My Triplet Alphas

Something like safe

I was twelve weeks postpartum, and yet it still felt like my body and soul were trying to catch up to the weight of everything that had happened.

The baby—Zack—was thriving. Ellie had adjusted beautifully, her laughter echoing through the mansion halls like she’d been born here. But I still found myself hesitating at shadows. Still holding my breath when a door shut too loudly. Still curling inward when I was alone, haunted by memories I didn’t ask for.

The pack mansion was peaceful today. Sunlight spilled in through the windows of the Alpha wing, painting everything gold. Zack had just fallen asleep in the nursery, and Ellie was off playing with Zarina. For once, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Zander had been nearby all morning. Watching me with those amber eyes, sensing something—like he always did. Out of the three brothers, Zander was the quietest. But not in a distant way. In a grounding, steady way. He gave space without making me feel alone. And lately, that had started to feel like safety.

I stepped out onto the wide stone balcony that overlooked the forest behind the pack house. The wind brushed my face, carrying the fresh scent of pinewood and sharp rain. Zander’s scent.

I didn’t hear him approach, but I felt him before I saw him. The warmth that crept under my skin whenever he was near, the mate bond tugging at me even when I tried to pretend I didn’t feel it. I had stopped pretending a few days ago.

He stood next to me without a word, arms crossed as he looked out over the trees. We stood there like that for a while, the silence not awkward but heavy. Full.

“I come out here when I need to breathe,” Zander said finally, his voice quiet. “Too much noise inside sometimes.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

He glanced at me, then down at my hands, which were gripping the balcony railing a little too tightly.

“Nightmares again?” he asked.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes I see Carl’s face. Other times, it’s worse. I dream I’m back in the bunker, and Ellie’s gone. Or Zack’s crying and I can’t get to him. Or Noah…”

My voice caught in my throat.

Zander didn’t push. He just turned slightly toward me, his presence calm and patient.

“I loved my husband,” I said softly. “His name was Noah. He was everything kind and safe in this world. He died… not knowing what happened to me. Or Ellie. I think… I think part of me died with him.”

I expected to feel judged. Or to see pity in his eyes. But Zander simply nodded.

“It’s okay to still love him,” he said. “Losing someone like that—it doesn’t disappear. It becomes a part of you. You don’t have to pretend he didn’t matter just because we’re your mates now.”

The tears came before I could stop them. Hot and blinding, they spilled over as I turned my face away, ashamed of how raw it all still felt.

Zander stepped closer, slowly, giving me every chance to move away. But I didn’t.

I stayed right where I was, letting the pinewood and sharp rain of his scent wrap around me like a memory of a thunderstorm that used to scare me as a kid—loud and overwhelming, but always ending in calm.

“I feel guilty,” I whispered. “Because part of me wants to stay in the past, and part of me… doesn’t.”

He was so close now, his hand brushing gently over mine on the railing. “You’re allowed to move forward at your own pace. No one’s asking you to forget.”

“But it’s confusing,” I said, voice shaking. “This bond… I feel things when I look at you. When I look at all of you. And I don’t know how to hold it all.”

Zander’s amber eyes softened, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I shivered.

“You don’t have to hold it all at once,” he murmured. “Just one moment at a time.”

Something in me broke open at those words.

I looked up at him then, really looked at him. The strong lines of his jaw. The faint scar near his left eyebrow. The kindness in his eyes, and something more—something raw and hurting and hopeful. He looked like a man who had lost, and was learning how to want again.

We leaned in at the same time.

It wasn’t rushed, or desperate. It wasn’t a fairytale moment with fireworks. It was soft. Painful. Real.

Our lips met with the quiet ache of two broken people finding something like peace.

The kiss deepened slowly, Zander’s hand cradling my cheek like I was something fragile. I let myself fall into it for a moment—into the warmth, the comfort, the bond humming between us like a lullaby I didn’t know I’d missed.

And then I pulled back, breath catching in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to—”

Zander smiled gently. “You don’t have to explain. We’re figuring this out together.”

He reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine. “One step at a time.”

I nodded, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “One step.”

For the first time since Noah died, I felt like I could breathe without it hurting.