Page 165 of Scrum Heat

He sees my face. Theo. Rory. The paper in Rory’s hand.

“Oh.”

He stops just inside the threshold, eyes scanning each of us.

“What happened?”

Jax follows behind him, silent and unreadable as always; but through the bond, I feel it—his sharp, immediate focus.

It’s already kicked in. He knows.

Theo releases his hold on me and passes Finn the same sheet as Jax moves beside me wordlessly, his hand brushing mine. His gaze flickers to my face, scanning and measuring, and I can feel it through the bond—the way he’s trying to figure it out.

“Is it Denton?” Finn asks, eyes scanning the page.

“No,” Theo says.

Jax doesn’t even need the paper. His jaw sets just as Finn reads the address line and exhales.

“Oh, Frankie,” he says softly.

I swallow thickly, my cheeks flushing pink. “Yeah.”

“Yourmom?” Finn whispers. “And… fuckingNigel?”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

He crosses the space in two steps and slides behind me, arms wrapping around my waist from behind like he’s trying to hold me together with muscle and cinnamon and steady devotion. His bond sings through my skin—warm and protective, pulsing reassurance into every aching nerve. Meanwhile, Jax doesn’t speak, but his hand slides into mine; his presence is cool and solid and certain. But what hits me hardest is what I feel from him through the bond.

Not just rage, not just protectiveness; but grief. Quiet and controlled andachingon my behalf.

And then they’re all there; our whole ridiculous, impossible, perfect pack. And the bonds—theyhum. With fury. With comfort.

Withlove.

And for the first time all day, I don’t feel overwhelmed, and I don’t feel ashamed—I just feelheld.

We stay there like that for a long time. Nobody rushes me or tells me what to do, and nobody tries to fix it, either.

They just let mebe.

And maybe comfort isn’t always words. Maybe it’s presence, pressure. A pack at your back, solid and unwavering in their support.

Right now, it’s everything I need.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Frankie

Iswear, I don’t move forhours. And not because I’m frozen or because I’m shut down, but because I don’t have to.

Jax brings me a grilled cheese—cut diagonally, crusts off, with extra butter—without saying a word. He just sets it in front of me with a glass of water and a look that sayseat this, now.

I’m stretched out on the couch, the blanket Jax tucked around me bunched at my waist. Finn’s curled behind me, warm and loose-limbed, his hand resting casually at my hip. Theo’s at my front, half-sprawled with one leg on the floor and his head propped on his palm, idly playing with the hem of my shirt between his fingers. Meanwhile, Rory’s at the end of the couch, sitting cross-legged with one of my feet in his lap, rubbing slow, steady circles into the arch.

I don’t say anything. I just take another bite of my sandwich, chew slowly, and let myself sink.

They don’t smother me. They don’t push.

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