Chapter 68
chapter
sixty-eight
She bought this thing on purpose.
The thought makes me smile. I push harder at the lever of the espresso machine, putting more weight behind cranking the damn thing than I’d like to admit.
Damon may have me working out with him and Cass four mornings a week, but we tend to do more talking and bullshit competitions than actual work. Which is fine for them, since the team trainers I hired are some of the best in the country. But maybe I need to get my own weight coach if I can’t even make a latte without breaking a sweat.
Of course, there’s the fact that this is not an average espresso machine. But one that our omega selected specifically, I suspect, to torture me.
Touché, little petal.
It’s French and appropriately temperamental. She chose it on our summer trip to Paris, when she fell in love with the café au lait from a tiny café near our hotel. Remi being Remi, she then proceeded to learn enough French to charm the proprietor into telling her where he bought the damn espresso machine.
Once she saw the price tag, she never mentioned it again. So, of course, I made it my mission to source one for her. A light blue one, to match our kitchen at home, and a sand-colored model to keep here at the beach house.
Now, as I fight with the machine for the fourth morning in a row, I realize my brilliant omega may have played me like a piano.
She knew I would buy this. And she knew it would be impossible for me to use.
Evil genius.
I send the thought through our bond, along with a mental image of the machine. I get a sparkle of delighted laughter back. Sleepy but still full of smug amusement.
I hate that I have to close the curtain between us, but I can’t let her see anything else that’s going on in the bungalow’s tiny kitchen. Most importantly, it’s a surprise. And second, Damon hasn’t exactly perfected the clean-as-you-go aspect of his budding cooking skills.
“Hey!” he says out loud, feeling my internal wince when I look around at the countertops. “I have a system!”
On any other day, I might bitch about the mess, but not today. And not when he’s so palpably excited to bring our girl her breakfast.
He’s worked hard on it, I’ll give him that. After months of watching Remi’s baking shows with her, he started venturing into the kitchen on his own. What started as a batch of brownies here and an omelet there has now turned into him doing just as much in the kitchen as our omega.
Pride thumps in my chest while I watch him bend over the stove, poking at the French toast he’s cooking. A lesser man may have taken my purchase of the team as a free pass to go back to the way he used to live. But Damon really took the lesson of nearly losing his hockey career to heart.
The team finished third in the League, but with Gunnar still improving and D back on the ice, we’re planning to go all the way next year.
Damon is still applying himself to other ventures, though. Over the summer, he started looking for other hobbies and goals outside of being a pro-athlete. He asked to come on a few rounds with me for Pierson Properties, looking into what being one of our sales directors would entail.
After some coaxing from me and Remi, he also agreed to see a professional regarding his dyslexia. But, in the meantime, he and Cass started an informal audiobook club with some of the Ash pack’s alphas and our omegas.
Apparently, Theo is really into monster romances; Declan prefers cowboys.
No matter what life throws at Damon, he comes out the other side stronger. Smiling. And, usually, better off. He still likes to call it luck, but I think Remi’s right—it’s less about luck and more about him, being the kind of person who spins straw into gold.
I let a beat of pride through our bond while I clap him on the shoulder, peering over his shoulder. “Looks great, Damon.”
He smiles, the easy grin masking the internal note of surprise I sense every time one of us is proud of him. “Did you get the candles?”
“Yeah.” I reach into the side pocket of my briefcase, where I’ve been hiding them all weekend. “Here.”
Damon rips them open, shaking his head. “I never realized how hard it would be to plan a surprise for her,” he mutters. “I haven’t even heard her yet today.”
He means in his head. Of all of us, Damon is the one who can be counted upon to have his every thought available. Going hours without “talking” to Remi must be strange for him.
“She’s happy,” I report, stabbing at buttons on the espresso machine. “And she bought this thing to annoy me.”
“Everyone knew that, Big Hoss,” he laughs. “You should have seen her face the first morning you tried to use it.”
He slides his mental curtain open just long enough to slip me an image of Remi, rumpled and sexy in one of her negligées, giggling behind her palms while I fought with a stubborn lever. Every time I cursed, she snorted into her hands.
Damon and I stand still, each of us staring internally at her sweet, gorgeous face. Love bursts through my body and echoes in my packmate’s. When his is accompanied by a whack of doubt, I turn my head and find him wincing at our breakfast.
“Do you think she’ll like this?” he mumbles.
I know what he means. Nothing ever seems quite good enough for the girl who gives us everything.
We could get more flowers. Another present. Some shells from the beach…?
I start to look around for some other idea, my eyes darting across the small living room. When they fall on the sign our omega now has hanging over the front door, I freeze.
Don’t make perfect the enemy of the good.
A smile stretches over my face. “She’ll love it.”
Because she loves us, and we love her. It’s not perfect, but it’s good.
And that’s the best of all.
She did this on purpose.
The quiet thought occurs to me as I lie in the beach house’s only bed, facing the wall of windows. Golden pink streams through the tissue-thin curtains framing the view. It’s a straight shot through the tiny house’s tiny backyard, over a few dozen feet of sand, right to the ocean.
To the sunrise, emerging from the aqua blue.
Once Remi decided to dedicate a portion of her summer to making this house exactly the way she wanted it, we all knew it would be beautiful. She surprised us by abandoning the preppy, sophisticated style of our pack house in favor of a kitschier, more bohemian style here.
We all love it, but Smith is particularly enamored. This place has been healing for him, I think. The way the deck slopes slightly, the constant salty musk of sea air, the fine layer of sand that coats the threshold no matter how many times we vacuum. All the little quirks he’ll never be able to fix—it’s been surprisingly easy for him to let them go.
Remi helps. Her first beach house rule? No one cleans until everyone’s been to the beach and had a nap.
Her second rule: no one closes the bedroom curtains.
Because she wanted me to wake up to this, I realize. A sunrise view. The one we spent years chasing.
It’s here. And she made sure our bed was oriented right toward it.
My beautiful, brilliant girl.
She hears my thought but doesn’t reply, burrowing down into my chest instead, pretending to sleep. She does that, sometimes. And none of us ever call her on it because it’s so goddamn endearing.
If acting like she’s still unconscious to get more cuddles is the only thing my girl feels the need to pretend ever again, I will die a happy man.
Her leg flinches against mine, confirming my suspicion. The side of my mouth twitches into a half smile while I tuck my face into her mussed curls.
Now that we’re bonded, Remi and I rarely speak out loud when we’re alone together. We both enjoy the quiet and revel in the feeling of being so connected without ever having to break it. Instead of speaking, I send her a mental image of the sunrise outside our window. Then I send her pictures of a hundred other sunrises. On rooftops, balconies, bridges, from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
That one took some doing.
Worth it, though.
For this exact moment. When her pure, unadulterated happiness lights up my soul. Good morning, she thinks, Bear.
Her name for me floats through my chest, brushing my heart. So soft. Like a butterfly landing on a branch. The flap of her colorful wings. A flit of devotion.
Never intrusive. Just enough to remind me: I’m not alone.
I hold her closer, completely content. Happy birthday, butterfly.
She’s doing this on purpose.
Pictures flit through my mind. Cassian’s hands, working her nightgown off. The view of her bare body in the morning light. The way her thighs part to let him slide between.
I’ve corrupted you,I send back, every word saturated with satisfaction. Tell Cass to save room for breakfast.
She bats back a flicker of impish delight and the image of her knees parting wider. Whatever you say, Trouble.
I grin, figuring this is retaliation I deserve, after the way I’ve tiptoed around the bond all morning. She knows I’m up to no good and feels inspired to make a little mischief of her own.
Naughty, pretty girl.
Her answering laughter gives my insides a glow. I chuckle, too, closing the mental curtain up and turning back to her birthday brunch. Seeing that it’s almost done, I send Cass a hard nudge. Dude, you have five minutes.
He laughs, smug, offering a brief-but-glorious glimpse of our omega, all laid out for him. I only need three.
Smith and I both glower at him and at each other. We know.
The Bear Formerly Known As Beast is true to his word. Less than five minutes later, he has her propped up against his naked chest, holding her with one arm around her waist.
She put her nightgown back on, but that’s probably for the best.
I won’t be able to sing Happy Birthday on key if my cock is out.
Smith walks in first, carrying her breakfast tray and the small vase of flowers he chose for her. He also decorated her platter with seashells he collected and cleaned. I come in last, carting the three-tiered pumpkin-spice cake I made, walking slowly, so I don’t extinguish her birthday candles.
Remi’s golden-blue eyes fill, her bare, beautiful face reflecting all the awe and gratitude flooding her center. We all sing to her—even her grumbly bear—laying the trays carefully over her lap and her knees.
She sways and blinks, crystal tears trickling down her cheeks while she blows out the candles. Her fingers float up to touch the wings of the tissue-paper butterflies Cassian insisted we use as decoration.
I spread them up one side of the cake, their blue wings gradually lifting higher off the light pink icing. All the way up to the one single piece on the top, which looks like it’s taking flight.
Just like you, I think to her. Just like all of us since we found you.
Remi strokes over the thin wing and whispers, “It’s perfect.”
Smith pets her hair, purring for her. “You’re perfect,” he corrects. “But Damon’s cake is pretty damn good.”
Cassian nuzzles at her hair. “We got you a present, too.”
Smith has been holding onto it, but he must know how much it means to me, because he hands it to me to pass to our omega. “Here, sweetness.”
Remi takes the small box, turning it in her hands with an adorable look of suspicion on her face. “You guys already got me a gift. It’s in the driveway—remember?”
We feel her irony in the bond. She’s kidding; because of course, no one would ever forget her custom powder-blue Mercedes SUV. Specifically designed to fit all of us, with room for more. Smith surprised her with it a few days ago when we were packing up to come to the beach.
“This one is special,” I murmur, resisting the urge to bounce impatiently. “Open it.”
She smiles, shaking her head in a totally bogus chastisement. I can tell she doesn’t really mean it because she immediately starts ripping the paper off.
The second she gets the little box open, all humor falls off of her face. Her plush pink lips part on a gasp. Her eyes fly wide. “Oh my God!”
Smith designed the piece, modeling it after a traditional engagement ring—one large stone in the middle, with clusters of diamonds around it and a shimmering diamond band. Remi touches the aquamarine at the center, tracing the azure gem lovingly.
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. I feel her delight, along with a wash of guilt. “But you didn’t need to?—”
We all send her fierce blasts of reassurance. Mine comes with whispered words.
“Yes, we did. We even engraved it.”
While she lifts the band to her face, tilting it to read the inside, I send her a picture of us in the ice skating rink. The day she told me why she didn’t like her birthday; because it was the day her parents gave her up.
We all hear her read today’s date, along with her new name. Remi Pierson. A beat of excited confusion melds with a bolt of too-good-to-be-true apprehension.
Cassian fixes it, speaking quietly. “We made sure the paperwork to officially change your name would go through today.”
Smith takes the ring from her and slides it onto the proper finger. “So, now, when you think of your birthday, you’ll remember that we chose you. And you’ll always know how much you’re wanted.”
A dam of emotion bursts inside of our girl. More tears spill over while the guys hug her between them.
But I’m the one she looks right into, her heart touching mine internally. Telling me she knows this was my idea. Spilling gratitude and love through our bond. I multiply it and send it back, doing my best not to give in to the lump in my throat.
She feels that, too, though. And, of course, she knows just what to say.
Still crying happy tears, she smiles and raises a brow at me. “What do you think, Trouble? Cake before breakfast?”
So many things have changed,but I’m still a terrible liar.
Smith tugs gently at my salt-crusted ponytail, tipping my head back into his wide shoulder. “Are you tired, petal?”
I am, but… “Nope.”
He tuts, shaking his head slowly. His free hand skates down my belly, skirting my bikini bottoms. “Omegas who fib get edged until they tell the truth. You know our house rules.”
As if the four of us didn’t spend half of our afternoon in bed together. But between all the birthday sex, a long morning walk along the shore, and our late-afternoon picnic on the beach, I’m feeling sun-drenched and sleepy.
Of course, that could be due to the half-bottle of champagne I’ve had with Smith while Damon and Cassian throw the football around. They’re determined to beat Theo and Declan in a game when we host the Ash pack for a cookout next weekend. All because Theo met up with them for conditioning one morning and turned out to be a secret hockey star. Ever since he scored a goal on Cassian, my alphas have been fired up for retribution.
Meg and I have a bet going on how quickly “flag” football will devolve into full-tackle.
Luckily, we’ll both have our eye protection for any impromptu dick-measuring.
She thinks six minutes. I give it four.
I smile, admiring the way the light refracts off of my new ring when I reach up to pull the teal heart sunglasses from my hair. I perch them on my nose and send my alpha a look. “What about the house rule regarding work emails on the beach?”
His phone sits off to the side, open to his inbox. He grins at me. “If you must know, I was checking our reservations for tonight. Family dinner at our favorite place, for your birthday.”
I don’t have to poke at his thoughts to know he’s telling the truth. And that makes me smile even wider as I give him his very favorite compliment. “Best alpha ever.”
It’s true. He really is.
Since he gave the everyday operations of Pierson Properties to his subordinates and stepped up to run the Timberwolves, he’s been happier than ever and much less overwhelmed. Aside from a few key administrative changes, the team was already set up to run without much oversight.
Of course, my Type-A alpha still keeps himself plenty busy—but, now, he’s home every night for dinner. No matter what. And so are Cassian and Damon.
Most evenings, that means we’re all gathered around our kitchen table, in our pack house. But sometimes, family dinner looks like takeout in front of the TV. Or ice cream in our nest. Or dates on the town. Or, my favorite—sunsets at the beach.
It’s funny. I grew up with this ache in my middle. Longing for a real house. A picket fence. My own room. Some place to call my home.
It turns out, home isn’t a place at all.
But I found mine anyway.
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