Chapter 16 Bea
Bea
I've changed outfits four times, and I'm currently standing in my childhood bedroom wearing nothing but my bra and the jeans I'm pretty sure I'm keeping, staring at my closet like it's personally betrayed me.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, grabbing a dark green sweater. "It's just dinner."
Just dinner. With three alphas. Who all want to date me. At the same time. As a pack.
This is not the plan. This was never the plan.
I came home to focus on my career. To figure out what I want.
To recover from Terrance and all his bullshit expectations about what my life should look like.
Not to fall into another relationship—especially not one with three people who all apparently want to formally court me like this is some kind of regency romance.
I pull the sweater over my head and immediately yank it back off. Too casual. Or maybe not casual enough? What's the dress code for "first official pack date where you're supposed to figure out if this whole thing is actually going to work even though you absolutely should not be doing this"?
And why am I even going? I should cancel. I should text them right now and say I'm not ready for this, that I need space, that yesterday with Grayson was a mistake and—
My stomach twists at the thought of calling yesterday a mistake. Because it wasn't. It was terrifying and intense and probably the best orgasm of my life, which is exactly the problem.
Stop. Focus. This is supposed to be about YOUR career. YOUR life. YOUR choices that have nothing to do with any alphas.
There's a knock on my door.
"Bea? Honey?" Mom's voice is gentle. "Can I come in?"
"Only if you promise not to laugh at the disaster zone. Or try to talk me into going through with this."
She opens the door and surveys the explosion of clothes covering every surface. To her credit, she doesn't even blink. "That bad, huh?"
"I don't know what to wear. I don't know if I should even be going. This whole thing is—" I gesture helplessly at my closet, at the mess, at my entire life. "I came home for me, Mom. To figure out what I want. Not to fall into another relationship."
"And is that what this feels like?" Mom asks gently, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Falling into something you don't want?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." I sink down beside her with a groan. "That's the problem. Part of me wants this so badly it scares me. And the other part is screaming that I'm being an idiot, that I'm supposed to be focusing on ME for once, not on what some alphas want."
"What if it's not about what they want?" Mom says thoughtfully. "What if it's about what you want?"
"I want to not be terrified," I mutter.
"You know," she says, "when I went on my first date with your dad and papa, I changed seven times."
I look at her in surprise. "Really?"
"Really. I was so nervous I actually put my shirt on backwards and didn't notice until we were already at the restaurant." She laughs at the memory. "Your papa was too polite to say anything for the first hour."
Despite my panic, I smile. "What made you finally relax?"
"Your dad made a terrible joke about the pasta being 'impastable' to resist, and I laughed so hard I snorted wine out my nose." She wrinkles her nose. "Not my most graceful moment, but it broke the tension. They weren't looking for perfect, Bea. They were looking for me."
"But you weren't running from something," I point out quietly. "You weren't trying to prove you could be independent after your last relationship told you who to be."
Mom is quiet for a moment. Then: "Actually, I was. I'd just gotten out of a relationship with someone who wanted me to be the perfect omega—docile, agreeable, nothing but supportive. Your fathers? They wanted me exactly as I was. Messy, opinionated, terrible at cooking. All of it."
I lean my head against her shoulder. "I'm really nervous, Mom. And not in a good way. In a 'this is the opposite of what I'm supposed to be doing right now' way."
"I know, honey." She wraps an arm around me. "But those three young men? They already like you exactly as you are. You could show up in a potato sack and they'd think you were beautiful."
"Please don't give me outfit ideas. I'm desperate enough to try it.
" I pause, picking at a thread on my jeans.
"But what if... what if I'm making the same mistake again?
What if I get so caught up in being what they need that I forget what I need?
I'm supposed to be figuring out my career, Mom.
Building something that's mine. Not jumping into the deep end with three alphas who—"
"Who what?" Mom asks gently. "Who treat you with respect? Who let you make your own choices? Who've been very clear that they want you, but haven't pressured you into anything?"
"Who make me forget why I came home in the first place," I say quietly.
Mom is silent for a moment. Then she stands and moves to my closet. "You know what I think?"
"That I'm overthinking this?"
"That you're assuming you can only choose one thing." She pulls out a burgundy wrap top I forgot I owned. "Career or relationship. Independence or connection. But Bea? Life doesn't work like that. You can have both. You can build your career and explore this. One doesn't cancel out the other."
I take the top from her, running my fingers over the soft fabric. "But what if—"
"What if you give yourself permission to want both?" She kisses the top of my head. "This one. With those jeans. And your brown boots. You look beautiful in that color. It makes your eyes pop. And more importantly, it makes you feel confident."
She's right. I remember buying this top during my junior year, right after acing a major presentation. I felt unstoppable that day.
Like I could have everything I wanted.
"Thanks, Mom."
"Anytime, sweetheart." She heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Bea? It's okay to be scared. But don't let fear make you run from something good just because you're worried it might end badly. That's not protecting yourself. That's just missing out."
After she leaves, I finish getting dressed and catch my reflection in the mirror. I look... good. Put together. Like someone who's excited about this.
And under all the panic, I am. I've been replaying yesterday with Grayson. How River kissed me in the hardware store. How Seth looked at me over lunch like I mattered.
I'm falling for them. All three of them.
I'm finishing my makeup when there's another knock.
"Come in!"
The door opens to reveal all three of my parents crowded in the doorway like they're staging some kind of intervention.
"We're not being weird," Papa announces.
"You're absolutely being weird," I counter, but I'm smiling.
Dad clears his throat. "We just wanted to say... we're proud of you, Bea-bee."
My throat tightens at the childhood nickname. "For going on a date?"
"For being you," Mom says simply. "For being our daughter."
"You've been smiling more this past week," Papa adds, his voice soft. "We've missed seeing you happy."
"We just want you happy, sweetheart," Dad says. "Whatever that looks like. Alphas, no alphas, marketing empire, living in our basement until you're forty—we don't care. We just love you."
"For wearing pants to a fancy dinner," Papa adds with a grin. "That's our girl."
"Papa!"
"What? I'm proud! You're not trying to be someone you're not just to impress some alphas."
"They already know I'm a disaster," I point out. "There's no point in false advertising now."
Ben appears behind our parents, somehow managing to squeeze into the doorway. How is my entire family in my bedroom right now?
"You look nice," he says, then immediately ruins it with, "Did you actually shower this time or just use dry shampoo and hope for the best?"
"I showered!"
"Good. Because were living in sweatpants for weeks and I wasn't sure you remembered how real pants worked."
"I hate you."
"Love you too." He grins, then his expression shifts slightly more serious. "Just don't let them railroad you into anything you're not ready for. And if any of them makes you feel bad or pressures you or—"
"Ben." Mom's voice is firm. "We talked about this."
"I'm just saying—"
"You're being overprotective," Papa says. "Which is sweet, but unnecessary. These boys are good ones."
"How do you know?" Ben challenges.
"Because," Dad says calmly, "they asked permission to take Bea out. And more importantly, they make her smile. That's all we need to know."
Ben looks at me, and I see the worry in his eyes. "You're happy?"
"I'm terrified," I admit. "But yeah. I think I am."
"Okay." He nods once, decisively. "Then I'm happy. But if any of them—"
"Breaks my heart, you'll break their face. I know." I move to hug him. "Thank you for caring."
"Always," he murmurs into my hair. "You're my little sister. It's my job to be annoying about it."
"You excel at your job."
"I really do."
I pull back and look at all of them—my chaotic, loving, overprotective family. "I love you all. Even when you're embarrassing."
"Especially when we're embarrassing," Dad corrects. "That's when we're at our best."
I'm about to respond when the doorbell rings.
"That's them," Papa announces.
My heart drops into my stomach. "Oh god."
"Showtime," Ben says with far too much glee.
I grab my jacket and purse, moving toward the stairs where I see them already downstairs gathered by the door. "We're just leaving. Quick hello and we're out the door—"
"Beatrice Marie Wilson," Mom calls up the stairs. "If you think you're running out of this house without properly introducing your dates to your family, you have another think coming."
"Mom!"
"We're just being polite!" Dad adds.
Papa's opening the front door it with a welcoming smile that doesn't quite hide the protective alpha gleam in his eyes.