Page 32 of Unhinged

Brydgett just nods, though I can see the way her shoulders lower just a little, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in. I’m not sure if it’s relief or just exhaustion, but it’s there—the strain she’s been carrying around since we brought her in.

Georgia’s smile is warm, but Brydgett’s still eyeing me like I’ve done something wrong, like I’m some kind of idiot for bringing the “old broad” into her world.

“And that crazy homeless guy in the alley?” I add, arching a brow as I lean against the wall, watching their exchange. “Not as off-kilter as he seemed, huh? He was covering for you.”

Brydgett stiffens, the protective edge hardening again. I can almost feel the low growl forming in her chest. “He’s a friend,” she snaps. “Don’t you dare harm him.”

I chuckle, leaning back casually. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.” But the truth is, I get it. I don’t know what’s made Brydgett so damn protective of the guy, but there’s something there, something I’m not pushing her on. Not yet.

I’m still watching her, but I feel the shift in the room—Georgia’s laugh, light and easy, filling the space. It’s clear she’s not holding anything against me for showing up at her door.

Gears walks into the main part of the clubhouse and stands near the bar, watching us with narrowed eyes, his gaze flicking over to me.

He’s not happy I brought Georgia here. I can see it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his arms cross as if trying to shield the clubhouse from something that doesn’t belong.

I don’t care. This was worth it. Worth seeing Brydgett smile in a way I haven’t seen in days. That’s what matters right now. That’s what I’m focusing on. Even if Gears doesn’t get it.

“You did good,” Acid murmurs as he sneaks up behind me. I didn’t even hear him coming—he’s good at that.

“I know,” I reply, though I can’t stop the little flicker of satisfaction that runs through me for pleasing my omega.

“We should talk to her about her heat,” Acid mutters, but there’s no hiding the concern that laces it. “None of us have gotten her blockers, have we?”

“Nope,” I whisper.

He nods. “She’ll need a nest. Someone to watch the kid. She’ll need help.”

I can’t shake the feeling of responsibility that’s suddenly weighing on me. It’s not just about protecting her anymore—it’s about making sure she has everything she needs to feel safe, to feel secure. That includes the kid.

I glance at Acid, who’s subtly adjusting himself, the unspoken understanding between us clear.

“We’ll offer her a spot for a nest,” he suggests.

“Tell her Dillon and Bettie can watch Judge while she rests, but we’ll offer toys so she doesn’t think we’re pushing.

We’re not trying to force her into anything. ”

I raise a brow, my lips curving into a small smile. “Good idea. Let’s just hope my knucklehead brother doesn’t get mouthy,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head slightly. I know how he is, how stubborn he can be. And the last thing we need is a scene when we’re trying to take care of Brydgett.

But for now, that’s something I can deal with later. Right now, it’s about doing what’s right, about giving her a chance to breathe, to feel a little less like a stranger in this world we’ve thrown her into.

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

That evening, after we drop Georgia off and make sure she's safely home, the clubhouse settles into a comfortable, quiet rhythm. We order pizza. When the boxes finally arrive, steaming and filling the air with the smell of cheese and garlic, Judge dives in like it’s his last meal.

His slices disappear faster than I can blink, crumbs falling all over the couch, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He’s too busy with the serious business of demolishing pizza.

I watch him for a moment, then glance at Brydgett.

She’s sitting across the room, not quite hiding her smirk as she watches Judge’s pizza-fueled frenzy.

Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting back a smile, but she’s determined to keep her cool.

The sarcastic commentary rolls off her tongue like it’s a reflex, each jab sharp and playful.

“I see someone has been skipping meals,” she quips, eyeing Judge as he devours another slice. “You trying to eat the whole damn pie, kid?”

Judge pauses just long enough to shoot her a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m just making sure you didn’t order too much, Mom.”

Brydgett snorts, but I can see the way her eyes soften when she looks at him. For all her tough-girl act, she’s super protective of him. A damn good mom.

" Jurassic World ?" Judge suggests, bouncing on the couch like a pinball, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Sounds like a plan," I agree, leaning back on the couch, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of my mouth. The last thing I want right now is anything serious. We need something light, something to fill the silence and the space between us with something other than the heavyweight of all the things we haven’t talked about yet.

Brydgett doesn’t protest. She doesn't try to sabotage the moment like I expect her to. Instead, she gives a sharp nod, clearly deciding to let the night unfold without her usual fire. Maybe she’s realizing, just a little bit, that we’re not going anywhere.

That no matter how hard she pushes us away, we’ll still be here.

She curls up on the couch with Judge, wrapping an arm around him, and I can’t help but notice how natural it looks. How natural she looks when she’s with him. Like this is where she’s supposed to be. Even if she won’t admit it. Even if she’s still fighting it.

Without a word, I grab a spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch.

Acid follows suit, sitting next to me. We don’t ask questions.

We don’t make demands. We’re just... here.

Present. With no expectations. We’re just letting the moment be, letting the movie flicker in front of us as the warmth of the pizza and the familiarity of the space settles into our bones.

The sound of the movie fills the room, but it doesn’t need to be the focus. It’s the quiet, the togetherness that matters.

And even though Brydgett still won’t admit it, I can tell she feels it too.

The next night, the air feels different, lighter somehow.

There’s a quiet calm hanging over the clubhouse, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the days before.

The flickering lights above hum softly, and the smell of fresh pizza lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of leather and old wood.

I glance over at Judge, who’s practically bouncing on the couch, his eyes wide with anticipation. I swear, it’s like the kid’s been waiting for this moment all day.

He’s been itching for a sleepover with Dillon ever since the two of them hit it off.

I can’t blame him—Dillon’s a good kid, and honestly, it’s nice seeing Judge with someone who just lets him be himself.

No judgment, just the unfiltered energy of a kid who’s been through too much, trying to have a normal moment.

“Can I stay with Dillon and Bettie tonight?” Judge practically vibrates with excitement, his words tripping over each other as he stares at Brydgett like she holds the key to his world.

Brydgett's gaze softens slightly as she looks at him. I can see it—the affection she tries to hide with every sarcastic word, every pointed comment. For a moment, she almost seems ready to give in, but then the sharp edge of her personality kicks back in.

“Yeah, alright. But don’t think this means you’re forgetting about your bedtime,” she warns, raising an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Judge’s face breaks into a grin so wide I’m sure he’s about to burst. He doesn’t need to hear anything else.

He’s already planning their night, mentally cataloging every snack and game he’s about to drag Dillon into.

The energy in the room shifts, and for a moment, it feels almost like the weight of the world isn’t sitting on anyone’s shoulders.

Judge runs off to find Dillon, his excitement contagious.

When he disappears down the hallway toward Dillon’s apartment, Brydgett flops back onto the bed with a sigh, reaching for the remote. She flicks on the TV, scanning through the channels with a disinterested flick of her wrist.

I stay where I am, leaning back in the chair I dragged in earlier. It's a bit uncomfortable, but it’s also comforting, a reminder that we’re settling into some sort of routine, even if she won't admit it.

When she lands on The Bachelorette , I can’t help but raise an eyebrow, my lips curling into a grin.

“The Bachelorette?” I tease, settling deeper into the chair, my legs stretched out in front of me. The show seems so out of place here—like a fleeting slice of normalcy in the middle of the chaos that’s always just beneath the surface.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitch. She’s trying to hide it, but I know she’s amused. She’s not as tough as she tries to act.

I stay silent for a moment, watching her as the reality show drifts on in the background, the noise of the TV adding to the soft buzz that fills the room.

For a second, I let the tension in my shoulders loosen.

The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable, not like I’m used to.

It’s peaceful. Relaxed. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no need for words.

No need to fill the air with anything else.

Just us, sitting together, sharing the quiet.

Her focus is on the TV, but every now and then, her eyes flick over to me. Just a glance, quick enough that I know she’s trying not to show that she notices I’m still here. That I’m not going anywhere.