"Are you homeless, Mr. Sky?"

"Nico!"

My face burns with embarrassment, but Skylar West, art teacher and impromptu lifeguard extraordinaire, merely laughs.

"No, I have a home, only it's very far away," he says. "My van is my 'home on wheels' until I find a more permanent abode. I've only just moved here, you know."

"For your job?" Flora asks keenly.

"Indeed."

'Sky' smiles as he hoists the last of our bicycles atop his old, custom-made camper, the packed interior of which had prompted Nico's improper question, and ties them to the roof rack.

I frown, hanging back and sipping water from my refillable bottle, having been banned from exerting myself. After failing to reassure the children or shake the concern of my rescuer, I'd had no choice but to accept his gracious offer to drive us all home.

"Where does your Mate sleep?" Nico asks, frowning as Sky folds up a narrow bed, converting it to a bench seat.

I choke on a bite of Miguel's peanut butter sandwich, which he'd insisted I eat after I'd blamed my faintness on an accidentally missed meal (Flora's disappointed, "Again, Dad," hadn't helped).

Sky casts me a concerned glance, and answers Nico's question before I recover.

"I don't have a travel companion, if that's what you mean. It's just me, myself, and I."

Nico's eyes go wide. "You don't have any kids?"

Skylar laughs, a melodic sound that does something funny to my chest, and shakes his head.

"No. No kids."

"But aren't you pretty old?"

"Nico!" Miguel shoves his younger brother lightly. "Shut up. You're being rude."

"Ow! Don't push!" Nico protests, "And I am not!"

"Yes, you are."

"Am not!"

"Are, too."

"Am—"

"Okay, okay!" I intervene, having finally cleared the chunk of peanut butter bread from my throat. "No arguing. Let's be grateful to Mr. West for offering us a ride, and"

I blink and sway as the world tilts again, catching myself on the side of the van. Pressing a hand to my brow, I'm forced to admit that the heat in my face is a symptom of more than embarrassment, and that there might be something besides a missed meal behind my faintness, after all.

"Martin?"

Sky appears at my side, offering me his arm for support. I wave him aside and shake my head.

"It's nothing. I just need to eat something and rest."

"Right." He nods, but neither looks nor sounds convinced. "Let's get you all home, then."

〜〜〜

"Nice place," he says, pulling up in the drive before the small, two story house and little detached garage.

"It's seen better days," I say, seeing it through a visitor's eyes. "But, with a bit of work, it will see better days again."

"Not unlike yourself, perhaps?"

Startled, I glance back at the kids, but they're entertaining themselves with my phone and seem not to have heard the question.

I frown at Sky. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs and looks out the window again. "Just a feeling. You're renovating, I see." He points at the garage.

Glad for the change of subject, I nod. "Yeah. I'm turning it into a granny unit. Eventually."

Sighing, I unbuckle myself and pop the door as the kids climb over each other and pile out of the back.

To my surprise, Sky calls after them as they dash around the van and run towards the house. "Flora!" He beckons. "Your papa's phone, if you would."

Promptly, she nabs it from Rio and brings it over. Thanking her, he takes it and hands it to me.

"What's this for?" I ask.

He lifts his brows. "Communication, generally speaking."

I scowl.

He nods at the device in my hand. "Call someone. I'm not leaving you alone like this."

Chewing my lip, I weigh my options and sigh. The kids will tattle to their uncles, anyway; they might as well hear it from me, first.

"Fine. My brother's... er... housemate... is a doctor."

An animal doctor, but whatever. I suppose it can't hurt to let him have a look.

"Good. I'll stay until he comes."

Without waiting for an answer, he turns away and begins working to get the bikes off the roof of his van.

Defeated, I turn away as well and pull up Noah's number, biting my lip almost hard enough to taste blood.

Shaking my head at myself, I press the call icon and shut my eyes.

Better him than Dane; at least I can look Noah in the eyes without hating myself.

〜〜〜

The purr of a large, expensive motor signals Noah and Ambrose are inbound, and the kids run down to the street as a big silver Bentley pulls up to the curb. Noah had told me it was a replacement for one Ambrose had wrecked, which had been the only part of his large inheritance he truly liked.

I watch through the window and smile as the pair get out, greeting the children with hugs and laughter. Between my brothers and their mates, the kids have a lot of 'uncles,' but Noah and Ambrose are favorites — Ambrose especially, as he always brings treats. Even now, I see him slipping them something from his pockets — some kind of exotic sweets, no doubt.

Noah appears as trim and meticulously groomed as ever — gold-rimmed glasses, waistcoat, and all.

Ambrose, meanwhile, is dressed in corduroy trousers and a long, patchwork coat. Between his lanky frame, patrician features, and wild mane of auburn hair, he looks like a cross between a male model and a Scottish iteration of Doctor Who.

Skylar's huff of surprise reminds me he still stands at my side, which he's hardly left for a second since getting me home.

"You didn't tell me you had a twin," he says.

I glance at him. "Why would I? And we're triplets, and not identical, anyway. We hardly look alike."

"Could have fooled me," Sky says easily.

I frown and look out the window again.

Between the three of us, Travis got the charm and physique, Noah got the looks and brains, and I got... 'imagination,' as my mother would so kindly say.

If 'average' were a talent, I'd be a natural.

"And that's your brother's... er... 'housemate,' you say?" he asks with amusement, as Ambrose, enacting some sort of story for the kids, twirls Noah like a princess at a ball and kisses him with unmistakable (and inappropriate) passion.

I rub my brow wearily. "Yes. I should, um... invite them in."

"I think the kids have the greetings handled," Sky says, with a mild tone that makes me look at him. I find myself staring into the wild green sea of his eyes and blink rapidly as my heart trips over itself.

Frowning, I rub my chest.

"You sure you'll be all right?" he asks. "I can stay, if you need me to. I've got the whole day free."

I shake my head, blushing afresh at his unsolicited, and unwelcome, kindness. "No, I'm really fine. But thank you, anyway."

He nods. "Well, that's my job done then," he says, and pats my shoulder. "I'll be seeing you, Martin."

"Sure thing," I mumble, as he slips out the door, washing his hands of me.

I watch as he passes Noah and Ambrose on the walk, earning curious glances from both of them — especially Ambrose, who stops to stare as my suave, blonde Prince Charming climbs aboard his boxy steed and rides away.

"Who was that?" Noah asks, as the pair join me in the living room, having sent the kids to play upstairs.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I sigh. I'd only explained the very basics over the phone.

"He's a teacher, from the kids' school," I say. "He... Well, he helped me out at the lake, when I wasn't feeling well."

"Ah — a teacher!" Ambrose exclaims, his Scottish lilt snagging my ears. "And at the lake, you say? Interesting."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Besides being insensibly wealthy and strange, Ambrose Thorne has the soul of an ancient dragon lord, and can see past disguises, 'to the heart of people and things,' as he says.

Eyeing me with a guarded, thoughtful look, he tilts his head a little to the side.

"They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent."

I stare at him. "What?"

Noah gives his mate a shove and rolls his eyes. "It's D. H. Lawrence."

"Is that... some new artist I should know about?" I ask uncertainly. I haven't really kept up on the music scene the last few years.

To my surprise, Noah bursts out laughing. "Oh, my God, no. He's an old dead white guy. An author and poet. That's from Whales Weep Not." He glances at his mate. "Which means?"

Ambrose shrugs and turns his dark, fire-lit eyes on me.

"I can hardly say, except that your humble teacher might be a 'diamond in the rough,' as they say. More than he seems, in other words. Now, then. Let's have a look at you."