Cassidy #4
Four pairs of eyes meet mine, their scents shifting around me in different shades of concern.
“I’m scared that one day you’ll realise I’m not enough.”
The words hang in the air, ugly and sour between us, and nobody answers. They don’t tell me I’m wrong or promise I’ll never make mistakes.
Instead, Evander reaches for another biscuit, his scarred knuckles barely brushing the plate before Isaac immediately slaps his hand away.
“You’ve had eight,” he says. “You’ll ruin your appetite for dinner.”
“I’ve had five,” he protests.
“He actually has had eight and a half if you include your stolen bit,” Harlan adds, causing Isaac to nod.
Evander flips them off. “I’m a growing man, and nobody’s proved otherwise. I’ll be able to eat my dinner even if I eat the entire plate of biscuits.”
I giggle, when Harlan lets out a long, suffering sigh.
“I genuinely don’t know how you survived to adulthood,” Isaac says.
“You clearly dragged him there,” Harlan says.
Evander gasps dramatically. “I’m wounded.”
“You’ll survive,” Isaac reassures him.
“I might not.”
Harlan scoffs. “I’m sure you’ve survived worse.”
“I once had to fly economy, I suppose,” Evander says after thinking about it.
Even I gape at him this time.
“That one’s on me,” Evander admits.
My laugh is barely heard under all of theirs, swallowed by the warmth of the room and the easy blend of their scents, and it’s a nice feeling. The tension I’d been carrying for weeks loosens, and I can breathe so much easier.
The conversation drifts after that, and… it’s nice. The tea cools in our mugs, the biscuit plate empties, and nobody seems in a rush to move.
Isaac asks whether my revised sketches are finished. Evander complains about next week’s meetings, gesturing with the last half of a biscuit, while Harlan argues with him about budgets and staff cuts.
Silas shuts the conversation down before either of them can properly get going.
“We’re not talking about work all evening.”
“We’re discussing work,” Evander argues.
“You’re bickering.”
“Professionally,” Harlan argues.
“You’re exhausting,” Silas mutters.
“I’ve been told,” Evander says with a shrug. “But usually by people whose opinions are irrelevant.”
The normality of it catches me completely off guard.
They’re talking about next week. Next month. The campaign.
They’re at ease because tonight fixed everything, but it’s clear none of them expected it to.
I did.
I came here expecting a plan.
Rules.
A timeline.
Some kind of guide explaining how four mates were supposed to become… whatever we were becoming.
For us all to leave with some mapped-out plan of what we’re doing, when we’re doing it, how we’re meant to behave…
How we’re meant to feel.
My thoughts are interrupted by Evander stretching dramatically.
“So,” he announces. “I’m starving.”
“You’ve eaten nearly an entire packet of biscuits.”
“Those were an appetiser.”
Harlan scoffs. “Between you eating my biscuits, Silas eating my bacon, and the lack of lunch, I am, too.”
“What are we doing for food, then?” Isaac asks.
“Chinese,” Evander answers immediately.
“No discussion on where to go, then, you greedy fuck?” Harlan asks.
Evander smirks. “I’ve discussed it with myself.”
Harlan rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I could do Chinese.”
Silas nods once, settled deep in the armchair. “I’m easy.”
Isaac reaches for his phone from the arm of the chair. “I’ll order.”
He opens the app without another word, and I’m impressed at how easy everything plays out.
There are no arguments, no hesitation, no panic. No souring scents or bristling alphas. I feel like an outsider, watching a literal alien scenario.
“What does everyone want?” Isaac asks, and the answers come easily. He hums, typing everything in, even the extra customisations, before looking at me expectantly. “What about you, shortcake?”
Four pairs of eyes settle on me, and butterflies wage war in my stomach.
“Oh… whatever everyone else is having is—”
“Cassie. I asked what you want,” he says gently.
I glance around the room. Nobody looks impatient. They’re not acting as if I’m taking too long.
Even Harlan and Evander, who complained of starvation, are completely relaxed.
Silas gives my knee the gentlest squeeze. “Take your time, little moon. We’re not going anywhere.”
I think about it.
Actually think.
“I…” A smile tugs at my lips. “Could I have crispy chilli beef?”
Evander points at me immediately. “Excellent choice.”
“I was going to order that,” Harlan mutters.
“You can share it,” Isaac offers.
“Sharing?” Harlan asks pleadingly, and I grin and nod.
Isaac snorts as he adds it to the basket.
“Crispy chilli beef,” he confirms. “Anything else?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He smiles, locking his phone and setting it face-down. “Done. It’ll be about forty-five minutes.”
It’s only dinner. I know it is.
But as I look around the room—at Evander trying to steal Isaac’s phone to add more spring rolls, at Harlan threatening to remove him from the order entirely, at Silas quietly watching the chaos with that familiar fondness—I realise something.
For the first time since this all began, I’m not trying to make myself fit around everyone else.
I’m simply… part of it. Not because I earned my place. Just because they want me there.
I’m wanted.
These amazing men who feel like coming home chose me.
We’ve spent so long avoiding this truth, and now… now we’re finally trying to become a proper pack.