Chapter 40 #2
"I've been building something," he admitted, his scarred fingers tightening around his beer. "Out by the Bayou. Small structure for the rehab animals. Wasn't sure if..." He trailed off, then shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Wasn't sure if I'd be staying long enough to finish it."
"And now?" I asked softly, leaning forward in my chair, my chest tight with something that felt like hope.
Silas looked at me, then at Harper, something raw and vulnerable in those usually guarded eyes. "Now I'm thinking I might need to add a second room," he said quietly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe a porch. Somewhere to sit and watch the water."
"We could connect them," Harper said, and there was something almost eager in his voice now, his gray eyes bright with possibility. "The cabin, the new additions. Not all one structure, but... linked. A compound. Pack territory."
"She'd like that," I said, nodding as I pictured it, could see her face when we told her—the way her eyes would light up, the way she'd probably cry and then pretend she wasn't crying. "Her own little kingdom in the bayou. With all of us in it."
"Her kingdom," Harper repeated, nodding slowly, a rare smile crossing his face. "Yeah. That sounds about right." I took another drink, gathering my courage, because there was something else I needed to say. Something I'd been thinking about since the heat ended, maybe even before that.
"Can I—" I started, then stopped, suddenly unsure how to put it into words. Both of them looked at me, waiting, patient. I tried again, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I need to say something. And I need you both to not make it weird."
"We'll do our best," Silas said dryly, one corner of his mouth quirking up in what might have been amusement.
Harper just raised an eyebrow, his gray eyes curious but kind.
I took a breath. Let it out. Took another.
"I've never had brothers," I said quietly, the words coming out rougher than I intended, scraping against something raw in my chest. "Not really.
I mean—I had an older brother, but he was the golden child.
Law school and medical school. The one the family actually wanted.
" I stared at my beer bottle, watching the condensation trail down the glass like tears.
"And I had a younger brother. Luc. He was twelve when he drowned.
" My throat tightened, the old guilt rising like bile.
"I was supposed to be watching him. I was seventeen and thought I was invincible and I was off with some girl instead of—" I stopped, swallowed hard. "Instead of where I should have been."
Neither of them said anything. They just listened, solid and present, giving me space for the words I'd never said out loud to anyone except maybe a bottle of whiskey at three in the morning.
"My family forgave me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But I never forgave myself. So I left. At eighteen.
Spent years running, drifting, using charm and music and women and whatever else would help me outrun the guilt.
" I let out a bitter laugh. "Turns out you can't outrun yourself. Who knew?"
I looked up, meeting Harper's eyes, then Silas's.
"I came back three years ago when my father got sick.
Stayed because running wasn't working anymore.
But I never—I never let myself get close to anyone.
Not really. Because caring about people just meant you could lose them.
And losing Luc nearly killed me." My voice cracked on my brother's name, and I had to look away.
"I couldn't survive losing someone like that again.
So I just... didn't let myself want things. Didn't let myself stay."
"And then you met her," Harper said softly, his gray eyes warm with understanding in a way that made my chest ache.
"And then I met her," I agreed, feeling the familiar warmth bloom at the thought of Artemis. "And I thought—okay, maybe this once. Maybe she's worth the risk. Worth staying for." I looked between them again. "But I didn't expect you two. Didn't expect that wanting her would mean finding... this."
"This?" Harper prompted gently, leaning forward slightly, his voice soft in a way I'd rarely heard from him, his gray eyes encouraging me to continue.
"A pack," I said, the word feeling too small for what I meant.
"A family. Brothers—real brothers, not the kind who resent you for not being good enough or—" My voice cracked, and I had to stop, blinking hard against the sudden burning in my eyes.
"I've never had brothers like this. And now I've got two. And I don't—I don't know how to—"
I couldn't finish. The emotions were too big, too overwhelming, clogging my throat and making it hard to breathe. A hand landed on my shoulder—Harper's, I knew from the size of it, the calluses rough against my shirt. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Then another hand, on my other shoulder—Silas, his scarred fingers gripping firmly, grounding me. We sat like that for a long moment, three Alphas on a porch in the Louisiana twilight, connected by something stronger than words.
"Same," Harper finally said, his voice rough like gravel scraping stone.
When I looked up at him, his gray eyes were suspiciously wet.
"Never had brothers either. Just... just me.
For a long time. Thought that was how it had to be.
" His jaw worked, muscles tensing beneath his beard.
"Thought I was too much. Too big, too quiet, too.
.. broken. Figured no one would want to deal with all of that. "
"You're not broken," Silas said quietly, and the certainty in his voice made Harper's breath catch.
"Neither are you," Harper returned, turning to look at Silas, his gray eyes fierce with conviction. "Neither of you."
Silas was quiet for a moment, his pale eyes distant, seeing something we couldn't. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, rough with memories I could only imagine.
"I had brothers once," he said, his fingers tightening on my shoulder.
"My unit. We were—we were a pack, in every way that mattered.
Bled together. Fought together. Watched each other's backs in places so dark they don't have names on maps.
" He paused, and I could see the ghost of old pain flickering across his face, the weight of losses that would never fully heal.
"Lost them. All of them. Thought I'd never—" His voice broke, and he had to stop, swallowing hard before he could continue.
"Thought I'd never find that again. Didn't want to. Easier to be alone."
"And now?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper, hardly daring to breathe as I watched his face.
Silas looked at me, then at Harper, something raw and vulnerable in those usually guarded eyes. "Now I'm starting to think I was wrong," he said quietly. "About a lot of things."
Something shifted in the air between us—a click, like a lock finding its key. I could smell it happening, our scents weaving together into something new, something that wasn't just three individual Alphas anymore. It was pack scent, fully formed, unmistakable.
Without really thinking about it, I reached out and gripped Harper's forearm, pressing my wrist against his skin, scent-marking him deliberately. He went still for a moment, surprised, then did the same to me, his massive hand wrapping around my arm.
Silas watched us for a beat, something complicated moving behind his eyes. Then he stepped off the railing and joined us, pressing his wrist to Harper's neck, then mine.
We probably looked ridiculous—three grown men rubbing on each other like oversized cats—but I didn't care. This mattered. This meant something.
When we finally pulled apart, the pack scent hung thick in the air around us. Pine and whiskey from Harper. Rain and something wild from Silas. Honey and warmth from me. All of it blended together into something that smelled like home.
Like family.
Like us.
"Well," I said, my voice thick with emotion I didn't bother trying to hide, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "That was—yeah. That was something."
Harper and Silas very pointedly did not mention the fact that I was crying. I appreciated that more than I could say.
"So we're really doing this," Harper said, and it wasn't a question. His voice was steadier now, more certain, like the conversation had settled something that had been unsettled in him. "All of us. Bonding with her. Being a pack. For real."
"For real," I confirmed, sniffing and trying to pretend I wasn't still getting misty. "No take-backs. No running. We're in this."
Silas nodded, something fierce and protective kindling in his pale eyes. "We're in this," he agreed. "All the way. Whatever comes—developers, lawyers, her terrible parents—we face it together."
"Together," Harper echoed, his deep voice resonant with promise, and the word sounded like a vow coming from his lips.
The cicadas continued their chorus. The bayou lapped gently at the dock.
Somewhere in the house, our omega was sleeping, dreaming dreams I hoped were soft and safe.
Here, on the porch, three Alphas who'd never thought they'd have brothers sat together in the gathering dark, bound by something stronger than blood.
"I'm going to need more beer for this level of emotional vulnerability," I announced, breaking the solemnity with a dramatic sigh, pushing myself up from my chair. "Anyone else?"
"Please," Harper said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, his gray eyes warm despite the lingering wetness.
"Wouldn't say no," Silas added, his own lips quirking in that almost-smile that was becoming more frequent these days.
I headed for the door, then paused, looking back at them—Harper on the porch swing, Silas settling back against the railing, both of them watching me with expressions that made my chest ache in the best possible way.
"Hey," I said, pausing with my hand on the door frame, suddenly needing them to know, needing to say it out loud. "I'm glad it's you two. I'm glad I'm not doing this alone."
"Same," Harper said, his smile finally breaking through, small but real, his gray eyes soft in a way that made my throat tight all over again.
Silas just nodded, but his eyes said everything his voice didn't. I ducked inside before I could start crying again, grabbed three more beers from the fridge, and made myself a promise.
Whatever happened next—with Artemis, with the bonding, with the developers trying to steal her land—I wasn't going to run. I wasn't going to leave. I was going to stay, and fight, and be the brother these two deserved.
The brother I'd always wanted to be. I headed back out to the porch, handed out the beers, and settled back into my chair with a contented sigh. We had a lot of planning to do. A lot of fights to win. A future to build.