Chapter 27 Home Repairs
HOME REPAIRS
EVAN
Power tools and muffled laughter spilled out of the Harrington house as I pulled up in Gideon's truck, mason jars rattling in the bed from Anna's latest batch of homemade preserves.
The old Victorian looked way better already—fresh paint on the shutters, new boards where the porch steps used to be rotting, and what looked like half the pack's vehicles scattered across the front yard like we were throwing some kind of supernatural block party.
Which, knowing Anna, we probably were.
I grabbed the toolbox from the passenger seat, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Gideon as he climbed out of the driver's side.
Ever since his little revelation about being more than just a gruff mechanic, I felt like punching something every time I caught sight of his weathered hands.
Hands that could apparently weave magic as easily as they could rebuild an engine.
Fucking fantastic.
“You're doing that brooding thing again,” Cal called from where he was balanced on a ladder, scraping paint from the house's trim. “Your face is gonna get stuck that way.”
“My face is fine,” I muttered, but I could feel the scowl carved between my eyebrows like it had taken up permanent residence.
“Mmhmm.” Cal grinned down at me, paint chips caught in his dark hair. “Super approachable. Very 'come talk to me about your feelings, I definitely won't bite your head off.'”
I flipped him off, which only made him laugh harder.
The front door swung open before I could mount a proper defense, and Nate appeared wearing paint-splattered jeans and one of my flannel shirts that was way too big for him.
My wolf practically purred at the sight—mine, wearing my clothes, smelling like me—while the human part of my brain tried to pretend my heart wasn't doing stupid fluttery things.
“Hey, you,” he said, and his smile was soft and private and meant just for me. “Mom's got everyone organized into work crews. Apparently we're building a deck now too.”
“A deck?” I raised an eyebrow, stepping close enough to tug at the collar of my shirt where it hung loose on his shoulders. “When did that happen?”
“About ten minutes after she brought out the lemonade and started talking about summer barbecues.” Nate leaned into my touch without even thinking about it, and I had to bite back a satisfied rumble. “Your mom would have loved her, I think.”
Mom would have adored Anna Harrington's fierce protectiveness disguised as hospitality, would have recognized a kindred spirit in the way Anna gathered strays and claimed them as family.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “She would have.”
Nate's expression softened, reading the shift in my mood with that intuition that still caught me off guard sometimes. His fingers found mine, squeezing gently.
“Come on,” he said, tugging me toward the house. “Dad's been muttering about carburetor settings, and I think he's about two seconds away from taking the whole engine apart just to prove a point.”
Inside, the house buzzed with comfortable chaos.
Mason sprawled on the living room floor, apparently in charge of sorting screws and brackets for whatever project Anna had dreamed up next.
Tools and lumber occupied every available surface, and the scent of fresh coffee mixed with sawdust and that indefinable something that made houses feel like homes.
Michael looked up from where he was bent over the kitchen table, studying what appeared to be architectural drawings with the focused intensity of a man determined to understand every detail.
“Evan!” Anna's voice carried from somewhere upstairs, followed by the sound of her heels clicking down the wooden steps. “Perfect timing. I need someone tall to help me hang these curtains, and Nathaniel keeps making excuses about having to help his father.”
“I don't make excuses,” Nate protested, grinning. “I delegate. Very efficiently.”
“Delegate?” Mason snorted from his position on the floor. “Is that what we're calling it when you disappear every time someone mentions actual work?”
“I do actual work,” Nate said indignantly. “I document the actual work. With my camera. For posterity.”
“For posterity,” Cal echoed, climbing down from his ladder to grab a water bottle. “Right. Nothing to do with avoiding anything that might chip your manicure.”
I watched the easy banter with something warm unfurling in my chest. This was what pack felt like when it worked—the teasing and the shared labor, the way everyone pitched in without being asked because that's what family did for each other.
Even if half the family didn't know they were family yet.
“The carburetor's not going to rebuild itself,” Michael called from the kitchen, and I could hear the barely contained excitement in his voice. Working with his hands again, fixing something that mattered—it was doing him good.
“Coming, Dad,” Nate called back, but instead of moving toward the kitchen, he stepped closer to me, fingers catching in the front of my shirt. “But first...”
He went up on his toes, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth that tasted like coffee and contentment. It was soft and sweet and completely unconscious, the automatic gesture of someone who'd gotten comfortable with showing affection.
My wolf practically vibrated with satisfaction.
“Ugh,” Mason groaned from the floor. “Seriously? Right in front of my salad?”
“You're not eating salad,” Cal pointed out reasonably. “You're sorting hardware.”
“It's an expression, Cal.”
“A stupid expression.”
“Your face is a stupid expression.”
I tuned out their bickering, too busy cataloging the way Nate fit against me, the way his thumb brushed across my collarbone where my shirt had shifted.
Casual touches, stolen kisses, the simple miracle of being wanted by someone who knew exactly what they were getting into—and I still wasn't used to it.
Wasn't sure I'd ever be used to it.
“You two are disgusting,” Mason announced with theatrical disgust. “Like, cavity-inducing levels of sweet. I may need dental work.”
“You need dental work anyway,” Nate shot back without moving away from me. “When's the last time you actually went to a dentist?”
“I have excellent dental hygiene,” Mason said with wounded dignity. “It's genetic.”
“Genetic dental hygiene,” Anna said, appearing in the living room doorway with an armful of curtains and a look of fond exasperation. “That's a new one. Does that mean you boys don't need to brush your teeth?”
The sudden silence that fell over the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Because Anna had just stumbled right up to the edge of our biggest secret without even realizing it, and none of us had any idea how to respond without either lying or revealing truths that weren't ours to share.
“Mom,” Nate said carefully. “They were just joking around.”
“Of course they were,” Anna said, but there was something thoughtful in her expression as she looked between Mason's suddenly tight shoulders and Cal's carefully neutral face. “Boys and their tall tales. Michael! Come help me figure out where these brackets need to go!”
The moment passed, but I caught the way Gideon's hands stilled on the wrench he'd been using to adjust something under the sink. We were walking a tightrope here, trying to be part of this family without letting them see the claws.
It couldn't last forever.
But for now, for this moment, I could pretend it was enough to help Michael coax life back into his old truck while Anna fussed over curtains and Nate stole kisses between trips to the toolbox.
For now, I could let myself believe in the fiction of normal.
“Hey,” Nate said softly, appearing at my elbow with a wrench I probably needed. “You okay? You went somewhere dark there for a minute.”
Trust him to notice the shift in my mood, the way my thoughts had turned toward futures that felt increasingly uncertain.
“Yeah,” I said, taking the wrench and letting my fingers brush against his in the exchange. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit,” he teased, but his eyes were serious. “Want to share with the class?”
I glanced around the room—at Mason still sorting hardware with mechanical precision, at Cal measuring boards for Anna's deck project, at Michael and Gideon bent over the truck's engine like old friends sharing a common language of fan belts and spark plugs.
This was what we were fighting for. This fragile, precious thing we'd built without anyone quite realizing we were building it. The humans who'd become pack without knowing it, the wolves who'd learned to love fiercely enough to die protecting what mattered.
“Just thinking about how good this is,” I said quietly. “How right it feels.”
Nate's smile was soft and understanding and tinged with the same bittersweetness I was feeling.
“Yeah,” he said. “It really does.”
“Oi!” Cal called from across the room. “Less gazing into each other's eyes, more helping me figure out if these measurements are right. Because if Anna's deck collapses, she's gonna blame me, and I cannot handle that level of disappointed mom energy.”
“The measurements are fine,” Mason said without looking up from his hardware sorting. “You're just paranoid because you've never built a deck before.”
“I've built plenty of—”
“Birdhouses don't count.”
“That was one time!”
I caught Nate's hand, squeezing gently before releasing him to join the good-natured argument about construction competency. This was pack—the bickering and the shared labor, the way we showed love through service and presence rather than words.
Even Gideon, standing quietly by the sink, was part of this fabric we'd woven together. Even if I couldn't quite bring myself to look at him directly.
The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface like a slow burn. But so was the recognition that he was family too, had been family long before I understood what that meant.