23. Eliana
ELIANA
SIX MONTHS LATER
I wake to the sound of rain pattering against the bedroom windows and the warm weight of Fen's arm across my waist. The early morning light filtering through the curtains is gray and soft, the kind of light that makes you want to burrow deeper under the covers and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.
But I have work to do today—good work, work that fills me with the same sense of purpose and satisfaction that my writing does. The final draft of my manuscript is due to my editor by five o'clock, and after that, I have three client proposals to finish for the security firm.
Our security firm. Even six months later, the possessive pronoun still sends a little thrill through me.
Mountain Peak Security Solutions has exceeded every expectation we had when we opened four months ago. What started as a cautious venture into entrepreneurship has become a thriving business with more clients than we can handle and a waiting list that grows longer every week. Turns out there's a real demand for the kind of personalized, thorough security consulting that the guys provide, especially when it comes packaged with my client communications and marketing materials.
I've discovered I have a talent for translating technical security jargon into language that CEOs and business owners can understand and act upon. My background in storytelling serves me well when I'm crafting scenarios that help clients visualize potential risks and understand why certain precautions are necessary. It's satisfying work in a way I never expected—immediate, practical, genuinely helpful to people who need protection.
But first, the book.
I ease out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Fen, though his arm tightens reflexively around my waist before releasing me with a sleepy murmur of protest. Rhys and Kael are already gone—I can hear the distant sounds of breakfast preparation from downstairs, the low rumble of their voices mixing with the hiss of bacon in a pan and the gurgle of the coffee maker.
My office—and it really is mine now, completely transformed from spare room to writer's sanctuary—awaits at the end of the hall. Bookshelves line every wall, filled with everything from romance novels to security manuals to the growing collection of works by authors I've met through the small but vibrant writing community I've discovered in the nearby town. My desk sits positioned to catch the best of the morning light, surrounded by the tools of my trade: laptop, notebooks, reference books, and the small succulent garden that Fen installed when he noticed I needed something living and green to look at when the words weren't coming easily.
The manuscript waits on my screen, all 85,000 words of it, polished and revised and as perfect as I can make it. Finding Pack—the story that started as a way to process my own journey and became something larger, something that speaks to anyone who has ever felt displaced or uncertain about where they belong.
My editor, Sarah, calls it "a beautiful exploration of chosen family and the courage it takes to build a life that doesn't fit conventional expectations." My agent is already talking about potential sequels, about exploring the wider world I've created where packs and bonds and unconventional families are not only possible but celebrated.
But before I can think about sequels, I need to get this final draft submitted.
I settle into my chair with a cup of coffee that appeared on my desk sometime while I was gathering my thoughts—Rhys's doing, I suspect, since he has a sixth sense for when I need caffeine. The rain continues its gentle percussion against the windows, creating the perfect atmosphere for focused work.
The revisions are mostly minor—smoothing transitions, strengthening character motivations, fixing a few continuity issues that my beta readers caught. But as I work through each chapter, I'm struck again by how closely this fictional story mirrors my own journey. The uncertainty, the fear, the gradual awakening to possibilities I never knew existed. The moment when the heroine realizes that home isn't a place she needs to find but something she can create with the right people.
By noon, I'm done. The manuscript is as perfect as I can make it, ready to venture out into the world and find its readers. I hit send on the email to Sarah, then lean back in my chair with the satisfying exhaustion that comes from completing something meaningful.
"Knock knock," Kael's voice comes from the doorway, followed by the man himself carrying a sandwich and another cup of coffee. "Thought you might be hungry."
"Starving," I realize, suddenly aware that I've been too focused to notice my body's needs. "Thank you."
He sets the food on my desk, then moves behind my chair to rub my shoulders with those large, capable hands that seem to know exactly where I carry tension.
"Finished?" he asks, reading something in my posture.
"Finished," I confirm, leaning into his touch. "The book is officially out of my hands and in Sarah's very capable ones."
"How does it feel?"
I consider the question, taking inventory of my emotional state. "Good. Scary. Like I've just sent my child off to their first day of school."
Kael chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where it presses against the back of my head. "It's going to do well. Better than well. People need stories like this, especially now."
"You think so?"
"I know so." His hands still on my shoulders, squeezing gently. "You've written something important, Eliana. Something that's going to help people understand that there are lots of different ways to build a family, lots of different ways to be happy."
The confidence in his voice settles something anxious in my chest. After months of living with these men, I've learned to trust their judgment, especially when it comes to understanding what matters to people. They see the world clearly, without the romantic filters I sometimes apply, and their belief in my work means more than any review or sales figure ever could.
"Speaking of family," I say, turning in my chair to face him, "Rebecca called this morning. She's definitely coming for Thanksgiving."
Kael's expression brightens. Rebecca's visits have become a regular occurrence over the past six months, and what started as suspicious best-friend reconnaissance has evolved into genuine affection for all three of my partners. She claims it's because they feed her better than anyone else in her life, but I suspect it's more about the way they've seamlessly incorporated her into our family unit without making her feel like an outsider.
"Good," he says. "Rhys has been planning the menu for weeks. I think he's more excited about cooking for her than she is about eating it."
"That's because he's discovered she's the only person who appreciates his fancy techniques as much as he does," I point out. "The rest of us are happy with simple food that tastes good."
"Hey, his fancy techniques taste good too. They just also happen to look like art."
It's true. Rhys has embraced the domestic aspects of our life together with an enthusiasm that surprises all of us. The man who used to live on takeout and whatever Fen could be convinced to cook has become something of a gourmet chef, taking online classes and experimenting with techniques that turn our humble kitchen into something approaching a restaurant.
"Is she bringing anyone?" Kael asks, settling into the reading chair I keep in the corner of my office.
"She's being mysterious about it," I admit. "But she's been talking about this guy she met at that conference in Denver. Some kind of consultant who works with nonprofits."
"Good for her."
"Good for her if he's actually worthy of her," I correct. "Rebecca deserves someone amazing."
"She'll find someone," Kael says with the easy confidence of someone who has already found his people. "She's too smart and too stubborn to settle for less than she deserves."
The comment makes me smile, partly because it's such an accurate description of my best friend, and partly because it reminds me how much my life has changed. Six months ago, I was the one settling for less than I deserved, accepting scraps of affection and calling it love. Now I'm surrounded by men who treat me like I'm precious, who build their lives around making sure I'm happy and fulfilled and supported in everything I want to do.
"What's that look?" Kael asks, reading something in my expression.
"Just thinking about how different everything is now," I say. "How much better."
His smile is soft, understanding. "No regrets?"
"None," I answer immediately, and I mean it. "Well, maybe one small one."
His eyebrows rise in question.
"I wish I'd been brave enough to leave Marcus sooner. Wish I hadn't wasted so much time trying to make something work that was never going to work."
"Hey." Kael's voice is gentle but firm. "You left when you were ready to leave. You can't regret the timing of your own courage."
The words hit deep, settling into a place in my chest that sometimes still carries traces of old guilt and self-doubt. He's right, of course. I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge I had at the time. The fact that I eventually found the strength to choose myself, to choose better, is what matters.
"Besides," he continues with a grin that transforms his usually serious face, "if you'd left sooner, you might not have ended up here. The timing had to be exactly what it was for all of this to work out."
"You think we were destined to find each other?" I ask, curious about his perspective on fate and timing and the mysterious forces that bring people together.
"I think," he says carefully, "that some connections are strong enough to survive whatever circumstances try to keep them apart. Whether you call that destiny or luck or just the universe having a sense of humor, I don't really care. I'm just grateful it happened."
The sentiment echoes something I've felt but never quite articulated—the sense that finding them wasn't just good fortune but something deeper, more fundamental. Like we were all incomplete pieces that only made sense when fitted together.
A knock on the office door interrupts my philosophical musings, and Fen's head appears in the opening.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, "but we just got a call from the Morrison account. They want to move up their security assessment to next week, and they're asking if we can expand the scope to include their satellite offices."
The Morrison account is our biggest client to date—a regional chain of high-end retail stores that hired us after a series of break-ins at their competitors' locations. It's exactly the kind of contract that establishes credibility and opens doors to other large corporate clients.
"That's great," I say, already shifting into business mode. "Do they want a new proposal, or are they expanding the existing contract?"
"New proposal," Fen confirms. "And they want it by Friday."
I glance at the calendar on my desk, mentally calculating deadlines and workload. "I can have a draft ready by Wednesday if you can get me the technical specs by tomorrow morning."
"Already working on it," he assures me. "Rhys is handling the site surveys, and Kael's updating the risk assessment protocols."
This is how we work now—seamlessly, efficiently, each of us contributing our strengths to create something larger and more successful than any of us could manage alone. It's partnership in the truest sense, built on mutual respect and complementary skills and the kind of trust that only comes from knowing someone completely.
"I should get back to work then," I say, already reaching for the Morrison file.
"Actually," Fen says, his expression shifting to something more personal, "there's something else we wanted to talk to you about. All of us together."
Something in his tone makes me look up sharply. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," he assures me quickly. "Better than fine. But we have a proposition for you."
The word sends a little flutter through my stomach, though I'm not sure whether it's anticipation or anxiety. "What kind of proposition?"
"The kind that's better discussed in the living room with all of us present," he says with a small smile. "When you're ready to take a break from work."
Curiosity wars with professional responsibility, but the Morrison proposal isn't going anywhere, and the mysterious tone of Fen's voice suggests this is important.
"Now works," I say, saving my work and following him downstairs.
The living room has been transformed since this morning, I notice immediately. Candles glow on the mantle and side tables, filling the space with warm light and the scent of vanilla and cedar. Rhys is arranging fresh flowers—where did he get fresh flowers on a rainy Tuesday?—while Kael fidgets with something small in his hands.
All three of them look nervous, which is unusual enough to set my own nerves on edge.
"Okay," I say, settling onto the couch with careful composure. "What's going on?"
They exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them before Rhys moves to sit beside me, Fen takes the chair across from us, and Kael remains standing, whatever he's holding still hidden in his palm.
"We've been thinking," Rhys begins, then stops, running a hand through his hair in a gesture I recognize as nervous energy.
"About?" I prompt when the silence stretches too long.
"About making this official," Kael says, stepping forward. "About the fact that while we've committed to each other, while we've built a life together, there's no legal recognition of what we have. No protections, no formal acknowledgment."
My heart starts beating faster, though I'm not sure where this is heading.
"We can't all marry each other," Fen continues, his practical nature asserting itself. "The law doesn't recognize polyamorous marriages, and even if it did, the logistics would be complicated."
"But," Rhys says, his hand finding mine, "we can make promises to each other. We can have a ceremony, make vows, exchange symbols that represent our commitment."
"We can create our own tradition," Kael adds, moving closer. "Our own way of celebrating what we've built."
Understanding dawns, bringing with it a wave of emotion so intense I have to blink back tears. "You want to have a commitment ceremony."
"We want to ask you to marry us," Kael corrects, dropping to one knee in front of me and opening his palm to reveal a ring unlike anything I've ever seen.
It's not a traditional engagement ring—it's something entirely unique, crafted specifically for our unusual situation. Three bands of different metals—white gold, yellow gold, and rose gold—twisted together to form a single, cohesive whole. And instead of a traditional diamond, it holds a stone I don't recognize, something that shifts color from green to blue to gold depending on how the light hits it.
"The stone is labradorite," Rhys explains, his voice rough with emotion. "It's supposed to represent transformation, finding your true path, seeing possibilities you didn't know existed."
"The three bands represent all of us," Fen adds. "Separate but intertwined, stronger together than apart."
"Will you?" Kael asks, and his voice breaks slightly on the words. "Will you marry us? Let us marry you? Make this official in every way that matters?"
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with hope and vulnerability and the weight of futures we're choosing to build together. I look at their faces—Kael's fierce intensity, Rhys's gentle hope, Fen's quiet certainty—and see my whole world reflected back at me.
"Yes," I whisper, then louder, stronger: "Yes, of course, yes."
The ring slides onto my finger like it was made for me, which it probably was. It's perfect—not too heavy, not too delicate, somehow managing to be both elegant and unique in a way that feels entirely right.
And then I'm being kissed and hugged and lifted off the couch in a tangle of arms and voices and laughter that fills the house with joy. When we finally separate enough to breathe, to look at each other properly, I realize I'm crying—happy tears, overwhelmed tears, tears of gratitude for this life I never could have imagined.
"When?" I ask when I can speak again.
"Whenever you want," Rhys says immediately. "Spring, maybe? When the weather's nice and we can have it outside?"
"Rebecca will want to plan it," I warn them. "She's going to go completely overboard with decorations and flowers and probably try to hire a band."
"Let her," Kael says with a grin. "She deserves to go overboard for this."
"What about your families?" I ask, suddenly thinking of all the practical complications. "My parents, your friends, the legal aspects?"
"We'll figure it out," Fen says, echoing the phrase that's become our family motto. "All of it. Together."
"The legal stuff is more complicated," Rhys admits. "We can't have a marriage that's recognized by the state, but we can set up legal protections through other means. Power of attorney documents, medical directives, property agreements. It won't be the same as traditional marriage rights, but it'll be something."
"And our families will have to accept it or not," Kael adds with a shrug. "This is our life. We get to decide how to live it."
The simple statement encapsulates everything I love about these men, everything that makes our relationship work despite its unconventional nature. They don't apologize for who they are or ask permission to love the way they love. They simply live authentically and invite the world to accept them as they are.
"I love you," I say, looking at each of them in turn. "All of you. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone."
"We love you too," Fen says, speaking for all of them. "Enough to spend the rest of our lives proving it."
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of planning and dreaming and the kind of giddy excitement that comes with major life decisions. We talk about venues and guest lists and vows, about the kind of ceremony that would feel meaningful to all of us. Nothing traditional, nothing borrowed from existing templates, but something entirely our own that celebrates the unique bond we've created.
By evening, the rain has stopped and the sun has emerged from behind the clouds, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that seem to promise good things ahead. We're on the back porch, sharing a bottle of champagne that Rhys produced from some secret stash, watching the sunset paint the mountains in impossible colors.
"I have something to tell you," I say during a lull in the conversation, the champagne giving me courage to share news I've been holding close for the past week.
All three of them turn to look at me, their expressions shifting to attentive concern.
"Good something or bad something?" Kael asks.
"Good something," I assure them quickly. "Very good something. My agent called yesterday. She's fielding offers from publishers for Finding Pack. Three offers so far, and she thinks there might be more."
The silence that follows is profound, then suddenly I'm being congratulated and hugged and kissed until I'm dizzy with happiness.
"That's incredible," Rhys says, his eyes bright with pride. "How do you feel?"
"Terrified," I admit. "Excited. Grateful. Like maybe all of this is too good to be true and I'm going to wake up any minute."
"It's not too good to be true," Fen says firmly. "You worked for this. You earned it."
"We all did," I correct. "The book wouldn't exist without you, without this life we've built together. You're all going to be thanked in the acknowledgments, whether you like it or not."
"I like it," Kael says immediately. "I want the whole world to know we belong to you."
The possessive pride in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. These men are proud of me, proud to be with me, proud to be part of whatever success comes my way. After Marcus, who saw my writing as competition for his attention, the unconditional support feels miraculous.
"There's more," I continue, emboldened by their enthusiasm. "Sarah thinks this could be the start of a series. Multiple books exploring different kinds of pack dynamics, different ways of building chosen family. She's already talking about a two-book deal, maybe more if the first one does well."
"A series," Rhys repeats, grinning. "Our Eliana, the bestselling author."
"Don't jinx it," I protest, but I'm smiling as I say it.
"Not jinxing," he insists. "Just stating what's going to happen. You're talented, the book is brilliant, and people are hungry for stories that show them different ways to love and live. It's going to be huge."
The confidence in his voice, echoed in the faces of the other two, settles something anxious in my chest. Whether the book succeeds or not, whether I become a bestselling author or remain a midlist writer scraping by, I have this. I have them. I have a family that believes in me and supports my dreams and celebrates my victories as their own.
As the sun sets behind the mountains and the first stars begin to appear in the darkening sky, I think about the woman who stumbled through this door six months ago. Lost, heartbroken, uncertain about everything except her determination to escape a situation that was slowly killing her spirit.
That woman couldn't have imagined this life, couldn't have conceived of love this generous and partnerships this equal and happiness this deep and steady. She was too afraid, too wounded, too convinced that she was asking for too much when she dreamed of being truly cherished.
But somehow, through a combination of courage and luck and the mysterious forces that bring people together exactly when they need each other most, she found her way here. To this porch, these men, this life that feels like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.
"What are you thinking about?" Fen asks, reading something contemplative in my expression.
"Just all of it," I say, gesturing vaguely at the house, the mountains, the three of them. "How different everything is now. How grateful I am that I was brave enough to leave, even when I didn't know what I was leaving for."
"You were always brave enough," Kael says quietly. "You just needed the right moment to prove it to yourself."
"And now?" Rhys asks.
I consider the question, taking inventory of who I am now versus who I was then. The anxious, uncertain woman who doubted every decision and apologized for taking up space has been replaced by someone stronger, more sure of herself, more willing to claim what she wants and defend what she values.
"Now I know I can handle whatever comes next," I say with quiet certainty. "Not because I'm not afraid anymore, but because I know I don't have to face anything alone."
"Never alone," Fen agrees, his hand finding mine in the gathering darkness.
"Never," Rhys echoes, his arm tightening around my shoulders.
"Never," Kael confirms, his deep voice carrying the weight of absolute promise.
As we sit together in the comfortable silence that follows, surrounded by the scents of pine and approaching autumn and the lingering traces of our celebratory champagne, I think about the future stretching out ahead of us. The wedding we'll plan, the business we'll grow, the books I'll write, the family we might expand in ways both expected and surprising.
None of it will be easy, I know that. Unconventional relationships require more work, more communication, more resilience than traditional ones. There will be challenges from the outside world, legal complications, family tensions, and the ordinary difficulties that come with any long-term partnership multiplied by the complexity of our arrangement.
But we'll handle it all together, the same way we've handled everything else. With patience and humor and the unshakeable conviction that what we've built is worth fighting for.
The ring on my finger catches the light from the porch lamp, the labradorite shifting from blue to green to gold like a promise of transformation, of possibilities yet to be discovered. It's beautiful, but more than that, it's a symbol of something I never thought I'd have—a love that sees all of me and wants all of me and commits to all of me without reservation or condition.
As we finally head inside, the four of us moving together with the easy synchronization of people who belong to each other completely, I realize that the story I thought ended when I finished my manuscript is actually just beginning. The real story—the one being written in shared glances and intertwined fingers and the steady rhythm of hearts beating in harmony—is still unfolding.
And I can't wait to see how it ends.