Chapter 7 #2
Her father had died suddenly. Unexpectedly. And she'd built walls so high that nothing could hurt her like that again.
But pack meant vulnerability. Meant caring enough that loss would destroy you.
She was terrified of that.
"You're not going to lose me," I said quietly. "I'm careful. Trained. I know how to protect myself."
"You can't promise that."
"No, I can't. But Michelle, I can promise that I'm here now. That I'm not going anywhere by choice. That every precaution I take is because I want to be here. With you. With our pack."
She stared at me, tears still tracking down her cheeks, and I saw the moment her walls cracked just a little bit more.
"This is why I don't want to do this," she whispered. "Because caring this much hurts. Because being vulnerable means you can get hurt. Because pack means—"
"Pack means you don't face the fear alone," I finished. "Pack means when you're scared, we're scared with you. When you hurt, we hurt with you. But also when you're happy, we're happy with you. Joy is shared too, Michelle. Not just pain."
"I don't know if I can do this."
"You're already doing it. You jumped on camera last night for Lucas. You're crying right now because you thought I was hurt. You can't fight pack instinct, Michelle. It's already there."
She laughed, but it was wet and shaky. "You sound like Ro. All logical and certain."
"Ro's usually right."
"That's annoying."
"Very." I stood carefully, offering her a hand up. She took it, and I pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's go inside. Get cleaned up. You can fuss over my injuries and convince yourself I'm actually okay."
"I'm not going to fuss."
"You're absolutely going to fuss. You're already checking me for broken bones."
Her hands were indeed patting down my arms again, making sure nothing was seriously damaged.
"Shut up," she muttered, but there was no heat in it.
We headed inside, and I let her fuss. Let her pull me into the kitchen, make me sit at the table, grab the first aid kit from under the sink. Let her carefully check my shoulder, my ribs, my hands for scrapes.
It was pack behavior, taking care of each other, ensuring safety, the physical confirmation that everyone was okay.
And Michelle was doing it instinctively, without even realizing she'd dropped all her professional boundaries.
"You're going to have a bruise," she said, prodding my shoulder gently.
"Had worse."
"That's not the point." She pulled out antiseptic for a scrape on my palm I hadn't even noticed. "The point is you fell because I asked you to help with lights."
"I fell because the ladder shifted. Not your fault."
"I was holding the ladder—"
"Michelle." I caught her wrist gently, stopping her spiraling. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. I'm fine. Stop trying to take responsibility for everything."
She looked at me, and something in her expression softened. "You really are okay?"
"Really."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She nodded, then very carefully cleaned and bandaged the scrape on my palm with more attention than such a minor injury required.
Pack behavior. Taking care of me. Making sure I was okay.
"Thank you," I said when she finished.
"For what?"
"For caring. For letting yourself be scared. For not running away when you felt something."
Her cheeks flushed. "I didn't have time to run. You fell too fast."
"But you're not running now."
She looked at the bandage on my palm, still holding my hand. "No. I'm not running now."
Progress. Slow, gradual progress, but progress nonetheless.
"Michelle!" Josh's voice from the living room. "Mom wants to know if Dex survived the ladder incident!"
"How does she already know?" Michelle called back.
"She has cameras on the backyard! She saw everything!"
"Of course she does."
I laughed, and Michelle glared at me. "This isn't funny. My mother is a menace."
"Your mother cares about you. About us."
"My mother is trying to force us together by any means necessary."
"Is it working?"
She looked at me for a long moment, her hand still holding mine. "Maybe."
My alpha purred with satisfaction.
"Good," I said simply.
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling slightly. "You're impossible. All three of you. You and Lucas with your patience and optimism, and Ro with his certainty and observation—"
"We're pack," I said. "We're supposed to be impossible to resist."
"Is that how it works?"
"According to my grandmother? Yes. She said fated mates exist because the universe knows exactly what you need, even when you're fighting it."
"Your grandmother sounds wise."
"She was. She'd like you."
"How do you know?"
"Because she valued independence and strength. She'd respect your ambition." I squeezed her hand gently. "And she'd tell you that being pack doesn't mean losing yourself. It means having people who see you clearly and love you anyway."
Michelle's eyes were bright again, but not with fear this time. "You all keep saying things like that. Like it's simple."
"It is simple. We see you. We love what we see. We want to be part of your life however you'll let us."
"Even if I'm difficult?"
"Especially then."
"Even if I don't know how to do the omega things?"
"Michelle." I stood, keeping hold of her hand, and looked down at her.
"We don't want omega things. We want you things.
The stress-baking and the workaholic tendencies and the fierce protectiveness.
The way you fight for your clients like they're family.
The way you're scared to care but do it anyway.
The way you're trying so hard to maintain control while everything inside you is screaming to let go. "
"How do you know all that?"
"Because I watch. It's what I do. I watch for threats, for dangers, for problems. But I also watch for truth. And the truth is, you're falling for us, Michelle. You're just too scared to admit it yet."
She stared up at me, and I could see her struggling, wanting to deny it, wanting to run, but also wanting to stay right here and see what happened if she stopped fighting.
"I'm terrified," she whispered.
"I know."
"This could ruin everything. My business, my reputation, my carefully planned life."
"Or it could make everything better."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you. But we won't find out if you keep running."
She was close enough now that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes, could smell the sweet shift in her scent as fear transformed into something else. Something warmer.
"Dex," she breathed, and my name on her lips was prayer and question and possibility all at once.
I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pull her against me and show her that pack meant safety, not danger. Meant home, not prison.
But that was her choice to make.
So I waited.
And watched her decide.
"Hot chocolate's ready!" Maya's voice shattered the moment. "Mom says everyone has to come have some because it's tradition after ladder incidents!"
Michelle laughed, slightly hysterical but genuine. "There's a tradition for ladder incidents?"
"Apparently now there is."
She stepped back, and I let her go. Small moments. Building trust. Letting her set the pace.
"We should go have hot chocolate," she said. "Before Maya drinks it all."
"Probably wise."
We headed to the kitchen where Maya had indeed made hot chocolate, the fancy kind with real peppermint and fresh whipped cream. Janet was there, looking far too pleased with herself. Bill was trying not to laugh.
"Dex!" Janet announced. "I'm so glad you're okay. That was quite a fall."
"I'm fine, Janet. Thank you for your concern."
"Of course! You're part of the family now." She said it like it was fact, not hope.
Michelle made a strangled sound beside me.
Lucas and Ro appeared from the living room, both immediately zeroing in on my probably-developing bruise.
"You fell?" Lucas asked, concerned.
"Ladder shifted. I'm fine."
"He's fine," Michelle confirmed, and the way she said it, protective and certain, made my pack exchange knowing looks.
We settled around the kitchen table with hot chocolate, and the conversation flowed easily. Josh wanted details about the fall from a "content perspective." Maya wanted to know if there were any dramatic near-death revelations. Janet wanted to know if Michelle had properly checked for injuries.
"She fussed appropriately," I confirmed, and Michelle kicked me under the table.
But she was smiling.
After hot chocolate, I retreated to the study, my temporary room, to ice my shoulder and catch up on some security protocols I'd been neglecting.
A knock on the doorframe made me look up. Lucas.
"How are you really?" he asked, closing the door behind him.
"Bruised. Nothing serious."
"Michelle was terrified."
"I know. She cried."
Lucas stared at me in shock for a moment.
"She was scared. She thought I was seriously hurt." I shifted the ice pack. "It broke through her walls. Just for a minute. But she let herself care."
Lucas sat on the daybed. "That's good, right? Progress?"
"Definitely progress. She admitted we're important to her. That caring about us scares her because she's already lost someone she loved."
"Her dad."
"Yeah." I adjusted the ice pack. "She's convinced if she lets herself care about us, we'll be taken away somehow. Death, or loss, or failure. So she's been keeping distance to protect herself."
"But today she couldn't."
"Today she couldn't," I confirmed. "Today her instinct overrode her fear. She felt pack pull. She let herself be vulnerable."
"So what do we do?"
"We keep being patient. Keep showing her that pack means safety, not danger. Keep proving we're not going anywhere." I met Lucas's eyes. "And we let her set the pace. Even when it's torture."
"It is torture," Lucas admitted. "She held my hand last night. We almost kissed, I think. And then she pulled back. Reinforced boundaries."
"But less strongly than before."
"True," Lucas agreed.
Ro appeared in the doorway. "Conversation without me? I'm wounded."
"We're discussing Michelle," Lucas said.
"Ah. My favorite topic." Ro leaned against the doorframe. "She's processing. I can hear her pacing in her room. Heavy thinking happening."
"Good thinking or bad thinking?" I asked.
"Probably both. She's Michelle. She overthinks everything." But Ro was smiling slightly. "Although she did tell Maya that we're 'not terrible' and 'somewhat tolerable,' which I think is basically a declaration of love in Michelle-speak."
Lucas laughed. "Progress."
"Slow progress," I corrected. "But progress nonetheless."
"The ladder incident helped," Ro observed. "You gave her a concrete thing to react to. Let her feel the fear of loss and realize she cares too much to keep pretending she doesn't."
"I didn't fall on purpose."
"No, but you handled it perfectly. Let her fuss. Let her care. Didn't minimize her fear or tell her she was overreacting." Ro's expression turned serious. "That's what she needs. Permission to feel things without judgment."
"She's been holding so much in," Lucas said quietly. "Building walls so high she forgot what it felt like to let people in."
"Until us," I said.
"Until us," they agreed.
We sat in comfortable silence, processing. We were making progress. Michelle was cracking. The walls were coming down, slowly but surely.
But there was still so far to go.
"Saturday's stream," Ro said, breaking the silence. "I was thinking we could do something interactive. Get Michelle involved naturally, not forced. Maybe a Q&A about content strategy? She'd be in her element. Professional. But it would normalize her being on camera."
"She'd see it as work," Lucas added, brightening. "Not personal. She could maintain her professional boundaries while still being present."
"And viewers would see her competence," I finished. "See her as the brilliant manager she is, not just 'Lucas's maybe-girlfriend.'"
"It could work," Ro said. "If she agrees."
"I'll ask her," Lucas offered. "Frame it as business. Which it is. Mostly."
"Mostly," Ro agreed with a slight smile.
Another knock, this time Michelle herself.
"Can I come in?" she asked, hovering in the doorway.
"Always," I said.
She entered, and I noticed she was carrying something, a thermos and what looked like pain medication.
"I brought you tea," she said, setting both on the desk. "Bill's special blend. Good for bruises and general soreness. And ibuprofen, because you should take it every four hours for the next day or two."
She was fussing. Even now, hours after the fall, she was still taking care of me.
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched.
"And I wanted to apologize. For freaking out. For crying. For making it a bigger deal than it was—"
"Michelle," I interrupted gently. "You don't need to apologize for caring."
"But I made it awkward. I broke down instead of being professional—"
"You were human," Ro said. "That's not something to apologize for."
"You were pack," Lucas added. "Taking care of your alpha. That's instinct, Michelle. It's not something you can control."
She looked between the three of us, and I watched her process that. The fact that we weren't judging her for caring, for showing emotion, for letting her walls down.
"I'm not used to this," she admitted. "Caring this much. Letting people see me care. It feels... vulnerable."
"It is vulnerable," I agreed. "But vulnerability isn't weakness. It's trust."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of trust."
"Then we'll wait until you are," Lucas said simply.
"You keep saying that. That you'll wait. Like you really mean it."
"We do mean it," Ro said. "However long it takes, Michelle. We're not going anywhere."
She nodded, something in her expression softening. "Thank you. For the patience and... everything."
"Thank you for the tea and the fussing," I countered. "It meant a lot."
Her cheeks flushed. "I wasn't fussing."
"You were absolutely fussing," Lucas said, grinning. "It was adorable."
"I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," we said in unison.
She laughed, genuine and unguarded, and the sound made my alpha purr with contentment.
This. This was what we were building. Not just pack bonds and fated mates, but friendship and trust and genuine connection.
Michelle left to "actually do some work," but she glanced back before closing the door. And in that glance, I saw possibility.
She was falling. Slowly, carefully, terrified every step of the way.
But she was falling.
And we'd be there to catch her.
However long it took.