Alaric had waited until the house fell into a fragile, midnight quiet that came only after all the emotions were drained out of the adults, and the children had finally surrendered to sleep.
Roxie was asleep in her room, her door closed. The kids’ room was dark. The hum of the refrigerator was the loudest sound left in the house. And that was probably because Alaric stood in the kitchen with his palms braced against the cold marble of the island, breathing through the knot in his chest. Waiting.
Mitch showed up first, barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs and a scowl. Lucas followed, buttoned into actual pajamas, striped, neat, painfully domestic with house slippers on his feet. Mitch snorted the second he saw him.
“Wow,” Mitch said, pointing. “Actual pajama
