out anyway. A real laugh, one that surprises me with how much I needed it.
“Fine,” I sigh, shaking my head. “But if you mess up her spice rack, she’ll come for you, and she can still move quickly.”
“Duly noted,” Dane says, already inspecting labels like he’s defusing a bomb.
I step toward the hallway, pausing one last time to look back. Jamie’s at the sink, sleeves rolled up, a faint smile on his lips. Theo’s wiping down the kitchen table with practiced care. Dane’s muttering something about cumin ratios and garlic powder.
They’re a whirlwind of movement and ease. And somehow, they’ve managed to make the house feel less like a hospital waiting room and more like home.
As I move toward the stairs, I glance once more at the photo album. The open page shows me and Zae, covered in powdered sugar, laughing like we had forever.
I draw in a breath, hold it for a beat, then let it out. Upstairs, I’ll wash up, change into something soft, and try to gather the frayed edges of myself. Downstairs, there are three alphas making dinner in my grandmother’s kitchen.
And for tonight, I let them help.
They're just here to give me a hand, after all. This doesn’t need to be anything more than... whatever this is.
Chapter sixteen
Cam
Steam curls around me as I stand beneath the hot spray of the shower, the water cascading over my skin like a balm, like maybe—just maybe—it can wash everything away. The panic of the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic still clinging to my senses. The quiet, brave smile Gram gave me as they wheeled her down the hall. The ache that bloomed in my chest when I realized just how much I still need her.
Even Eric’s betrayal lingers like an oil slick in the back of my mind—shiny, toxic, impossible to ignore. His voice, so casual in its cruelty. His hands on someone else. The shock of it, and worse, the casual invitation. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was just another bullet point on his career plan.
I tip my head back, letting the water hit my scalp, slide over my face, soak into the corners of my mind. I breathe in the steam, thick with lemon verbena shampoo and the soft, sweet vanilla soap Gram always kept in the cabinet. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed that scent until it hit me like a warm memory.
Gram’s going to be okay, I remind myself. The doctor said so. Just a scare, not a goodbye. But still, fear lingers in my bones, heavier than it should be.
I linger longer than I need to, letting my fingers trail over the old tile walls. The grout lines where I once helped Gram scrub with a toothbrush during spring cleaning. The crack in the porcelain soap dish I made worse by accident and swore her cat did it. Being back here is like slipping on an old coat—one that still fits, even if I don’t recognize the person who wore it.
I wrap myself in a thick, fluffy towel. It smells like line-dried cotton and rosewater, like Gram and sun-drenched afternoons. My hair drips slowly down my back as I step out into the hallway.
The soft thud of my feet on the hardwood echoes a little too loudly, and I almost hum to break the silence. I round the corner, heading for my bedroom, when—
I stop.
Dane is there. Leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom, arms crossed, a quiet sentinel.
My breath catches in my throat. My heart leaps into my chest like a startled bird.
“Oh!” I clutch the towel tighter. “Sorry—I didn’t think anyone was...”
