Chapter 20 Forest Whispers #2
“That depends.” Daniel's eyes met mine across the desk, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. “Are you planning to stay in Hollow Pines? Or are you going to run back to Chicago the first time things get complicated?”
The question shouldn't have stung, but it did. Probably because it hit too close to a truth I'd been trying not to examine—that my first instinct when things went sideways was always to pack up and disappear.
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “Part of me thinks I should run. This is all... it's a lot to process.”
“Running's easier,” Daniel agreed. “Staying's harder. But staying's also how you figure out where you actually belong.”
Something in his tone made me look up, catching an expression on his face that seemed to say more than his words. Like he understood something about belonging that I was still trying to learn.
“Do you think I belong here?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
Daniel smiled then, the first real smile I'd seen from him all evening. It transformed his face, softening the harsh lines and making him look younger, more approachable. More like the father Evan deserved.
“I think you've been looking for home your entire life,” he said. “And I think you might have found it, if you're brave enough to claim it.”
The words hit like a revelation, cutting through confusion to something clearer underneath. Because he was right. I had been looking for home—in Portland, in college, in Chicago—always searching for that place where I fit, where I belonged, where I could be myself without apology.
And maybe, just maybe, it had been Hollow Pines all along.
“Evan's going to be devastated that he hurt you,” Daniel continued, voice soft with parental concern. “He's been carrying guilt about keeping secrets ever since you came back. Especially after you two...”
He trailed off, but the implication was clear. After we'd gotten together. After what had started as friendship had deepened into something more complicated and infinitely precious.
“I don't want him to feel guilty,” I said. “This isn't his fault. It's mine for reacting badly.”
“It's nobody's fault,” Daniel corrected firmly. “It's just what happens when two people care about each other but don't know how to navigate complicated territory. The important thing is figuring out how to do better going forward.”
Silence settled between us, comfortable now instead of tense. The fire crackled in the hearth, and somewhere in the house, I could hear the distant murmur of voices—pack members going about their evening routines.
This felt like family. Like the thing I'd been missing without knowing it.
“You look exhausted,” Daniel observed, and I realized he was right. The emotional rollercoaster of the day had left me drained, hollow in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.
“Yeah, I should probably head home,” I said, starting to rise from the chair.
“Stay,” Daniel said, and there was something in his voice that made me freeze. “Please. I don't think you should be alone tonight, and I suspect Evan would want to see you when he gets back from patrol.”
I hesitated, caught between wanting to see Evan and being terrified of facing him after my spectacular meltdown. “I don't know if that's a good idea. I said some pretty awful things.”
“And you'll have the chance to apologize,” Daniel said practically. “But right now, you look like you're about to fall over. When's the last time you ate something?”
The question made me realize I couldn't remember. Sometime before the revelation that my boyfriend was a werewolf, which felt like days ago but had only been hours.
“I'll take that as a no,” Daniel said, standing with fluid grace. “Come on. Let's get some food in you, and then we'll set you up in Evan's old room. He moved out to his own place last year, but we keep the room ready for when he needs it.”
The casual kindness in the offer made my throat tight with gratitude. After the way I'd behaved today, I didn't deserve this level of care and consideration. But Daniel was offering it anyway, extending the same protective instinct to me that I'd seen him show toward pack members.
Like I was worth protecting. Like I belonged.
“You don't have to—”
“Nate.” Daniel's voice carried just enough alpha authority to make me shut up and listen. “You're important to my son, which makes you important to me. Let me take care of you.”
The words hit like a sucker punch to the chest, overwhelming in their simple sincerity. When was the last time someone had wanted to take care of me? When was the last time I'd let them?
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and followed Daniel out of the study and toward what I assumed was the kitchen. The pack house was larger than it looked from outside, all hardwood floors and warm lighting that made everything feel homey and lived-in.
We passed a living room where several pack members were sprawled across couches, watching what looked like a nature documentary. They looked up as we walked by, offering smiles and nods that felt welcoming rather than wary. Like they'd already decided I was worth keeping around.
The kitchen was massive, clearly designed to feed a crowd. Daniel moved around it with comfortable efficiency, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator and setting a pan on the stove to heat.
“Nothing fancy,” he said, cracking eggs into a bowl. “But it'll help settle your stomach.”
I watched him cook, mesmerized by the domestic normalcy of it. This was what family looked like—taking care of each other without fanfare, making sure everyone was fed and safe and had a place to sleep.
“Daniel?” I said, testing his name on my tongue.
“Hmm?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question.
“Thank you. For this. For not telling me to go fuck myself after the way I acted today.”
His mouth quirked upward in what might have been amusement. “Language,” he said mildly, but there was no real censure in it. “And you're welcome. Everyone deserves a safe place to land when their world gets turned upside down.”
He slid a plate of scrambled eggs and toast across the counter toward me, along with a glass of orange juice that tasted like sunshine and normalcy.
“Eat,” he commanded, and there was enough parental authority in his voice to make me obey without question.
The food settled warmly in my stomach, chasing away the hollow feeling that had been growing all day. With each bite, I felt more human, more capable of facing whatever came next.
“Better?” Daniel asked when I'd cleaned my plate.
“Much,” I admitted. “I didn't realize how hungry I was.”
“Shock does that. Makes you forget about basic needs like food and sleep.” He collected my empty plate, rinsing it in the sink with practiced efficiency. “Come on, let's get you settled upstairs.”
Evan's old room was on the second floor, at the end of a hallway lined with family photographs.
Daniel pushed open the door to reveal a space that felt frozen in time—twin bed with a faded quilt, desk cluttered with books and art supplies, walls covered with sketches that made my heart clench with recognition.
“He drew these,” I said, moving closer to examine the charcoal studies that decorated nearly every available surface. Wolves running through forests, ravens perched on pine branches, landscapes that captured the wild beauty of the Evernight Forest with stunning detail.
“Since he was little,” Daniel said, fondness warming his voice. “Always had an artist's eye, even before he could properly hold a pencil.”
I studied the drawings, seeing Evan in every careful line and shadow. This was the part of himself he kept hidden, the creative soul that lived beneath the responsible heir and dutiful son.
“These are incredible,” I whispered, recognizing a kindred spirit in the way he captured light and movement, the way he made static images feel alive.
“You should tell him that,” Daniel said quietly. “He's never shown these to anyone outside the family. Too afraid of what people might think.”
The revelation made my chest ache with protective tenderness. Of course Evan kept his art hidden. Of course he worried about judgment, about not living up to expectations, about being seen as something other than the perfect Alpha heir.
“I will,” I promised, and meant it.
Daniel moved to the dresser, pulling out what looked like pajamas and a clean t-shirt. “These should fit,” he said, setting them on the bed. “Bathroom's across the hall. Take your time getting settled.”
He headed toward the door, then paused with his hand on the frame.
“Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens next, whatever you decide about staying or going, know that you have a place here if you want it. With the pack. With us.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, throat tight with emotion I couldn't name.
Daniel nodded once and disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with Evan's art and the growing certainty that I'd found something I hadn't even known I was looking for.
I changed into the borrowed clothes, grateful for their softness and the way they smelled faintly of pine and home. The bed was more comfortable than it looked, and for the first time in hours, my body began to relax.
Outside the window, the Evernight Forest rustled with secrets and possibilities. Somewhere out there, Evan was running patrol with his pack, keeping the town safe from threats I was only beginning to understand.
And here I was, sleeping in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his hidden art, trying to figure out how to apologize for being an idiot.
But for the first time since this whole mess started, I felt hopeful. Like maybe I could fix what I'd broken. Like maybe I really did belong here, in this strange little town with its supernatural secrets and fierce loyalties.
Like maybe I'd finally found home.
The forest whispered agreement outside my window, and for once, I didn't question the voice of the trees.