Chapter 32: Breakfast Ends, Magic Begins
The breakfast dishes could wait.
They were still scattered across the counter—plates sticky with egg yolk, coffee mugs ringed with brown residue, a half-eaten croissant that Mandy had abandoned mid-bite—but nobody was looking at them anymore. Nobody was looking at anything except each other.
Jan's magic settled over the house like a warm tide.
It wasn't deliberate. Mandy had learned years ago that Jan's power didn't work like that. It wasn't a switch she flipped or a spell she cast. It was more like a scent, a presence, a low hum that vibrated beneath the floorboards and whispered through the walls. When Jan was happy, people around her felt happier. When Jan was aroused, people around her felt—
Well.
Mandy felt it first in her chest. A loosening. A slow unraveling of the tension she'd been carrying since the mountain. Her shard was gone—the absence still ached, a phantom limb she kept reaching for—but something else was filling that space now. Something warm and lazy and inevitable.
She looked across the room.
Mike and Casey were standing in the doorway to the hall. They were both still naked. Casey's robe had slipped off one shoulder and she hadn't bothered to fix it. Mike's shorts were somewhere on the floor, abandoned sometime between the bedroom and here.
They were looking at their daughters.
Not in a creepy way. Not in a way that made Mandy want to cover herself. Just—looking. The way parents looked at their kids when they'd been scared and were now relieved. The way people looked at each other when they'd been through something and come out the other side.
"Bug," Casey said.
Her voice was soft. Rough.
Mandy crossed the room.
She didn't think about it. She didn't hesitate. She just walked—past the pile of bodies on the floor, past Kim and Maryam who were tangled with Ben and Jess, past Mai and Stacy who had somehow acquired Marty's shirt and nothing else—and she let her mother pull her into a hug.
Mike wrapped his arms around both of them.
Casey smelled like sweat and sex and the faint floral notes of Judy's expensive shampoo. Mike smelled like the same, plus coffee, plus something that was just him. Mandy buried her face in her father's chest and breathed.
"You're okay," Casey murmured.
"I'm okay."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Mike's hand came up to cup the back of her head. It was a familiar gesture—something he'd done since she was a kid, since before she could remember. The weight of his palm. The warmth of his fingers.
"We're so proud of you," he said.
His voice cracked on the last word.
Mandy pulled back. She looked at him. His eyes were wet.
"What you did," he continued. "The vault. The key. All of it. You—" He shook his head. "You walked into a mountain full of monsters and you came out alive."
"We all did."
"You led them."
"I didn't—"
"You did." Casey's hand found Mandy's cheek. "You figured it out. The shards. The choice. You're the one who said 'we need to show it what love is.'"
"That was—"
"It was you." Casey smiled. "Our little Bug. Saving the world."
Mandy's throat was tight. She swallowed.
"Calista did most of the heavy lifting."
"I did not," Calista said.
She had appeared beside them—quiet, the way she always moved. Her silver hair was loose around her shoulders. Her golden eyes were soft. She was still naked, still unselfconscious, still the most beautiful person Mandy had ever seen and also the most annoying.
"You figured out the chain," Mandy said.
"You figured out the key."
"Rick pulled the chain."
"Beth held us together."
They both looked at Beth.
Beth was across the room. On the couch. Naked. Her short blonde hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and her face was flushed and her hands were—
Her hands were on Rachel Murphy's hips.
Rachel Murphy, who had been trapped in the astral plane for over a year. Rachel Murphy, who had appeared on the deck not twenty minutes ago. Rachel Murphy, who was currently arching her back and gasping and making sounds that were definitely not appropriate for a family breakfast.
Marty was between them.
Beth was guiding him.
"Beth," Mike said.
His voice was flat. Not angry. Not surprised. Just—flat.
Beth looked up. She didn't stop what she was doing. She just looked at her father with an expression that was half guilt and half defiance.
"Hi, Dad."
"Are you—"
"Yes."
"With—"
"Rachel. Cody's sister. She just got back from the astral plane. Beth is welcoming her." Casey's voice was dry. "In the traditional Williamson manner."
Mike stared at his youngest daughter. At the red-haired boy who was currently buried inside a woman neither of them had met before this morning. At the way Beth's hands moved, sure and steady, the same hands that held her camera, the same hands that had learned to be gentle with Marty, the same hands that had—
He closed his eyes.
"I'm somehow unsurprised," he said.
"You shouldn't be," Casey replied. "She's your daughter."
"She's your daughter too."
"Yes. And she's doing exactly what I would have done at her age."
Mike opened his eyes. He looked at his wife.
"You would have—"
"Welcomed a long-lost friend back from a mystical imprisonment by fucking her? Yes. Probably." Casey shrugged. "Actually, I definitely would have. I was a wild child. You know this."
"I know this."
"So why are you surprised?"
"I'm not surprised." Mike's voice was tired. Happy-tired. The kind of tired that came after a long night and a longer morning. "I'm just—processing."
"Process faster."
Mandy laughed.
It was a small sound, a huff of breath, but it broke something. The tension in the room shifted. The bodies on the floor rearranged themselves. Jan's magic pulsed—warm, insistent, inevitable.
Calista stepped closer.
Her hip brushed against Mike's.
He looked at her. She looked back. Her golden eyes were calm, and beneath that calm was a fire that Mandy recognized because she had it too. The Williamson fire. The thing that said I'm alive and I'm here and I'm going to feel everything.
"Calista," Mike said.
"Mike," Calista replied.
"That's weird."
"Is it?"
"You call me Mike."
"You're not my father." She said it simply. No bitterness. No confusion. Just a fact. "You're my grandfather technically. But you're not my father. Rick is my father by blood and you're my father by love. And right now I don't want to think about any of that."
Mike's hand drifted.
It wasn't conscious. It wasn't a decision. It was Jan's magic twining through the air and Calista's glamour pulsing off her skin and the simple fact that they had all nearly died and they were all still alive and the morning light was warm on their naked bodies.
His palm landed on Calista's ass.
She wiggled against him.
Not a lot. Just a small movement. Testing. Curious. Her silver hair brushed against his shoulder and her eyes never left his face.
"Dad," Mandy said.
"I know."
"Your hand."
"I know."
"On Calista's ass."
"I know."
Mandy looked at her mother.
Casey was watching. Her expression was impossible to read—amused, resigned, hungry, all of it tangled together. She met Mandy's eyes and shrugged.
"He's your father," she said. "He's always been handsy."
"That's not—"
"After a fight. After a scare. He gets handsy."
"He does?"
"You've never noticed?"
"I've never—" Mandy stopped. Thought about it. Realized that no, actually, she had noticed. After the Bentley Ridge incident. After the thing with the Consortium. After every near-miss and close call and impossible escape. Mike Williamson got handsy.
It was a thing.
Casey stepped forward.
Her robe had finally given up entirely. It pooled on the floor behind her. She reached out and pulled Mandy closer—not into a hug this time, but into something else. Her hands found Mandy's hips. Her breath was warm against Mandy's ear.
"Lie down," she said.
"What?"
"Lie down. On the floor. With the others."
Mandy looked.
The pile of bodies had grown. Kim was on her back with Maryam's face between her thighs. Ben was behind Jess, his large cock sinking into her slowly while she reached back to grip his ass. Felicity was beside them, her hand between her own legs, watching. Hank and Fatima were tangled in the corner—Fatima still muttering Arabic under her breath, Hank groaning like he'd just won the Super Bowl.
Bruce was making coffee.
No one asked him why.
Mandy lay down.
The floor was hardwood, warm from the sun, slightly sticky with something she didn't want to identify. She stretched out on her back and looked up at the ceiling, and then her mother was above her, and then her father was above her mother, and Calista was beside her, and—
The pile swallowed them.
---
There was no beginning and no end to it.
Mandy had been to orgies before—small ones, casual ones, the kind that happened when Jan was in town and everyone had had too much wine. She knew the rhythm. The way bodies moved. The way pleasure built into not enough, then too much, then exactly right.
This was different.
Because her parents were there. Because her sisters and her brother were there. Because had just rescued a woman from the astral plane and she was watching and the woman was watching her back, eyes dark and curious.
It was wrong, probably. It was definitely wrong. Family wasn't supposed to do this. She knew that logically, knew that the world outside this house had rules about love and touching and who was allowed to be naked with whom.
But the world outside this house had also tried to kill them.
And no one in here was trying to kill anyone.
---
Casey's mouth found Mandy's breast.
It was a maternal gesture, almost—gentle, careful, the way she'd kissed scraped knees and bruised elbows when Mandy was small. But it was also not maternal at all. Her tongue circled Mandy's nipple and her teeth grazed the sensitive skin and Mandy gasped.
"Mom—"
"Shh."
"But—"
"Shh."
Casey's hand slid down. Over Mandy's stomach. Through the thatch of hair. Into the wet heat between her legs.
Mandy arched.
"I've got you," Casey murmured. "I've got you, Bug."
Mike was behind Casey.
His hands were on his wife's hips, his cock sliding between her thighs, not entering but not not-entering—a tease, a promise. Casey's breath hitched. She pressed back against him.
"You're teasing," she said.
"I'm enjoying myself."
"You're teasing."
"I'm—"
"Put it in, Michael."
"Michael?"
"You heard me."
Mandy watched her father's face.
It was strange, seeing him like this. He was still Mike—still the awkward man who'd taught her to ride a bike and helped her with her math homework and embarrassed her in front of her friends with terrible jokes. But he was also someone else. Someone with dark eyes and a hungry mouth and hands that knew exactly where to touch.
Casey moaned.
He had entered her from behind.
Mandy looked away.
Not because she was disgusted. Because the sight of it was doing something to her. Something warm and low in her belly. Something that made her want—
Calista's hand found hers.
Mandy turned.
Calista was lying on her side, facing her. Their fingers laced together. Across the room, someone was pounding—hard and fast and rhythmic, Beth or Marty or maybe Cody, she couldn't tell.
"Are you okay?" Calista asked.
"Weird question."
"I know."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Calista's thumb traced circles on Mandy's palm. "It's okay. It's a lot."
"It's not—"
"Mike and Casey are having sex next to us. I'm pretty sure Casey's about to come on Mike's cock. And you're watching."
"I'm not watching."
"You're watching."
"Shut up."
Calista smiled.
Her glamour shimmered. Not obviously—just a glow at the edges of her skin, a warmth that spread through the air like sunlight through clouds. Mandy felt it settle over her. Felt her body respond. Felt her nipples harden and her cunt clench and her breath come faster.
"You're doing that on purpose," she accused.
"Maybe."
"That's cheating."
"It's not cheating if everyone's enjoying it."
"Calista—"
Calista kissed her.
It was soft. Soft the way a hand on a cheek was soft. Soft the way the sun on skin was soft. Soft and warm and Mandy melted into it like she'd been waiting her whole life to be kissed like this.
Around them, the orgy continued.
Mandy could hear it—the sounds of bodies moving, of breath quickening, of flesh meeting flesh. Her mother's voice, rising. Her father's grunt of effort. Beth laughing, low and dirty, and Rachel's answering moan. Kim and Maryam moving in perfect synchronicity. Jess getting loud in that way she did when Ben was hitting the right spot. Felicity whimpering. Hank grunting. Fatima moaning in Arabic.
All of them together.
All of them alive.
Mandy pulled back from Calista's kiss. Her lips were tingling. Her body was humming.
"I love you," she said.
Calista's eyes went wide.
"Mandy—"
"I don't mean—" She laughed, nervous and breathless. "I don't mean that. Not like—we're not—"
"I know."
"You know?"
"I know what you mean." Calista squeezed her hand. "I love you too."
"Good."
"Good."
They lay there for a moment, holding hands, watching the chaos around them. Casey had come—she was shuddering against Mike's chest, her face slack with pleasure. Mike was still moving, still working, still chasing his own end. Beth had shuffled Rachel and Marty into a different position—Marty on his back now, Rachel riding him, Beth behind Rachel with her hands on the woman's breasts.
Mandy looked at her father.
He was beautiful, in a way. Not in the way Calista was beautiful. Not in the way of youth or symmetry or grace. Beautiful in the way of someone who was fully himself—awkward and kind and tired and alive.
His eyes found hers across the chaos.
He smiled.
Not a knowing smile. Not a smug smile. Just—a father's smile. Warm and tired and proud and full of love.
Mandy smiled back.
Then she turned to Calista and pulled her closer and let the morning take her wherever it wanted to go.
---
The dishes were still on the counter.
The coffee was cold. The eggs had congealed on their plates. The croissant that Mandy had abandoned was still abandoned. The safe in the corner—the one with the tarnished handle and the faint smell of salt—sat unopened and ignored.
Everything outside this room could wait.
For now, there was this.
The pile of bodies. The sound of breathing. The smell of sex and sweat and salt. The warmth of the sun through the windows. The knowledge that they had walked into hell and walked out again, together, and nothing—nothing in the world—could take that away from them.
Mandy closed her eyes.
The floorboards creaked beneath her.
And the house breathed.
And the house breathed.
Mandy felt it before she understood it—the floorboards easing under her back, the walls letting out some long-held tension, the air itself going soft and slow. Jan's magic had done its work. The fear was gone. The adrenaline had burned off. What remained was this: bodies and breath and the particular quiet that settled after a storm.
Her mother stirred beside her.
Casey rolled onto her back, her chest still heaving, her hair a disaster of silver-streaked brown. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then she laughed—not a big laugh, just a huff of air, the kind of laugh that meant I can't believe we're still alive.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?" Mike's voice came from somewhere near her hip. He was flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, looking like a man who'd run a marathon and then been asked to run another one.
"Okay." Casey sat up. She looked around the room—at the tangle of limbs, the sleeping bodies, the ones still moving in slow, lazy rhythms. "This is a lot."
"It's always a lot."
"True."
Casey stood.
The motion was fluid, unhurried. She reached down and grabbed Mandy's wrist. Then Calista's. She pulled them both to their feet with the casual strength of a woman who'd spent twenty years hauling canvases and paint and stubborn children.
"Come on," she said.
"Where?" Mandy asked.
"Guest room."
"What about—" Mandy gestured vaguely at the pile.
"They'll be fine." Casey looked at Mike. "You. Up."
Mike groaned. He rolled onto his side. He pushed himself up with the kind of effort that suggested his body had recently been used as a playground by multiple people. Which, Mandy supposed, it had.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Guest room."
"Why?"
"Because I want to fuck you in a bed. Not on a floor. My back is forty-eight years old."
"That's fair."
Casey took Mike's hand. She led him through the tangle of bodies with the ease of someone navigating a familiar path. Mandy and Calista followed.
The guest room was small. It was the room Mike and Casey used when they visited—when they came down from Chicago and stayed with Mandy and Mai and Felicity. There was a queen bed with a floral duvet. A nightstand with a lamp and a half-empty water bottle. A window that looked out at the palm trees and the sky.
Casey pushed Mike onto the mattress.
He landed with a grunt. She climbed on top of him before he could recover. Her knees bracketed his hips. Her hands pressed against his chest. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Good." Casey shifted her weight. She reached down between them, guided him inside her, and sank down with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her bones. "That's better."
Mandy watched from the doorway.
Calista stood beside her.
The bed creaked. Casey moved slow—not performing, not showing off, just moving. The way you moved when you'd been with someone for twenty years and knew exactly what they liked. Mike's hands found her hips. His thumbs traced circles on her skin. His eyes never left her face.
"You're staring," Calista murmured.
"So are you."
"It's different for me."
"How?"
Calista considered the question. Her silver hair caught the light from the window. Her golden eyes were soft.
"I'm not their daughter," she said. "Not really. I'm their granddaughter. It's—removed. One step back."
"That's a technicality."
"Maybe." Calista shrugged. "But technicalities matter. They're how I sleep at night."
Mandy laughed.
It was a quiet sound—just a breath, really. But it broke something. The tension in her shoulders. The knot in her chest. She leaned against the doorframe and let herself watch.
Her mother's back arched.
Her father's hands tightened.
The bed creaked faster.
Calista's fingers found Mandy's wrist.
Mandy looked at her.
Calista didn't say anything. She just guided Mandy's hand—down, between her legs, into the wet heat that had been building since the pile on the floor. Mandy's breath caught.
"Calista—"
"Shh."
"But—"
"You're allowed." Calista's voice was low. "You're allowed to feel good. You're allowed to want things."
"I don't—"
"You do." Calista pressed Mandy's fingers deeper. "You watched your parents fuck on the floor. You watched your sister guide Marty's cock into Rachel Murphy. You watched Kim and Maryam move like they were one person. And you didn't look away. Not once."
Mandy's cheeks burned.
"That's not—"
"It's okay." Calista's hips rocked against Mandy's hand. "It's okay to want. It's okay to take. It's okay to be exactly who you are."
Mandy's fingers curled.
Calista gasped.
On the bed, Casey moaned—a long, low sound that filled the room. Mike was moving beneath her now, his hips rising to meet hers, his hands sliding up her back. They were beautiful together. Not in the way of youth. In the way of knowing. In the way of two people who had spent half their lives learning each other's bodies.
Mandy's own body responded.
Her cunt clenched around nothing.
Her nipples ached.
She pressed her thighs together and tried to breathe.
Calista's hand covered hers. Guided her. Showed her the rhythm—slow, then faster, then slow again. Mandy's fingers moved inside her sister and her sister's body welcomed her and the room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint floral notes of the duvet.
The door opened.
Beth walked in. She was completely naked. Her short blonde hair was a disaster. Her face was flushed and her lips were swollen and she was holding Rachel Murphy by the hand.
Rachel Murphy, who was also completely naked.
Rachel Murphy, who was looking around the room with wide eyes and a smile that suggested she was enjoying herself immensely.
"Hey," Beth said.
"Hey," Mandy replied.
Her fingers were still inside Calista. Calista's hips were still moving. Neither of them stopped.
Beth didn't seem to notice. Or care. She pushed past them—literally pushed, her shoulder brushing Mandy's—and walked into the room.
"Mom. Dad."
Casey looked up. She was still riding Mike, still moving, but her eyes found her youngest daughter.
"Lizzy."
"Hi." Beth gestured at Rachel. "This is Rachel. Cody's sister. She just got back from the astral plane."
"We met," Casey said dryly.
"Right. Well. She has questions."
Rachel stepped forward. She was pretty, Mandy noticed—dark hair like Eddie's, sharp features like Inez's, but softer somehow. Kinder. She looked like someone who'd spent a year in a void and come out the other side still curious.
"I read the old Consortium files," Rachel said.
Mike's head lifted from the pillow.
"The what?"
"The old Consortium files. Before the Despair Bomb. When they were still active." Rachel's cheeks went pink. "There was a lot about you. And Casey. And your—" She gestured vaguely. "Prowess."
Mike stared at her.
"My prowess."
"Yes."
"My bedroom prowess."
"That's what the files said."
Mike turned to look at Casey. His expression was somewhere between horrified and amused.
"Do you know about this?"
Casey shrugged. She was still moving on top of him. Still riding. Still completely unbothered by the conversation.
"I know why she's asking," she said.
"You do?"
"She spent a year in a void. She just got back. She's surrounded by people who love each other and touch each other and don't apologize for it." Casey smiled. "She wants to feel something real."
Rachel's blush deepened.
"That's—"
"Am I wrong?"
"No." Rachel's voice was small. "You're not wrong."
Casey reached out. She took Rachel's hand and pulled her onto the bed. Onto Mike. Onto the tangle of limbs and sweat and the particular intimacy of a married couple who'd long since stopped being embarrassed by anything.
"Then come here," Casey said.
She guided Rachel into position. Rachel's knees bracketed Mike's hips. Her hands found his chest. She looked down at him with wide eyes.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," Mike replied.
"This is weird."
"A little."
"I just met you."
"I know."
"I'm about to—"
"I know."
Casey reached between them. She guided Mike's cock into Rachel—slow, careful, the way you'd guide a nervous animal. Rachel gasped. Her hips bucked. Her eyes went wide.
"Oh," she said.
"Yeah," Casey agreed.
Beth was there a moment later. She pulled Casey off Mike—gently, carefully—and onto the floor. Onto the rug. Onto her back. Casey went willingly. She stretched out beneath her daughter and looked up at her with an expression that was half challenge and half invitation.
"Well?" Casey said.
Beth didn't answer.
She just lowered herself down and pressed her mouth to her mother's cunt.
---
Mandy watched.
Calista watched.
Their fingers were still tangled together—Mandy's inside Calista, Calista's inside Mandy—and they stood in the doorway like spectators at a play they'd seen a hundred times and still couldn't look away from.
Mandy's mind was a mess.
She was watching her father fuck Rachel Murphy. She was watching her sister eat their mother out. She was watching her own fingers disappear inside Calista's body, and she was wondering—
She was wondering what it would feel like if her father put a hand on her ass.
Not in a weird way. Not in a weird weird way. Just—the way he'd touched Calista on the floor. The way his palm had landed and stayed. The way his fingers had cupped and squeezed.
She wondered.
Would it feel like this?
Calista's muscles clenched around her fingers.
Mandy gasped.
"You're thinking," Calista said.
"I'm always thinking."
"You're thinking about something specific."
"How do you know?"
"Your face." Calista smiled. "Your face does this thing when you're thinking about something specific."
"What thing?"
"This thing." Calista reached up with her free hand and touched Mandy's cheek. "Your eyes go distant. Your mouth goes slack. You look like you're somewhere else."
"I'm here."
"You're here. But you're also somewhere else."
Mandy didn't deny it.
Calista's fingers curled inside her. Mandy's knees buckled. She grabbed the doorframe with her free hand and held on.
"Tell me," Calista murmured.
"Tell you what?"
"What you're thinking."
"I can't."
"You can."
"Calista—"
"Tell me."
The words spilled out.
"I'm thinking about my dad. On the floor. His hand on your ass. The way you wiggled against him. The way he didn't stop. The way he didn't want to stop." Mandy's voice was barely a whisper. "And I'm wondering what it would feel like. If he did that to me."
Calista's eyes went wide.
Then soft.
Then hungry.
"Do you want him to?"
"I don't—"
"Because he would. If you asked."
"He's my—"
"He's your father. But you're all adults. You've all been through something together. You've all saved each other's lives." Calista's fingers moved faster. "And Jan's magic is still in the air. It makes people feel things. It makes people want things."
"That's an excuse."
"It's a reason."
"It's the same thing."
Calista leaned in. Her forehead pressed against Mandy's. Her breath was warm and her voice was low and her fingers were—
"Tell me you don't want it."
"I can't."
"Tell me you don't want your father's hand on your ass."
"I can't."
"Tell me you don't want to feel what it's like to be wanted by him. Just for a moment. Just to know."
"I can't."
Calista kissed her.
Not soft. Not gentle. Hard and hungry and full of teeth and tongue and the particular desperation of someone who had just had her own desire named out loud.
Mandy kissed back.
Their fingers moved together—faster now, harder, each of them chasing the other's body toward something that had been building since the mountain, since the key, since the moment the shards had left their chests and they had all been left empty and wanting.
On the bed, Rachel came.
Her cry filled the room—high and startled and real. Mike held her through it. His hands on her hips. His eyes on her face. The same way he'd held Casey. The same way he'd hold anyone he touched.
Casey came a moment later. Her back arched off the floor. Her fingers tangled in Beth's hair. Her mouth opened and no sound came out and she just shuddered.
Beth pulled back with a satisfied smile.
Then all three of them looked at the doorway.
At Mandy and Calista, who were touching each other, who were kissing each other, who were trying very hard not to want the things they wanted.
"You can come in," Casey said.
Her voice was hoarse. Warm. The voice of a woman who had just come and was feeling generous.
"We're fine," Mandy said.
"You're not fine."
"We're—"
"Mand. Bug. Honey." Casey sat up. She looked at her daughter with an expression that was impossibly tender and impossibly direct. "You're standing in the doorway watching your father fuck a woman who spent a year trapped in the astral plane. You're fingering your sister. Your face is doing the thing it does when you want something you think you're not allowed to want."
Mandy's face burned.
"That's—"
"Come in. Or don't. But don't stand there pretending you're not part of this. You are. You're always part of this. You're a Williamson."
Mandy's breath was shallow.
Calista's fingers were still inside her.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and something else—something warm and familiar, like Jan's magic, like the air after a thunderstorm.
"Okay," Mandy whispered.
Then Katrina appeared.
She walked in from the hall—naked, shower-damp, her long black hair hanging past her shoulders. She looked at the scene in the room and smiled.
"Seems I recall," she said, "feeling a lot better after getting out of that void once Mike and Casey and the girls all took turns with me."
Her arms wrapped around Mandy and Calista's waists.
Mandy felt the warmth of her—dancer's body, compact and strong, not an inch wasted. Her skin smelled like soap. Her hair smelled like shampoo. Her voice was pitched low enough to be intimate, which felt like a deliberate choice.
"You don't have to," Katrina added. "Nobody has to do anything. But if you're standing here because you want to stay standing here, that seems like a strange place to stay." She looked at the bed. At Mike. At Casey, who was already smiling at her. "And I was thinking about the void. The cold. The way it took me a while to remember what warmth felt like. How it was your family who reminded me. All of you."
Mandy's jaw tightened.
"That's not fair."
"It's not supposed to be fair." Katrina kissed the side of Mandy's head. "It's supposed to be honest."
Mandy looked at her mother.
Casey lifted an eyebrow. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just waiting.
Mandy looked at Calista.
Calista was already teary-eyed. Not from sadness. From something else. From the way Katrina had named the thing none of them had said out loud—that they were survivors, all of them, clinging to each other because the alternative was drowning.
That's what this is.
Not perversion. Not excess. Just survival. Just love with nowhere else to go.
Mandy took a breath.
Then she stepped into the room.
Calista followed.
Katrina pulled the door closed behind them.