Chapter 34 – BODHI #2
There’s a chorus of agreement. People gather their tools, and as they drift away in twos and threes, I remain standing here, staring at the house frame as if it holds answers to questions I haven’t figured out how to ask.
“So?” Mitch appears at my elbow, toolbox in hand. “You helping tomorrow?”
The smart answer is no. I should leave before I get more entangled, but the truth is, I enjoyed it more than I want to admit.
“Maybe,” I hear myself say.
Mitch nods like that’s the answer he expected before steering me over to where someone’s got a grill going, the smell of burgers and hot dogs making my stomach growl.
“It’s looking good,” Frank says, stepping back to admire today’s progress. “Another few days, and she’ll be ready for walls.”
A cub races past, chased by two others, their laughter bright in the dancing firelight.
This is what we’re building. Not just houses, but homes.
“Incoming,” Mason mutters beside me.
I turn to see Garrett striding across the clearing with five of his supporters. Their approach dampens the peaceful atmosphere.
Conversations die. The hammering stops.
Garrett’s wearing his good clothes, dark jeans and a leather jacket, despite the warm evening. His supporters fan out behind him.
This isn’t a casual visit.
“Mitch,” Garrett calls out, voice carrying across the space. “Time to settle this.”
Mitch sets down his beer with deliberate calm. He wipes his hands on his jeans, taking his time, making Garrett wait. When he finally turns, his expression is neutral as always, but anyone who really knows Mitch knows not to mistake his quiet stillness for mild mannerliness.
“The challenge is set for tomorrow,” Mitch says evenly.
“I’m here now.” Garrett spreads his arms wide, playing to the gathering crowd. “Unless you need more time to prepare? To find your spine?”
My bear surges forward at his transparent ploy to take advantage of the fact that Mitch has just done hours of hard labour. I take a step, eager to let Garrett know what I think of his cheap tactics, but Mitch’s hand catches my arm.
“This is my challenge to answer, Bodhi.” His voice is quiet but firm. There’s steel under that calm exterior, strength that’s held this clan together despite everything that’s happened here. “Stand down.”
I force myself to step back and uncurl my fists. The clan forms a natural circle around us. Some climb onto the picnic benches and stacks of timber around us for a better view. Others emerge from their homes, drawn by palpable tension that’s seeping into the atmosphere.
“Terms?” Mitch asks, still utterly unfazed as he removes the tool belt still slung around his hips.
“First blood or submission.” Garrett’s smile is all teeth, but Mitch’s non-reaction has him slightly rattled. Maybe he’s beginning to realise he’s underestimated him. “Unless you’d prefer to step down now and save yourself the embarrassment.”
Mitch pulls off his work shirt and folds it with the same careful precision he brings to everything. Underneath, he’s broader than Garrett, and every bit of him is solid muscle. If anyone should be retreating, it’s Garrett.
“First blood it is.”
They circle each other. Garrett moves like a brawler, all aggressive energy and sharp movements. Mitch is patient and watchful, confident after years of kicking the asses of his younger brothers, including me, before I got too big for him to match.
Garrett strikes first, a vicious right hook that would drop most men, but Mitch isn’t there anymore. He’s moved just enough, letting the blow whistle past. Garrett stumbles off balance, and Mitch’s elbow catches him in the ribs in a restrained, precise strike. The crack of bone is audible.
“Shit.” Mason breathes beside me. “When did Mitch learn to fight like that?”
He’s always been able to fight. As the oldest brother, he’d draw Dad’s ire to keep his attention away from Mum and the younger kids in the house. He learned how to defend himself while staying under the radar.
But Garrett’s about to learn that you underestimate a Lennox at your own peril.
Garrett recovers, charging in with a flurry of punches meant to overwhelm. Mitch weaves through them, deflecting what he can’t dodge, letting Garrett tire himself out. When an opening comes, Mitch’s knee drives into Garrett’s thigh, dropping him to the ground.
Marcus grimaces from across the clearing, and Maddox rubs his quad like he can feel the dead leg Mitch just doled out. “I remember that move. Hurts like a bitch.”
“Yield,” Mitch says quietly, giving Garrett the opportunity to leave with his dignity still somewhat intact.
“Fuck you.” Garrett lunges up, going for a takedown.
Mitch hooks Garrett’s arm, and suddenly, Garrett’s face-down in the dirt with Mitch’s knee on his spine. The position is perfect. Textbook. No wasted movement. Mitch hasn’t even broken a sweat.
And there’s no escape.
“Yield,” Mitch repeats, adding a little pressure to Garrett’s limb.
He doesn’t want to break Garrett’s arm, but looking at Mitch’s cold, detached demeanor, I know he will if it means all this bullshit ends here. He has better things to do than deal with nonsensical challenges every day of the week. The victory needs to be emphatic.
Garrett struggles, but Mitch has leverage now, which he reminds him of by pushing his arm even higher. After a long moment, and some pained grunts, Garrett’s hand slaps the ground. “Fine. Fuck. I yield.”
Mitch releases him immediately, stepping back, barely winded.
Garrett struggles to his feet, supported by his crew, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.
“Get out of here,” Mitch says. “And this nonsense better be done, or you’re out.”
As Garrett’s group helps him limp away, a slow clap begins around the circle. People swarm Mitch with congratulations, but I see the look in his eyes. Victory without joy. Duty fulfilled, but nothing more.
His heart really isn’t in it.
The impromptu celebration continues around the BBQ. Someone produces beer, and others add more food to the grill. Cubs dare each other to get closer to where the fight happened, already turning it into legend.
I find Mitch sitting apart from the others, checking his phone. His expression softens at whatever he’s reading, a genuine smile crossing his face for the first time all evening.
“Mom?” I ask, settling beside him.
He nods, tilting the screen so I can see. It’s a photo of a young she-bear, looking healthy and safe, waving goodbye from the lakeshore. One of their residents at the sanctuary.
“She left the island today,” Mitch says quietly.
I look at my brother, noticing the way his entire demeanor changes when he talks about the sanctuary. The way his shoulders relax, his voice warms. This is what he’s meant to do. Not lead through strength but heal through compassion.
And I’m keeping him from it. Mitch has been sacrificing his dreams for the clan. For me.
But no more.
I stand, the movement drawing attention. Conversations quiet as people turn to look. The fire crackles in the sudden silence.
“I have something to say.” My voice carries across the gathered crowd, growing stronger with each word. “Mitch has led this clan with honour. He’s protected us, guided us, and shown us what we could become beyond my father’s legacy.”
Mitch looks up at me, unsure what I’m going to say next.
“But he’s been asked to take on another leadership role, one that will benefit the women in this clan, and others, greatly.” I look into his eyes. “And he’s kindly agreed.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod, understanding. Others look confused. Mainly the men.
“Which is why, effective immediately, if you’ll have me, I’m taking my role as Alpha of Black River Clan. The one my father worked so hard to ensure I never stepped into.” The words feel strange in my mouth, but right. “Mitch has given enough. It’s time he follows his own path.”
The silence stretches for a heartbeat until Marcus claps, slow and deliberate. Others join in, the sound building until it’s thunderous. Cubs whoop and holler. Someone raises a beer in salute.
But I see Mitch’s face, the profound relief mixed with gratitude. He stands, crossing to me, and pulls me into a brief, hard, back-thumping man hug.
“About fucking time,” he mutters.
When we part, I address the clan again. “Anyone who wants to challenge me is welcome to.”
Heads swivel, checking to see if anyone is brave or stupid enough to step forward.
Nobody moves.
That kicks the celebration up another notch. People press forward to offer congratulations, to pledge support, and to share their hopes for what comes next.
I try to focus, to be present for this moment that I’ve avoided for so long. Rubbing my shoulder, I draw on our connection, using it to ground me.
A sense of calm settles over me now, everything finally feeling right, apart from that dull ache that’s been ever present since I left Emma at Chase’s compound. But now that I’ve put to bed the demons of my past, I feel confident about the future.
Until the wind shifts.
A familiar scent cuts through the smoke, and grilled meat and gathered bodies. My head snaps up, searching the edge of the firelight.
Emma stands there like a vision, backlit by the glowing light from the bar. Even in worn jeans, a simple T-shirt, and hair pulled back in a messy bun, she takes my breath away. There’s a duffel bag at her feet and exhaustion written across her face.
She’s here.
Our eyes meet across the crowd, and everything else fades away. The chatter, the celebration, my bear’s pride at finally taking on the role that was his birthright. All that exists is her, here. When she should be safe at Chase’s compound.
She offers a thin smile while, at the same time, raising one eyebrow in question, and I realize what I’ve just done.
I’ve made the biggest decision of my life, committed to leading dozens of people, living here in Black River, forever, without even discussing it with my mate.
Staking my leadership on a bunch of wild men, some of whom were rolling in the dirt just minutes ago, who are nothing but strangers to her.
Without asking what she wants.
Without knowing if she’ll stay.
The celebration continues around me, but as she stands there, tired, brave, and having crossed territory to find me, I understand the true extent of what I’ve done.
It’s not that I chose wrong.
I chose alone.