4. Sven
Four
Sven
I catch myself smiling somewhere around the third mile to my parents’, just… smiling, at nothing, into the dark and the trees and the headlights, Pickle snoring in the passenger seat with his chin on my thigh. And I can’t seem to stop.
She said she moved out here knowing nobody. I called it brave and watched her duck her head so I wouldn’t see her huge smile. I’ve been replaying it in my head all afternoon. The way she tucked into my side at the coffee counter. How her breath caught when I put my hand on her back.
One coffee. Twenty minutes, maybe. And I feel like someone cracked my fucking chest open and let warmth in.
Slow, I remind myself, taking the turn up to the house. You’re doing this right. But the smile’s still there, and I give up trying to kill it.
The compound is already loud when I park. Home is always loud. Seven brothers, and a gaggle of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews will do that.
Every window’s lit up, there are too many trucks in the driveway to count, and you can hear the noise all the way up from the road.
I let Pickle down, and he trots ahead of me toward the door, blind eye and all.
Inside, it’s absolute chaos, same as always.
My mother’s at the stove with a couple of other family members.
My brothers, Torin and Bjorn, are arguing about something at the counter.
Kase’s carrying one of our nieces on his shoulders.
Rolf and Dain are sprawled in the den playing cards with some cousins.
Vidar is sweet-talking Mom for an early plate and getting his hand smacked with a spoon.
I shake my head, feeling my mouth tug at the side.
“Sven’s here!” someone yells.
I get a plate, sit, and let the noise embrace me.
But then I make the mistake of thinking about her again… I swear I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I’m three bites into my mother’s stew and somewhere in my head the image of my girl pops up, and my mouth just… does that thing. It relaxes, lifts at the corners…
And that’s when a little voice asks, “Why’s Uncle Sven smiling?”
The entire room freezes. It’s my little cousin, Neeva. Eight years old, zero filter, pointing her fork at me from across the table in total innocent shock, and the second the words land the room goes dead silent, every fork frozen, because your boy does not do that shit.
“He’s not smiling,” my father says absently, without looking at me. “Sven doesn’t…” Then he leans in and squints. “Maud. Maud, come look at your son. Is he smiling?”
My mother turns with a spoon in her hand.
I try to school my face, but it’s too late… Fuck.
“Oh, my God!” Bjorn’s chair scrapes back. He’s pointing at my face too, half-standing, delighted horror all over his face. “He was smiling. Sven was sitting there smiling into his stew like a…”
“Eat your dinner,” I grumble at him.
“…like a dude in LOVE!”
“Bjorn.”
But it’s over. The table erupts. Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, friends, mates, and children are all talking at the same time. Torin fucking lying: ‘never seen it, in thirty years I’ve never once seen it’. Kase is demanding to know who she is.
Then Vidar, the fucking traitor, leans across the table, inhales dramatically, and announces to the entire family: “He smells like coffee and omega.”
I pick up my fork, take another bite of stew, and say absolutely nothing.
Because here’s the thing: I don’t have to.
I’m not gonna lie to my family. But I don’t owe them a single word tonight either.
So I just sit there, this pack of loud idiots I’d die for losing their minds around me, and I let the smile come back. And this time, I don’t fight it…
Which only makes things worse.
“He’s not even denying it,” Dain whispers, eyes wide.
“Who IS she?” Kase asks again.
I eat my fucking delicious stew.
“Is it someone from the library?” Bjorn’s eyebrows are about to hit his hairline. “It’s someone from the library! Oh, this is the best day of my entire goddamn life!”
I give him the look. The one that empties rooms everywhere I go. It does not empty this room. This room has known me since before I had tusks. This room doesn’t give a single fuck about my mean mugs.
Bjorn just grins wider. “It IS,” he breathes. “Sven.”
“Eat your dinner,” I growl again, and I keep my face calm, but they can all scent it, I know they can, every alpha at this table.
They know exactly what it is. We grew up hearing the same stories.
Our grandpa on the battlefield. The way it hits us, the way it happens and settles in a single breath.
Then lasts for a lifetime. They know I found her.
I can see it land under the laughing. The realization that this isn’t just Sven dating.
This is Sven, mated. For fucking ever. The lonely brother, the stone-cold one, the one the family had half given up on.
So the laughing changes. It stays loud, but something warm runs under it now, almost like relief. Bjorn reaches over, grips the back of my neck, and shakes me rough, the way we do, without needing to say a word.
Later, my mother finds me on the back deck. For a minute, she just stands next to me, looking out into the dark, the noise of the house behind us.
“You found her,” she finally says softly.
“Yeah,” I reply simply.
She nods slowly, then reaches up and pats my cheek with her small hand, eyes wet.
“Bring her home,” she says. “When you’re ready.” A beat passes, then the corner of her mouth goes teasing. “But not in too long.”
I chuckle. “I will, Ma.”
I drive back home with Pickle snoring against my thigh, my smile still there…