Chapter 40 Willa
FORTY
willa
The pitchfork feels good in my hands.
Solid. Something I can control while everything else in my life spins like a tornado I’m standing in the center of.
It’s been a week. Seven days since I became bonded to Pack McCrea. Seven days of living in a bubble with my pack, wrapped up in each other like the outside world doesn’t exist.
Seven days of learning what it means to be bonded—to feel them constantly humming in the back of my mind, their emotions bleeding into mine, their presence a comfort even when they’re not touching me.
Seven days of pretending this is all there is.
But it’s not. And I can’t hide in the nest forever, no matter how much my Omega wants to.
I scoop another load of soiled bedding from the stall and toss it into the wheelbarrow, my muscles burning in the best way. Physical work. That’s what I need right now. Something to ground me, to work off the restless energy that’s been humming under my skin since I woke up this morning.
Because today, the real world starts creeping back in.
I need to go back to work. There’s one more tour stop before the season is over, and another intern has been covering for me, but I can’t leave him hanging forever. I still have all the responsibilities with APbrA, even if my life has been turned completely upside down.
And then there’s the pack house. I need to formally move in. Everything’s been in limbo since I came back to Muddy Creek. My stuff is still at the old house. I heard Caleb was due home too, and that’s a whole other can of worms.
How do I tell him I’m bonded? That it happened fast, and it’s to his best friend? Poor Charlie—on second thought, I’m not sure I want to be there for that conversation.
Bonded Omega. The words still feel foreign in my head. Like they belong to someone else. Someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who isn’t still figuring out how to breathe around the constant awareness of three Alphas in her consciousness.
I’m still giddy with it, if I’m honest. Still catching myself smiling for no reason. Still getting distracted by the bond tugging at me, reminding me they’re close, they’re safe, they’re mine. It’s overwhelming and perfect and terrifying all at once.
And then there’s the lawyer meeting.
My stomach clenches at the thought. I have to formally meet with the attorney about the charges against Felton. I have to give my statement, go through everything that happened, and relive it all for the court case looming like a storm cloud on the horizon.
The anxiety still sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe. But then the steady pulse of my pack sending comfort and safety through the bond makes my breath hitch…
You can do this, I tell myself, scooping another forkful of bedding. You’re not alone anymore. You have a pack. You have people who believe you.
Because I’m here. Home. With my pack. With my—
“Willa?”
The voice stops me cold.
I know that voice. Would know it anywhere, even after six years of silence. Even across an ocean of years and distance and all the things we never said to each other.
I turn slowly, pitchfork still in hand, and there he is.
Caleb.
My brother stands in the barn entrance, backlit by late afternoon sun, and for a second we just stare at each other.
He looks the same—same dark hair that curls when it gets too long, same sharp jawline, same intense brown eyes that are as quick to anger as they are to laughter. But he’s broader now. More settled into himself. The boy I left behind has become a man.
The last time I saw him, he was leaving for college. The winter before it all went to shit.
“Caleb?” His name comes out as a whispered question.
He takes a step forward, and I see it then—the way his throat works, the shine in his eyes that he’s trying to blink away. “Hey, kid.”
The nickname breaks something in me.
The pitchfork clatters to the ground as I launch myself at him, crossing the distance in three running steps.
He catches me easily, his arms coming around me tight and sure, and I’m crying before I realize it.
Sobbing into his shoulder like I’m twelve years old again and he’s patching up my scraped knees after I fell off a horse.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, unable to close off the well of love and heartbreak that is currently trying to drown me. “I’m so sorry. I should have called. Should have texted. Should have—"
“Shh.” His hand cups the back of my head, and his scent—familiar and safe and home—wraps around me like the childhood blanket I used to carry everywhere. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
We stand like that for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. He’s trembling slightly, or maybe that’s me. Maybe it’s both of us, finally letting ourselves feel all the years we lost.
When I finally pull back, my face is wet, and his shirt is soaked through. I laugh, swiping at my eyes.
“You’re back,” I say stupidly. “When did you get in?”
“Got in about an hour ago.” He studies my face, taking in every detail like he’s trying to memorize me. Then I see the exact moment he catches the scent. The way his nostrils flare, his eyes going wide with recognition. “As soon as I found out you were back, I knew I had to come home.”
My stomach drops. “Caleb—”
“Imagine my surprise,” he continues, and his voice is full of wonder, almost disbelief, “when I go looking for you and hear you’re staying at Charlie’s house.” He pauses, his head tilting slightly. “And that rumors around town say you’re Pack McCrae’s Omega.”
The words hang between us, heavy with everything unsaid. I can see him processing it—the scent of three Alphas clinging to my skin, the bond mark visible above the collar of my shirt, the way I smell different now. Claimed. Bonded. Changed.
“It’s true,” I say quietly, lifting my chin even though my heart is hammering. “I’m bonded. To all three of them.”
Silence stretches between us. A horse whinnies in one of the stalls, and somewhere outside a dog barks. But in this barn, in this moment, there’s only me and my brother.
“My best friend.” He shakes his head slowly, a surprised laugh escaping that sounds almost strangled.
“My business partner. Charlie didn’t even—” He breaks off, running both hands through his hair now, making it stand on end.
“And Jake, your ex… don't think I didn’t know about him. And Beau McCrae, the most famous bull rider in the damn circuit.”
He looks at me like I’ve just told him I’m moving to Mars. Like he’s trying to fit together puzzle pieces that don’t make sense.
“Wills, I just… wow. That’s… wow.”
It’s so far from what I expected that I almost laugh. “Wow?”
“Yeah, wow.” He lets out another disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
“I mean, Charlie called me a couple of days ago. Said he had something important to tell me.” His eyes are distant, remembering.
“But then he got all weird and nervous and changed the subject. We ended up just talking about the ranch for an hour, and I thought he was going to ask for a loan or something. Fuck, little sister. You never did anything easy.”
He pulls back and just looks at me for way too long. I get the distinct feeling he’s trying to organize everything he knows into something that makes this crazy situation make sense.
When he finally speaks again, his question surprises me.
“How long?” His voice is quiet now, carefully controlled. “How long have you been back?”
I swallow hard. “Almost three months.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Three months.” He says it slowly, like he’s testing the words. “You’ve been back in Muddy Creek for three months, and you didn’t—” He stops, his jaw working. I can see the hurt flash across his face before he tries to hide it. “Three months, Willa.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I know how it sounds.”
“Do you?” There’s no anger in his voice, just pain. Raw, genuine pain that makes my chest ache. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like my sister came home and didn’t think I was important enough to tell.”
“That’s not—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“No, you’re right. That’s not fair.” He takes a breath, clearly trying to compose himself. “Fuck, this is hard… I didn’t reach out either. Not really. Not the way I should have. We both… we both let too much time pass.”
“I wanted to,” I confess. “So many times. I’d pick up the phone and just… freeze. Too much time had passed. Too much had happened. I didn’t know how to bridge that gap.”
“Me too.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “After Dad died and you were already gone at college, I told myself you were better off. That you’d moved on, built a new life. That calling you would just drag you back into all the shit here.”
“He was terrible,” I say quietly. “After you left. Dad, I mean.”
Caleb’s jaw tightens. “I figured. When you stopped answering my calls as much, I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t…” He trails off, guilt written all over his face. “I should have come back. Should have checked on you.”
“You had your own life. Your own things to deal with.”
“You’re my sister. That should have come first.”
The words sit between us, heavy and true. There’s no fixing the past, no taking back the years we lost. But maybe we can start fresh from here.
“So,” Caleb says after a moment, and I can see him visibly shaking off the guilt, the regret. “Pack McCrae. Tell me how this happened. Because I’m having trouble imagining Charlie, that steady, responsible, never-breaks-the-rules Charlie, bonding with his best friend’s little sister.”
A smile tugs at my lips despite everything. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” He gestures to a hay bale, and we both sit, the familiar barn sounds and smells surrounding us. “Start from the beginning.”
So I do.