Page 71 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter seventy-one

Jamie

B y the time I haul myself up the last stretch of rock, my leg is screaming with that deep, bone-level ache that never shuts up.

Feels like it’s laughing at me for thinking I could keep pace.

I hate the limp it forces on me, hate dragging the others down.

Nothing like being the reminder that not everyone walks out of a fight in one piece.

But at least the view makes up for it. And if the brothers notice how slow I am, they never say it.

The ridge opens into a clearing, and the wind hits me full in the face—cool, sharp with pine, and laced with something sweet I can’t quite place. Wildflowers, maybe. Or maybe I’m just imagining hope where I shouldn’t.

Theo is already scanning the horizon, squared shoulders, eyes locked on some line where the valley dips toward marshland. Dane steps up beside him, silent and solid, the two of them slipping into that wordless rhythm they’ve honed for years.

I ease myself down onto a sun-warmed boulder, stretching my bad leg out with a hiss between my teeth.

Feels like fire in the joint. Dane doesn’t say a word—just hands me his water flask, cap already loosened.

A simple thing, but it lands like a gut punch.

He could point out how I’m holding us up.

He doesn’t. They could have also left me behind, but chose not to.

From where I sit, I can see Theo crouch, map spread across his thigh, tracing routes with a steady finger. Dane leans in, adds a low comment. Theo nods without hesitation. No ego, no one trying to outdo the other—just two alphas who work like the same set of lungs.

The wind shifts again, carrying more of that faint sweetness. Theo lifts his head, nostrils flaring.

“I’m going to go get our fire started,” Cam stands up. The two other alphas are ready to move, but my leg feels like stone. “I’ll be just over there. You come when you’re ready,” she says, winking at me. I return the gesture, grateful and embarrassed.

I take a long drink from the flask, the cool water chasing the grit from my throat. My leg still hurts, but for once it doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like proof. That I made it up here. That I’m still moving, even if every step costs me.

My brothers linger with me on the ridge, waiting for me to be able to move again.

No one talks. The sun warms my face, the mountain wind cools my skin, and for a minute it almost feels like the world is ours.

The flower’s still out there, but for the first time in too damn long, I believe we might actually reach it.

“Help me up and I can walk to her,” I say softly. Dane and Theo don’t tease. They just help.

The trip down is slower than I want, every step dragging like an anchor. But Dane keeps just ahead of me, adjusting his pace to mine without making it obvious. Theo brings up the rear, not hovering, not pitying—just solid. Like if I fell, he’d catch me before I hit the ground.

The trail winds through narrow cuts of rock, sunbaked and smelling of lichen and dust. My leg stutters on one sharp twist, and before I can stumble, Dane’s hand is there. Steady. Firm. I mutter a thanks, low and rough. He only nods, like it’s nothing.

When the trees thicken again, the shadows cool the path. The loam eases the pounding in my knee. I catch the smell of camp before I see it—woodsmoke, faint but steady, and the lingering scent of cooking.

We step into the clearing, and Cam is there by the firepit. Her hair’s loose around her shoulders, and when she looks up, her smile hits me harder than I’m ready for. She doesn’t rush me—probably knows better than to put a spotlight on the slow one—but she doesn’t look away either.

Theo drops his pack near the fire, immediately checking straps and gear like he can’t stop moving. Dane rolls his shoulders like he carried half of my load too—which he probably did.

I lower myself onto one of the logs, stretching my leg toward the fire with a groan that feels pulled from my bones.

Cam drifts over, a mug in her hands. Steam curls up, carrying the scent of herbs, earth, and something sweet that drags me right back to the ridge.

She presses it into my palms, her fingers brushing mine, lingering just long enough to make me wonder if she needs more.

“Thanks,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I intend. The word’s bigger than the drink, and she knows it.

Her smile is small, private. She tucks her blanket around her shoulders and sits beside me. Dane takes the other side, poking at the fire, while Theo finally joins us on the other side.

The flames crackle. Pine smoke sharpens the air. The quiet hum of being here—together—fills the gaps where words would’ve been.

My leg aches and I’m worn down to the bone, but it’s worth it.