Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Daphne
The late afternoon sun was warm on my back as I knelt in the garden, my hands deep in the soil. There was something meditative about weeding—the repetitive motion, the immediate visible results, the simple satisfaction of removing things that didn't belong. It helped quiet the chaos in my mind.
I'd been out here for hours, working my way methodically through the rows.
My knees ached, my back protested, and my hands were stained green and brown, but I felt more centered than I had since opening that box this morning.
The dead plant was gone. The threat was documented.
Viola knew, and tomorrow the pack would know.
I couldn't control what Trinity did. But I could control this—my garden, my work, my response.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I sat back on my heels, wiping my hands on my jeans before pulling it out.
Levi: So I'm experimenting with focaccia now. Garrett says I'm obsessed. He's probably right. How do you feel about rosemary and olive oil?
Despite everything, I felt myself smile. There was something endearing about his enthusiasm, the way he'd just... decided we were going to have ongoing conversations about bread.
I sent a quick replay back: Rosemary and olive oil is classic for a reason. Can't go wrong with it.
His response came almost immediately: Perfect! I'll make it for tomorrow night. Consider it a thank you for not letting me give up after loaf number three.
Tomorrow night. Dinner with the pack. My stomach did a complicated flip that was equal parts anxiety and something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.
I took a deep breath as I stepped back: You don't have to make anything special.
Levi: Too late. Already started. Besides, cooking for people is kind of my thing. Fair warning though, if you keep giving me advice, I'm going to start bringing you everything I bake for quality control.
Me: That sounds like a threat.
Levi: It's a promise. See you tomorrow!
I stared at the exchange, at the easy back-and-forth that felt almost... normal. Like I was someone who had friends, who had people checking in, who had plans that didn't revolve around solitude and safety.
My phone buzzed again, a different conversation this time.
Micah: Oliver mentioned you need to talk to us about something tomorrow. Just want you to know—whatever it is, we'll handle it together. No judgment, no pressure.
The message made my throat tight. He didn't even know what had happened, but he was already offering support. Already making it clear I wouldn't be facing it alone.
Me: Thank you. That means a lot.
Micah: That's what pack does. See you at six.
I set the phone down and looked around my garden, at the neat rows I'd maintained so carefully, the plants thriving under my constant attention.
For five years, this had been enough. The work, the routine, the self-sufficiency.
But now, with messages from people who wanted to be part of my life, it felt different. Not wrong, exactly, but... incomplete.
Like I'd been maintaining a garden but forgetting to actually enjoy the flowers.
I stood, stretching out the kinks in my back, and surveyed my afternoon's work.
Three rows completely weeded, the soil dark and clean, the vegetables looking healthier already without the competition. Tangible progress. Visible results.
If only emotional growth was as straightforward as pulling weeds.
I was heading inside to wash up when I heard another vehicle coming down the road.
My body tensed automatically—how many visitors could one person have in two days?
But this engine I recognized now. Garrett's blue truck, but instead of Garrett stepping out it was Oliver.
He climbed out of the truck, and even from a distance, I could see the concern etched into his features.
Oliver was broader than Garrett, more solidly built, with dark hair and those intense blue eyes that seemed to see everything.
He moved with purpose, not the easy casualness of his packmates, but with the controlled energy of someone used to being in charge.
"Daphne," he called out as he approached, his voice carrying that note of authority that was both reassuring and slightly intimidating. "I hope you don't mind. Garrett has been worried about the text from earlier, and I wanted to check in."
I stood there in my dirt-stained clothes, my hands still grimy from the garden, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I'm fine. Really. You didn't need to come all the way out here."
Oliver stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that felt assessing rather than invasive.
"You said something happened this morning.
That you needed to talk to us about it tomorrow.
" He paused, his expression softening slightly.
"I know you said you'd explain everything at dinner, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Couldn't shake the feeling that maybe you needed someone now, not tomorrow. "
The consideration in his words, the fact that he'd driven all the way out here just because he sensed I might need support, made my throat tight with emotion I wasn't ready to name.
"It's not an emergency," I said, wrapping my arms around myself despite the warm afternoon air. "Just… something I need to tell you all. Together."
"Can I stay anyway?" Oliver inquired softly his blue eyes watching my every movement.
There was something almost vulnerable in the question, like he genuinely wasn't sure if his presence would be welcome.
"Even if we don't talk about whatever happened, I'd like to just… be here. If you're okay with that."
I should have said no. Should have maintained my boundaries, kept him at a distance until I was ready to face the pack all at once. Standing there in my garden with the afternoon sun slanting through the trees and Oliver looking at me with those concerned eyes, I found I didn't want to say no.
"You can stay," I heard myself say, my voice quieter than I intended. "But I'm kind of a mess right now."
"You look like someone who's been working hard in their garden," Oliver observed, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "That's not a mess. That's just living."
The simple acceptance in his tone, the way he didn't flinch at my dirt-stained appearance or demand I explain myself, made something in my chest loosen. I gestured toward the porch. "I was going to make some iced tea. Do you want some?"
"That sounds perfect." He gave me a soft smile, and it made me pause for a moment before walking into the house together.
I was hyperaware of his presence beside me—the way his scent drifted on the breeze, something clean and woodsy with an undertone of pine that made my Omega instincts hum with interest. It was different from Garrett's cedar warmth or Micah's sharp green scent, but equally compelling in its own way.
Inside the kitchen, I washed my hands at the sink while Oliver leaned against the counter, giving me space but not leaving.
His eyes took in my small kitchen—the herbs drying by the window, the jars of preserves lined up on the shelf, the simple, practical setup that had been my world for five years.
"You've made a real home here," he said quietly, and I could tell by his tone, there was no teasing or looking down on me in his voice, "It's impressive, what you've built."
"It's just a cabin," I deflected, drying my hands on a dish towel. "Nothing special."
"It's yours. That makes it special." Oliver moved to the window, looking out at my garden. "Garrett told me about helping with the orchard. Said you knew more about trees and growing things than anyone he'd ever met."
I busied myself pulling out the pitcher and tea bags, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I just know what my adoptive parents taught me. Trial and error over five years."
"That's more than knowledge," Oliver said, turning back to face me. It was then I could feel how much taller he was than me when I had to crane my neck up to look him in the eyes. "That's dedication. Commitment to something you care about."
His words hung in the air as I let myself go back to filling the kettle with water and set it to heat. The kitchen felt smaller with him in it, but not in a bad way. More like his presence filled up all the empty spaces I'd gotten used to.
"You said the others were worried about me," I said after a moment, needing to fill the silence with something. "Garrett being the worst and annoying the others?"
Oliver's laugh was low and genuine. "Garrett has a tendency to…
fixate when he cares about something. Or someone.
The rest of us have learned to recognize the signs.
" His expression grew more serious. "But we're all concerned, Daphne.
Micah came back yesterday saying you'd agreed to try, but also that you were terrified.
Levi's been baking nonstop, which is what he does when he's anxious.
And I…" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened at the market.
About Trinity, and how she treated you."
My hands stilled on the pitcher. "That's part of what I need to talk to you all about."
Oliver straightened immediately, his Alpha instincts clearly on alert. "Did she do something else?"
"Tomorrow," I said firmly, even though my voice shook slightly. "I'll tell all of you together. I don't want to have to explain it multiple times."
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the war in his expression—the desire to push for information now, to protect and fix whatever was wrong, versus the respect for my boundaries. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, tomorrow. But Daphne, if you're in any danger—"
"I'm not," I interrupted quickly. "Not immediate danger, anyway. It's just… complicated."