Chapter 33 Vespera #2
"Friends," I say finally. "Scene partners. People who care about each other but aren't going to work romantically."
"Because of the bonds."
"Because of a lot of things." I meet his eyes. "But mostly because trying to fight them is destroying me. And I think... I think maybe it's time to stop fighting."
The words surprise me even as I say them. But they feel true.
"So you're choosing them." Not accusatory. Sad.
"I'm choosing to stop pretending I have another choice." I reach over, squeeze his hand briefly. "But I need you to stay. As my friend. Because Stephanie and Robbie are great, but you understand what it's like to want something impossible. And you do."
"I do," he agrees quietly.
We sit there for a while, not talking. Processing. Grieving something that never quite got to exist.
Finally, Ben stands. "I should go. I have a shift at the library in twenty minutes."
"Ben—"
"It's okay." He gives me that crooked smile that used to make my heart race. Now it makes me sad. "Really. We're good. We'll figure out the friend thing."
"Will we?"
"We have to." He heads for the door, pauses with his hand on the handle. "Because I'm not going anywhere, Vespera. And neither are they. So we're all going to have to learn how to coexist."
After he leaves, I stay in the practice room, staring at the scuff marks on the floor.
Three days ago, I tried to have sex with Ben and my body refused. Completely, definitively, like every cell had been reprogrammed to only respond to pack. To only want them, no matter what my mind said.
And today I told him we could only be friends. Said it out loud. Made it real.
So why does it feel like I closed a door I'll never be able to open again?
My phone buzzes.
Dorian: Where are you?
Not "how'd auditions go" or "everything okay?" Where are you. Like he feels my distress through the bonds and needs to locate me.
Me: Practice room. Fourth floor.
Dorian: Stay there.
I almost laugh. As if I could go anywhere else. As if the bonds would let me run even if I wanted to.
Five minutes later, the door opens. Not Dorian—Oakley.
He takes one look at my face and sits down beside me. Not touching, present.
"Heard you had the talk with Ben," he says quietly.
"How did you—"
"Dorian felt your distress spike through the bonds. Sent me to check on you." He leans back against the wall. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Want to sit in silence while I make sure you don't spiral?"
Despite everything, I smile slightly. "Yeah. That sounds good."
We sit. The practice room is quiet except for the distant sound of someone running scales in another studio. The late afternoon light slants through the window, making dust motes visible in the air.
"I told him we could only be friends," I say eventually.
"And?"
"And I think I meant it." I pull my knees to my chest. "My body won't let me be anything else. The bonds won't let me. So what's the point of wanting something impossible?"
Oakley's quiet for a stretch. "Is that acceptance or defeat?"
"I don't know." And that's the truth. "Maybe both."
He shifts slightly, still not touching me but close enough that I feel his warmth. "For what it's worth? I think you're brave. Braver than any of us."
"I'm not brave. I'm out of options."
"You always have options, Vespera. You're choosing this. Maybe not freely, maybe not the way you wanted, but you're still choosing." He stands, offers me his hand. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Home. The pack house. The place I ran from, the place I was dragged to, the place that's somehow become mine whether I wanted it or not.
I take his hand and let him pull me up.
"Callback list goes up tomorrow at nine," I say as we walk to the parking lot.
"You'll get it. You know you will."
"What if I don't want it anymore?" The words surprise me. "What if I'm tired of fighting for things that might not matter?"
"Then you rest." He unlocks his car, and I slide into the passenger seat. "And when you're ready to fight again, we'll be there."
The drive back to the pack house is quiet. Comfortable. The bonds hum contentedly at proximity, at pack, at the promise of home.
When we pull up, Dorian's on the porch. Waiting. His eyes track me as I get out of the car, the question in them—are you okay?
I'm not okay. But I'm here. And maybe for right now, that's enough.
"Auditions went well," I say before he can ask. "I'll probably get callbacks."
"Of course you will." His voice is careful. Controlled. Like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. "Ben?"
"We talked. We're... working it out."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we're going to try to be friends and probably fail spectacularly and make everyone uncomfortable in the process." I walk past him into the house. "But that's a problem for tomorrow."
Corvus is in the kitchen, doing something complicated with vegetables that probably has a French name. He glances up as I enter, takes in my expression, and goes back to chopping without comment.
"Dinner in thirty," he says.
"I'm going to shower."
Upstairs in my room—the master bedroom with the lock I never use anymore—I strip off my audition clothes and stand under water hot enough to hurt.
Three days ago, I tried to sleep with Ben. Today I told him we could only be friends. Tomorrow I'll probably get callbacks for Hedda Gabler, and I'll have to spend six weeks playing a woman trapped by society's expectations while living with three Alphas who claimed me against my will.
The irony would be funny if it didn't hurt so much.
When I come back downstairs, they're all in the kitchen. Corvus plating food with surgical precision. Oakley setting the table. Dorian opening a bottle of wine that probably costs more than my scholarship.
They look up as I enter, and we stare at each other. Four people bound together by biology and circumstance and something that might be love if we're brave enough to admit it.
"Sit," Corvus says, and it's not a command. It's an invitation.
So I do.
And we eat dinner like a normal pack, in a house that's starting to feel like home, bound by marks I never asked for to people I'm learning how to choose.
It's not surrender.
It's not acceptance either.
It's what is.
And maybe that's all I can handle right now.