Page 69 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“I don’t like missing your calls,” I say, and that is the truth of it. Not guilt. Not panic. Just a fact with an edge I don't enjoy.

“I know.” Her face softens at once. “Theo needed you. I figured you’d see it once everyone came up for air.”

Sloane huffs against her hair, still holding her close. “I’m glaring at the tire anyway.”

“That’s between you and the tire.” She pats his chest, then looks past him when Theo makes a small sound from the table. Her whole expression warms again. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me see you.”

Theo pushes the blanket down and stands before any of us can help him. His knees go loose almost immediately, but Sloaneturns with Calliope still tucked into his side and reaches out to steady him. Theo catches Sloane’s hand, then takes two careful steps forward until he’s close enough for Calliope to cup his face.

“There you are,” she whispers.

Theo closes his eyes when her thumbs brush beneath them. He smells like all of us, and I see the exact moment she notices it. Her breath catches softly, her lashes lowering as she inhales the layers on him: Sloane’s smoke and sugar in the sweatshirt, my tea and rain still warmed on his skin, Garrett’s mint and leather threaded beneath from the first part of the morning. Her expression opens with so much tenderness it feels almost private to witness.

“You smell like them,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Theo’s eyes open. “Good?”

“So good.” She smiles, and the smile shakes a little at the edges. “You’ve been loved this morning, Star.”

Theo leans up. He doesn’t rush the kiss, and neither does she. Calliope waits until he chooses the last inch, then meets him softly, one hand still at his cheek and the other resting over Sloane’s arm at her waist. Theo makes a small sound into her mouth, and she answers it with another kiss, slow enough that I can see her taste what we left on him and love every trace.

Sloane’s scent blooms warmly behind her. I step closer, not to interrupt, only to keep Theo steady when his knees dip again. Calliope feels the shift and draws back with her forehead touching Theo’s for one more breath.

“Food,” she murmurs. “Then you can tell me everything I missed.”

Theo’s mouth curves, tired and pleased. “Blue bowl.”

“You found it.” Calliope kisses his cheek once, then lets Sloane guide both of them back toward the table. “I got your message. Major household event.”

Garrett’s study door opens before Theo sits.

He comes out with the phone still in one hand and his expression held in a careful line. The call has put him back into his public shape, but the territorial edge beneath it hasn’t gone anywhere. His gaze takes in Calliope’s wet hair, the grease on her sleeve, Sloane’s arm around her, and Theo still turned toward her like he can’t quite stop.

“What happened?” Garrett asks.

“Flat tire,” Calliope says, warm but tired. She keeps one hand on Sloane’s chest while he settles her into the chair beside him. “It’s fixed.”

Garrett’s jaw tightens. “You should’ve called.”

“I did.” She glances toward me with a small, reassuring lift of her brows. “No one answered, so I handled it.”

Garrett looks to me, and I see the question he doesn’t ask because the answer is already in the room. We were upstairs. Our phones weren’t with us. Theo needed us, and Calliope handled her own problem the way she has clearly handled plenty of problems before us.

Theo settles back into the chair near Garrett’s place at the head of the table, but he keeps watching Calliope. She watches him back, soft and openly pleased, with Sloane’s arm resting across the back of her chair. The room feels warm again for a minute. Rain ticks against the windows, tea steams on the table, and Theo takes another bite of toast because Calliope smiles at him when he does.

Garrett moves behind Theo’s chair and rests one hand on the back of it. “Finish eating, Theo. You’ve had a long morning.”

Theo nods, but his attention stays on Calliope.

She leans forward when he makes a tiny sound around the next bite, the kind of sound that could be discomfort or only sleepiness. Her hand lifts before she thinks better of it, fingers open and gentle, aimed for his hair.

Garrett growls.

It’s low. Automatic. Territorial enough to tighten the air, but not loud enough to turn into a scene. I’ve heard Sloane make almost the same sound in the ugly edge of rut, when someone moves too quickly toward a body he’s guarding. Theo is close to heat, still sensitive from the spike, and the table is full of Alpha scent. Every biological explanation is right there.

Calliope flinches, and her hand stops halfway to Theo’s hair.

Theo curls tighter under the blanket and turns toward Garrett’s side of the table. He doesn’t pull away from Calliope entirely, but he folds toward the nearest Alpha anchor, his scent spiking with confusion before Garrett’s hand settles on the back of his neck.