Fifty-One
FIFTY-ONE
Mia
THE FOLLOWING WEEK felt like floating in limbo. The restaurant was open for lunch service on Christmas Eve, but closed on Christmas Day. The guys hadn’t been kidding about not doing much of anything for the holiday.
Or, rather, they did have a tradition, but it wasn’t any sort of a personal or pack thing. Bright and early on Christmas morning, they all filled up their vehicles with practical, professionally wrapped gifts and drove across the river to the Hope Project. There, they opened the place up for any of the kids who didn’t have a stable home life, giving out warm coats and socks, gift cards, and other sundry items that might be useful to a teenager living on the edge.
A depressing number of kids showed up to take advantage of the project’s generosity.
Nat and I had gone with the others in a show of solidarity, contributing eight dozen festively decorated Christmas cookies that he and I had whipped up the previous evening. Those, too, did not lack for takers.
I felt bad that I hadn’t managed to shop for gifts for the others... although, in my defense, there had been a few other things going on lately. I did, however, insist on making a big, traditional Christmas dinner. Also, somewhat ironically, the trashy alphomic romance novel I’d picked out for Emiel from an online bookstore had showed up the previous day, packaged innocently in a brown padded envelope.
As promised, I gave it to Luca to pass on as he pleased—whether as a private Christmas present, or at a later date so it wouldn’t come across as favoritism. Luca had been unusually quiet and thoughtful since our uncomfortable group discussion on Monday, but after glancing at the rippling muscles on the cover and flipping it to skim the back cover blurb, he snorted in amusement.
“You’re going to break his brain,” he said. After another skeptical glance at the cover, he added, “Or possibly rot it from the inside out.”
I smiled sweetly. “Throw him in the deep end; that’s what I say. Why read a garden-variety romance when you can read mafia dragon-shifters instead?”
Luca pursed his lips to hold in a laugh, and I took it as a small win.
“I’ll take it up to him later this evening,” he said.
As the days slid past, it became obvious that no one really knew what our next steps as a possible pack-to-be should look like. Byron reluctantly agreed to contact the shrink that Emiel and Luca were seeing—making me wonder if the poor woman offered group discounts, or maybe a sliding scale based on the level of emotional dysfunction at play.
Before the weekend craziness at the restaurant claimed me, I cornered Zalen late one evening in his office to float Luca’s idea of a pack date. The more I thought about it, the more I decided I really, really needed it. Unfortunately, it was starting to feel like one of those nebulous things where someone said, ‘ Hey, we should do this ,’ and everyone else agreed, but then it never actually happened.
“We need a pack date,” I told the alpha, stating it as an incontrovertible fact rather than a suggestion.
He blinked at me. “A pack... date?”
“Yes. A pack date. All of us, together, doing something fun, just for the hell of it. Because there’s been way too much stress and sadness around here lately.” I tilted my head. “I was thinking New Year’s Eve?”
While there was money to be made for restaurants who stayed open that night, Nat and I had decided long ago that it was more important for our employees to get a holiday at the same time everyone else got a holiday. So, just like with Christmas, the Elderflower Inn closed early the day before, and stayed closed on the day itself.
I knew from talking to Luca that the Hope Project would be closed as well. The guys went out of their way to make sure all the kids they served got presents at Christmas, but they drew the line at providing a New Year’s Eve party for them. Practical upshot—there was nothing preventing all of us from going dancing and drinking unwise amounts of champagne.
Or, y’know, kissing at midnight. Even if I was trying not to get too focused on that part.
Zalen looked as though the possibility of doing something frivolous together simply because it would be fun had never even occurred to him.
“That’s... a good idea, actually,” he said. “Did you have something specific in mind?”
“I want to go dancing,” I told him firmly. “And it was Luca’s idea, for the record.”
Now, surprise widened his dark eyes. “Was it, now?”
I smiled, a bit sadly. “Yeah. Zalen, I know you’ve been the one pushing us to be more honest about what we all want. I’m not sure if any of the others have talked to you yet, but Nat, Byron, Luca and I had a discussion a few days ago.”
“They haven’t,” Zalen said. “Probably because they were hoping you’d talk to me and save them the emotional discomfort. It’s been pretty obvious that something changed, though.”
Was it obvious? That surprised me, since to me it had felt like we’d taken a step forward, only to get stuck again.
I licked my lips, feeling out my next words. “The kidnapping... made some things clear to me that had been muddled before. I’ve been resisting divorce from Nat because I still have feelings for him. And he still has feelings for me, even though we’ve both been utter shit at expressing them in a healthy way.”
“Aside from the terrible decision-making skills that resulted in you meeting us in the first place, he seems like a good man,” Zalen said easily. “And you’ll forgive me if I can’t truly regret how that part worked out for us.”
“He is a good man,” I agreed. “Just one who’s dealing with a bad upbringing and all the unprocessed bullshit that goes along with it.”
“I think everyone in this house can relate to the power of unprocessed bullshit,” Zalen said, completely deadpan. “Still, I don’t get the sense that you and he are about to flee back to a life of married beta bliss...?”
“No,” I replied, squaring my shoulders.
Ask for what you want .
“I asked if he’d ever considered becoming a pack husband, since it turns out I’m not really cut out to be a beta wife,” I went on.
Zalen went still for a beat.
“And what did he think about that?” he asked.
“He’s willing to give it a try,” I said, unable to squelch the little flutter of combined anxiety and excitement in my stomach whenever I thought about the conversation. “He and Byron could have something real together, I’m sure of it. Emiel likes him, and so does Luca. I know there are still things that are going to have to be overcome, but I think we’re all in agreement, at least in principle.”
“Given some of the people involved,” Zalen said thoughtfully, “that’s honestly pretty extraordinary.”
The flutter grew more insistent.
“I thought so, too,” I agreed. “Honestly, Zalen, the person I’m least sure about... is you .”
If Zalen was startled at having the discussion brought around to him, he covered it well. Instead, he gave a smile that was half sadness.
He seemed to choose his words carefully.
“Mia, if I’ve given you the impression that I’m ambivalent, I can only apologize.” His brows drew together. “I suppose we were just talking about unprocessed bullshit, weren’t we?”
“And you lost your mate,” I said quietly. “But if that wasn’t bad enough, then you thought you might lose more people you care about to the same kind of senseless violence. And I don’t think anyone’s really checked in with you since the kidnapping to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am now,” he replied without hesitation. “I even learned something, I think.”
“What’s that?” I asked curiously.
He ran a hand over his locs, pushing them back from his face. “I learned that just because you’re not mated to someone, it doesn’t make the fear of losing them hurt any less.”
The truth of that hit me hard. I inhaled sharply.
Zalen sat back in his chair. “I think a pack date is an excellent idea,” he said, moving away from the heavy topic. “How do you feel about cheesy retro New Year’s Eve dance parties?”
I made myself match his light tone, striking a vaguely ridiculous flirty pose with one hand resting jauntily on my hip. “Are you kidding? I am the queen of cheesy retro New Year’s Eve dance parties,” I declared, not entirely truthfully. Geez... did I even have anything to wear?
“In that case, let me arrange everything,” Zalen said. “If nothing else, I’d pay real money to see Emiel on a dance floor.”
That startled a laugh from me. “Oh, come on, I’ve seen him in the fighting ring,” I shot back, surprised to find I was able to joke about it now. “It’ll serve you right if he’s got fancy footwork like John Travolta on the disco floor.”
Zalen groaned. “Oh, god. Emiel and disco are two concepts I did not need combined in my head tonight. New rule— retro stops at the nineteen eighties. No earlier.”
I tried to pout, but I couldn’t hold the expression and burst into laughter instead. A second later, Zalen covered his mouth to hide his chuckling as he followed suit.
“You are the best pack leader,” I told him earnestly, swallowing my fit of giggles.
“I think you’re just easily impressed by dance party tickets,” he said, mirth still glinting in his gaze. “I am the epitome of boring, I assure you.”
“No,” I replied, sidling around the desk to straddle him in his office chair. Ignoring his look of surprise, I leaned in for a brief, heartfelt kiss. “You’re really not, Zalen. And you do realize this means I get to see you on the dance floor, as well.”
He groaned, resting his forehead against mine. “ Christ . What have I just agreed to?”
“Fun,” I said. “You, Zalen Price, have just agreed to have fun .”