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Rhys thrusts deeper. Callum follows. Dante guides himself back between my lips. Pleasure tears through me.

My scream becomes a broken moan around Dante as my body clenches around Rhys and Callum.

They hold me through every pulse. Rhys finishes first, my name leaving him like a command. Callum follows with his face buried against my shoulder.

Dante pulls free from my mouth and comes across my tongue and lips as I stroke him through it. For several seconds, no one moves. Then Rhys’s voice cuts through the fog.

“Color?”

“Green.”

Callum kisses my spine. Dante wipes my mouth with his thumb, then licks it clean.

“Still?”

I collapse onto the mattress.

“Very fucking green.”

CALLUM

Sloane sleeps between us. Rhys cleaned her. Dante brought water and crackers. I held her until the trembling stopped. Now the first snowstorm covers Blackwood Farm while four bodies share one bed.

Sloane’s head rests over my heart. Dante is curled against her back, one tattooed arm draped over her waist. Rhys lies on her other side, his hand resting over hers.

This is home. Not the farmhouse. Not the land. Them. A year ago, I believed love meant keeping someone close enough that they couldn’t leave.

Sloane taught me otherwise. Love is opening the gate. Trusting they might return. Building a life worth choosing again the next morning. She stirs against me.

“Stop thinking so loudly.”

“I’m not thinking.”

“You’re brooding.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Your eyes are open.”

I close them. Sloane laughs softly. Then her attention shifts toward the bedroom window. Snow falls beyond the glass. The dead corn has vanished beneath white.

“What are you building in the north field?”

My body stills.

“Nothing.”

Sloane lifts her head.

“Another terrible liar.”

Dante pretends to snore. Rhys becomes unnaturally interested in the ceiling. Traitors. Sloane narrows her eyes.

“I saw the lumber.”

“Repairs.”

“To what?”