Chapter 26
Tessa
The drive to Elijah’s house takes twelve minutes.
I know because I count every single one of them, hyperaware of Ben’s hand on my knee, of Milo’s truck following behind us, of the way my heart is trying to beat out of my chest.
This is happening. This is actually happening.
Elijah’s house appears around the bend. Warm light spills from the windows, smoke curls from the chimney, the whole place glowing against the dark February night like something out of a dream.
I’ve been to his workshop dozens of times over the past few weeks.
For centerpiece specs. For our date, when he lit candles and taught me to carve and talked more than I’d ever heard him talk.
But his house is different. This is where he lives.
Where he sleeps. Where he built extra bedrooms for a pack he wasn’t sure he’d ever have.
Tonight, I’m hoping to become that pack.
Ben pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. In the sudden silence, I can hear my own breathing. Too fast. Too shallow.
“Hey.” His voice is soft. “You okay?”
I look at him—really look. The dashboard light catches the angles of his face, the concern in his eyes.
This man who’s been showing up for three years with muffins and terrible jokes.
Who fixed my car a dozen times and never charged me.
Who sat through town meetings he hated just to watch me wave my clipboard around.
“I’m terrified,” I admit.
“Good terrified or bad terrified?”
“Good.” I squeeze his hand. “Definitely good.”
Milo’s truck pulls in beside us. Through the window, I see him sitting behind the wheel, watching me with those dark eyes that always seem to see too much. The bartender who handed me a drink three years ago and somehow knew exactly what I needed before I did.
And inside the house, Elijah. The quiet woodworker who built me a nesting bench and never mentioned it. Who shows love through creation because words don’t come easy for him.
Three alphas. Three completely different men. And I love all of them.
The realization doesn’t hit me like lightning. It settles into my bones like it’s been there all along, just waiting for me to notice.
I love them. All of them. And I’m done pretending I don’t.
Milo opens my door before I can reach for the handle. His scent wraps around me. Dark chocolate and amber, rich and warm. The tension in my shoulders eases.
“Hey yourself.” He pulls me close, pressing his forehead to mine. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His breath catches. I feel the tremor in his hands where they rest on my waist. Milo Stone, the smoothest man I’ve ever met, is nervous.
That makes two of us.
Elijah opens the front door before we reach the porch. He doesn’t speak—he rarely does—but his eyes track me as I pass, and I feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch. His scent reaches me next. Cedarwood and honey, grounding and sweet.
The house is warm. A fire crackles in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the exposed beams. Everything in here is handmade—I recognize Elijah’s work in every carved detail, every perfectly joined seam.
The coffee table with legs shaped like tree branches.
The bookshelves built into the walls. The oversized sectional arranged around the hearth.
He built this place with his own hands. Built it bigger than one person needs.
Built it for a pack.
My throat tightens.
“Wine?” Milo asks, already heading for the kitchen. The normalcy of the question grounds me.
“Please.”
Ben’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Breathe, Tessa.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re planning. I can see it on your face.” His thumb traces circles through my dress. “This isn’t an event. You don’t need a schedule.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. Even now, my brain is trying to organize this into something manageable. Step one: have wine. Step two: discuss expectations. Step three: proceed in orderly fashion to...
No.
This isn’t a town meeting. This is my life. My heart. My future.
Milo returns with glasses and a bottle of red. We settle onto the sectional, me in the middle, Ben on my left, Milo on my right. Elijah takes the armchair closest to the fire, his amber eyes watching me in that quiet, intent way of his.
Four of us. Together. Finally.
The fire pops and hisses. Someone hands me wine I don’t taste. My heart beats so loud I’m sure they can all hear it.
“So,” Milo starts, ever the one to fill silences. “We should probably talk about...”
“I love you.”
The words fall out before I can stop them. Before I can organize them into something prettier, something more planned.
All three of them go still.
“I love all of you,” I continue, because now that I’ve started, the words won’t stop. “Not because of biology or instinct or any of the things we can’t control. Because you chose me. Because you kept choosing me, over and over, even when I was too stubborn to choose you back.”
My voice cracks. I don’t care.
“I spent three years telling myself I didn’t need a pack.
That I was fine on my own. That wanting this, wanting you, made me weak somehow.
Like needing people was a failure.” I swipe at my eyes.
“But you kept showing up anyway. All of you. And I think... I think maybe that’s what love actually is.
Not some grand gesture. Just showing up.
Again and again. Even when the other person is too scared to let you in. ”
Ben’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t speak, but I see his throat work.
“Ben.” I turn to face him fully. “You’ve been bringing me muffins and fixing my car for three years.
Three years of terrible jokes at town meetings, of pretending you weren’t watching me, of showing up with coffee when I was stress-planning at 6 AM.
” I squeeze his hand. “You made me laugh when I forgot how. You made everything feel lighter. And I kept pushing you away because I was scared of how much I wanted you to stay.”
His eyes are bright. The joking, deflecting Ben I know is nowhere to be found. Just this man, looking at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever asked.
“Milo.” I turn to my right. “You saw me. From that very first night at the bar, you saw exactly who I was, the stress, the control issues, all of it, and you didn’t try to fix me or change me.
You just... made space. For me to be messy and scared and imperfect.
” I reach for his hand too. “You made me feel like I could want things. Like wanting wasn’t weakness. ”
Milo’s jaw is tight. He blinks rapidly, looking away, and I realize he’s fighting tears.
“And Elijah.” I meet those quiet amber eyes across the room.
“You don’t say much. You never have. But you show up in every way that matters.
The stage you built for the fundraiser. You put three times the work into it because you knew it would make my event perfect.
The nesting bench I found in your workshop.
I know you made that for me, even though you never mentioned it.
” My voice breaks. “You love quietly. Without asking for anything in return. And I’ve been too scared to tell you that I see it. All of it.”
Elijah doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But I see his hands tighten on the arms of his chair.
“I want to be yours,” I whisper. “All of yours. Not just for tonight. Forever.” The words feel terrifying and right. “I want claiming bites and pack bonds and waking up surrounded by you for the rest of my life. I want to stop being scared and start being brave. I want...”
My voice gives out. I’ve said everything. There’s nothing left but silence and my heart laid bare.
Then Ben laughs, wet and overwhelmed, and pulls me into his arms.
“Thank god,” he breathes against my hair. “Thank god, Tessa. I thought I was going to have to wait another three years.”
A sob escapes me. Or maybe a laugh. I can’t tell anymore.
Milo’s hand finds my back, warm and steady. “I’ve been in love with you since the night you reorganized your color-coded binder while complaining about ‘impossible alphas.’“
“You heard that?”
“I hear everything.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Bartender’s curse.”
Movement from across the room. Elijah crosses to us, dropping to his knees in front of the couch. He doesn’t speak. Instead, he cups my face in his calloused hands and presses his forehead to mine.
Through the touch, I feel everything he can’t say. Three years of watching. Of wanting. Of building things for me in silence because words don’t come easy but love does.
“Yes,” he says finally. Just that. Just yes.
I’m crying properly now. All three of them surrounding me, their scents mingling—leather and musk, dark chocolate and amber, cedarwood and honey—until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins.
This is what I was afraid of. This overwhelming feeling of being seen, of being wanted, of being held.
And it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.
“So,” Milo says eventually, his voice rough. “We should talk about order. Who goes first matters. The first bond sets the foundation for the others.”
I already know. I’ve known since the moment I started this confession.
“You,” I tell him.
Milo blinks. “Me?”
“You saw me first.” I reach up to touch his face. “That night at the bar, three years ago. I was stressed and overwhelmed and drowning, and you handed me a drink and made me feel like everything would be okay. Like I would be okay.” I stroke my thumb across his cheekbone. “You should be first.”
“Tessa...” His voice breaks.
“Is that okay?”
He answers by pulling me into a kiss. Deep and slow and full of three years of wanting. His tongue slides against mine, and I taste wine and need and something that feels like coming home.
When he pulls back, his eyes are nearly black with want.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “That’s okay.”
He stands, pulling me with him. My legs are shaky. My whole body is trembling. But when I look at Ben and Elijah, at the way they’re watching us without a trace of jealousy, only anticipation, I know this is right.
“We’ll be here,” Ben says. His voice is steady, but I see his hands fisting in his lap. Controlling himself. Waiting his turn.
Elijah nods once. “Take your time.”
Milo’s hand tightens around mine. He leads me toward the hallway, toward the guest room, and I don’t look back.
I’m done looking back.
I’m finally, finally looking forward.