Chapter 10
TEN
Ro
I woke up to the best view I'd ever filmed.
Michelle, asleep between Lucas and me, her dark hair spread across the pillow we'd improvised from couch cushions, her face peaceful in a way I'd never seen during waking hours.
Lucas was curled around her from one side, his arm thrown protectively across her waist. I was on her other side, close enough to feel her warmth, to smell the way our scents had mixed overnight into something completely unified.
Pack scent. Not three alphas and an omega. Just pack.
Dex was awake, of course he was, sitting in the armchair with a cup of coffee, watching over us with the vigilance that was coded into his DNA.
"Morning," I said quietly, not wanting to wake the others.
"Morning. Coffee's in the kitchen." He smiled slightly. "She told you she loved you."
"She told all of us she loved us."
"And then built a nest with us. Slept surrounded by pack." His expression turned soft. "That's huge for her."
It was. Michelle, who'd been fighting pack bonds for six days, who'd built walls so high she'd forgotten what vulnerability felt like, had admitted she loved us and then literally made a nest with us.
Progress didn't even begin to cover it.
Lucas stirred, his eyes opening slowly. He took in the situation, Michelle still asleep against him, me watching from her other side, Dex keeping guard, and his entire face transformed into pure happiness.
"She stayed," he whispered. "I was half-afraid I'd dreamed last night."
"You didn't dream it," I confirmed. "She confessed. We confessed. We built a nest. We slept as pack."
"Best night of my life," Lucas said, and I couldn't argue.
Michelle made a soft sound, burrowing deeper into the blankets. Her hand found mine in sleep, fingers lacing together, and my chest did something complicated.
This. This was what I'd been looking for in every relationship that had never quite fit. This sense of rightness, of completion, of home.
"We should let her sleep," Dex said quietly. "She was up until four AM having emotional breakthroughs. She needs rest."
"Agreed. But I'm not moving until she does."
"Me neither," Lucas added.
So we lay there, watching Michelle sleep, being the kind of sappy, devoted pack that would probably make Dex roll his eyes if he wasn't exactly the same.
Michelle woke slowly, her eyes fluttering open, momentarily disoriented. Then awareness hit, where she was, who she was with, what had happened last night.
I watched her process it, waiting to see if she'd panic, if she'd retreat, if the morning light would bring back her walls.
Instead, she smiled.
Small, but genuine.
"Morning," she said, her voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," Lucas and I said in unison.
"Did we really—" She looked at the nest, at us surrounding her. "Did I really tell you I loved you at three in the morning?"
"You did," I confirmed. "And then we built a nest and slept as pack. And it was perfect."
"I can't believe I did that."
"Regrets?" I asked carefully.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." She sat up, and we gave her space. "I meant it. What I said. But in the light of day it feels—"
"Real?" Lucas supplied. "Permanent? Scary?"
"All of that." She ran a hand through her messy hair. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight," Dex said from his chair. "Your mom's been awake for half an hour but she's giving us space. Very noble of her, considering."
Michelle laughed. "She saw us?"
"She peeked in around seven. Smiled like she'd won the lottery. Went back upstairs."
"She's going to be impossible about this."
"Your mom's delightful," Lucas said.
"You only say that because she enables you."
"She enables all of us. It's her gift."
Michelle looked at us, really looked at us, and I saw the moment reality set in. Not panic, exactly. More like determination.
"We need to talk," she said. "About logistics. About how this works. About the professional side and the public side and all of it."
"We do," I agreed. "But maybe after breakfast? And coffee? And possibly after you've had time to fully wake up and process?"
"I'm awake. I'm processed. I want to tackle this now, before I can overthink it."
"You're already overthinking it," Dex observed. "I can hear your brain from here."
"That's my default state."
"We know," we said in unison.
She smiled despite herself. "Okay, fine. Breakfast first. But then we're having a serious conversation about how to handle this. Deal?"
"Deal," I agreed.
We untangled ourselves from the nest, which felt more significant than it should have, and headed to the kitchen where Bill was already making breakfast burritos.
"Morning, kids," he said cheerfully. "Sleep well?"
"Very well," Lucas said, grinning.
"I saw the nest. Very cozy. Very pack-like." He flipped a burrito. "Janet's thrilled, by the way. She's upstairs planning your mating ceremony."
"WHAT," Michelle said.
"I'm kidding. Mostly. She's definitely thinking about it though."
"We haven't even—we're not—" Michelle stopped, flustered. "We just figured out we're pack last night. We're nowhere near mating ceremonies."
"Yet," Lucas added helpfully.
"Lucas."
"What? I'm just saying, eventually—"
"Lucas!"
I watched them banter, feeling content. This was pack. The teasing, the comfort, the easy way we moved around each other.
Janet appeared in the doorway, fully dressed despite the early hour, looking far too pleased with herself.
"Good morning, mija. Boys. I see you all slept well."
"Mom," Michelle warned.
"What? I'm just making an observation. A very happy observation. About my daughter finally accepting her pack."
"I hate you."
"You love me. And you love them. And it's wonderful." Janet beamed at us. "Now, I have a favor to ask."
"No," Michelle said immediately.
"You don't even know what it is!"
"Whatever it is, no. You're meddling."
"I prefer facilitating." Janet pulled out her phone, showing us something. "The attic needs organizing. Christmas decorations are a mess up there. I need all of you to help sort things out."
Michelle's eyes narrowed. "Mom. What are you planning?"
"Nothing! I just need help with the attic. It's a big job. Requires all four of you. Together. In a small space. For at least an hour."
"You're literally trying to trap us in the attic."
"I'm asking for help with a household task."
"Mom—"
"Michelle, honey, I'm your mother. Trust me. You need to go to the attic."
There was something in Janet's voice that made me pay attention. Not just meddling, though there was absolutely meddling, but genuine intent.
"Why?" Michelle asked suspiciously.
"Because you four need to talk without distractions.
You need to be in a space where you can't run, where you have to face what you're feeling, where you can finally stop fighting and just be.
" Janet's expression softened. "Baby, you told them you loved them at three AM and then built a nest. That's huge.
But you're still scared. You're still trying to control something that needs to happen naturally.
So yes, I'm trapping you in the attic. For your own good. "
Michelle stared at her mother. "You're actually serious. Also, how do you know what time it was when I talked to them?"
"Completely serious. And these walls are not that thick. Eat breakfast, go to the attic, sort decorations, and talk to your pack. Really talk. Without escape routes or professional boundaries or anything else you use as armor."
"That's—"
"Healthy," I interrupted. "That's healthy. Your mom's right, Michelle. We need to actually talk about this. About us. About what comes next."
"We can talk down here."
"Can you?" Janet challenged. "Can you really open up and be vulnerable in a space where you can flee upstairs? Where you can hide behind work or family or anything else? The attic has one exit, mija. And I have the key."
"You're going to lock us in."
"Only for an hour or so. You'll survive. And you’ll come back down with armloads of decorations and feeling better about everything."
Michelle looked between her mother and us, clearly torn between indignation and recognition that Janet had a point.
"Fine," she said finally. "After breakfast, we'll go to the attic. But Mom, if this goes badly, I'm blaming you."
"If this goes badly, I'll accept full blame. But it won't go badly." Janet smiled. "You're pack. You just need to accept it. Fully. Completely. Without reservations."
Forty-five minutes later, I found myself climbing the narrow stairs to the attic behind Lucas, with Michelle ahead of us and Dex bringing up the rear.
The attic was exactly what I'd expected, sloped ceiling, old hardwood floors, boxes of Christmas decorations stacked everywhere, photo albums on shelves, the accumulated history of the Rodriguez-Williams family stored away.
It smelled like dust and cedar and Michelle's peppermint-pine scent that had permeated everything.
"Okay," Michelle said, looking around. "Where do we start?"
"With honesty," Janet called from the bottom of the stairs. "You start with honesty."
Then the door closed.
And locked.
"MOM!" Michelle yelled.
"One hour!" Janet called back. "I'll bring snacks!"
Michelle tried the door handle. Locked solid.
"I can't believe she actually locked us in."
"I can," Dex said, examining the door. "This was planned. The lock's been modified. She's been preparing this."
"Of course she has." Michelle turned to face us. "So. We're trapped in my attic. For an hour. What are we supposed to do?"
"Talk," I said, settling onto an old trunk. "Like your mom said. Actually talk about what comes next."
"I thought we were sorting decorations."
"We're not sorting decorations, Michelle. We're addressing the fact that you told us you loved us last night and then immediately started trying to control the situation." I met her eyes. "You meant it when you said you loved us. But you're still scared. And we need to talk about that."
She looked trapped, which was accurate, given our location.