37. Jack
Jack
There’s something about cooking for people that feeds my soul. Maybe I should have been a chef. Maybe I am, in some alternate life. I blame my old man—cooking was "omega’s work” according to him. He wasn’t a bad dad, but he had some very old-school ideas about alpha roles.
Connor’s beside me, sliding chunks of marinated chicken onto skewers while Hunt stirs a bowl fragrant with garlic and herbs. Not an omega in sight—and that’s exactly how I like it. My omega should be rested, fed, and happy, not doing something I can handle myself.
From where I’m standing at the grill, I can see Clara laughing with her friends on the patio.
Winnie sits closest to her, cheeks warming every time one of my pack so much as makes eye contact.
Sunny lounges at the other end of the table, tossing out sharp, teasing comments to anyone within range.
One of her alphas calls her “Sunshine”, but if she’s a ray of light, it’s the kind that burns if you’re not careful.
Rose, a beta with big, cloudlike hair and generous curves, scrolls through her phone between sly little observations that land like darts. Cali, the town librarian, has that calm sweetness omegas often do.
Across the yard, Cole’s gaze keeps cutting toward Bram.
Not aggressive, not exactly friendly either—more the way a guard dog sizes up someone stepping too close to its fence.
Bram keeps his head down, tending to the drinks cooler as if Cole’s eyes aren’t burning holes in the side of his skull.
Bram a voids confrontation whenever he can, but something tells me Cole’s not the type to be fooled by polite distance.
Movement catches my eye as Clara, breaking away from her group.
I pass the tongs in my hand to Hunt with a nod and meet her halfway, scooping her into my arms and planting a kiss on the top of her head before leaning in to nuzzle, scent-marking her.
She buries her face in my chest and nuzzles me back, marking me in return. My heart soars.
“Are you having a good time, Apple?” I ask into her hair. She nods without pulling away, and I squeeze her tighter.
“You need anything?”
“Just this.” She says it softly, wrapping her arms around my chest. They don’t even meet at my back—and it’s perfect. Her black-and-orange hair is braided into a crown that wraps around her head, the orange streaks catching the light. “I think you saved the barbeque. Everyone’s loving the food.”
I cock my head. “Saved it? I wasn’t aware it needed saving.”
She shrugs. “When the packs got here, I felt like they were looking for any excuse to declare this unsafe and haul me back to one of their houses. Probably Sunny’s—hers is the biggest since they added on to the farmhouse.”
I chuckle, running a hand up and down her back. “They’re just concerned, Apple. They want to make sure you’re safe. I’m grateful for that—anyone who wants to keep you safe has my gratitude. Even if they’re trying to keep you safe from me.”
She smiles, and my heart swells before one of her friends calls her back.
Turning back to the grill, my gaze lifts to the house. At first, I think it’s a trick of the sunset—just a dim glow in an upstairs window. But as my eyes adjust, the shape inside sharpens. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. The tilt of a newsboy cap.
Every muscle in me goes taut.
It ’s the same alpha Bram and Clara showed us in those old photographs from the library.
Finian.
Watching.