Chapter 56
Willow
The late afternoon sun filters through the living room windows, casting a soft glow over everything—the world itself is daring me to believe I’m safe here.
I curl up at the edge of the couch, my heat pillow resting on my stomach, warm and comforting.
Graham is at the stove again, stirring something that smells delicious, while Hunter wipes down the kitchen island with unnecessary precision, his brows furrowed, trying not to look at me too much.
Carson’s sprawled next to me, one arm across the back of the couch and the other lazily tracing shapes on the exposed skin of my arm.
It’s casual, natural—so intimate it makes my heart ache.
I don’t think I’ve ever had this before.
Not even with Landon. Real comfort. Real care.
Real love, even if no one’s said the word out loud yet.
I’m surrounded.
And I’ve never felt more wanted.
And yet, I can’t stop thinking about Finn.
The box, the collage, the way he looked when I approached him across the street. Like I was the moon and he was a man willing to drown in the tides just to reach me.
It’s not just an obsession. It’s devotion. It’s terrifying. And part of me wants to explore what that means. But I’m not stupid, I know how that will sit with the guys.
Especially Graham.
Hunter too.
But Carson…
Carson’s my best bet. He gets it. I know he does. He was there when we ran into Finn. If any of them could be swayed, it would be him.
The plan to let me see Finn might have started with a strategy for them—get her to trust us, give her space, control the variables—but I’m not mad about it. Honestly, it’s kind of brilliant.
Because they were right.
I would’ve found a way to see him, no matter what. There’s a reckless part that lives inside of me that I’m not sure will ever be tamed.
“Peaches,” Carson murmurs, breaking my spiraling thoughts. “You’re staring.”
I blink, realizing my gaze’s been locked on his mouth for longer than is remotely appropriate. “I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he teases, smirking. “Should I be worried?”
“Always,” I reply, grinning back. “I’m trying to figure something out.”
“Wanna talk about it?” His hand slides from my arm to my thigh.
I glance toward the kitchen. Hunter is slicing bread now. Graham is bent over a simmering pot, focused, exacting. Neither of them is paying attention.
But Carson is.
I lower my voice. “You knew I’d want to see him again.”
His gaze doesn’t flinch or ask who I’m talking about. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t stop me when I crossed that street to go to him.”
Another pause. Then a nod. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
Carson shifts toward me, serious now. “Because I couldn’t stop you without hurting you. And hurting you? That’s not an option.”
I inhale slowly. “You’re not afraid of what he might be to me?”
“I’m afraid of losing you,” he says easily. “That’s different. But that would hurt me, not you.”
God.
I want to kiss him again.
I want to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything: that I want all of them, that I’m scared of ruining it, that I don’t know how to handle the way Finn makes me feel.
But all I say is, “Thank you.”
He leans in and brushes his lips against my temple. “Anytime, peaches.”
Then he tugs me into his lap, arms wrapping around me. He grabs the remote, scrolling through one of the streaming services I use, flipping aimlessly. I melt into him, letting the weight of the day bleed off me.
It feels easy. Natural. Like this is someplace I was always meant to be.
And maybe it is.
There’s a kind of peace in this moment that feels unfamiliar. I’ve spent so long fighting this part of myself—pushing away any notion of softness or belonging. I built a life on speed, independence, walls. Told myself I didn’t want a pack. That I didn’t need one.
Except...I did. I do.
I think about Landon. The one alpha I let in. The one I chased. The one who made everything feel so hot and alive and inevitability. I gave him my whole heart in a matter of days—and when it broke, I acted as if he was the only one to blame.
But he wasn’t.
I wanted him to save me without knowing how to save myself. I buried parts of me to keep the fantasy alive. Pretended we could outrun the things that didn’t fit.
We were reckless. And we burned out fast.
And maybe it wasn’t all his fault.
The ache is still there—but duller now. Faded at the edges.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to out-skate today. Not just the memories, not just the heat of his presence back in my life—but the truth underneath it.
Losing a scent match didn’t destroy me.
And that doesn’t make what we had any less real. It just means it wasn’t at the right time. We weren’t ready—not for the kind of love that lasts. But this—this slow, steady thing I’m building now—it might be.
It’s not about chasing or burning. It’s not about filling some missing piece. Or hoping someone else can fix the broken parts of me.
It’s about showing up. About staying, even when it gets hard. About forgiving—when they fuck up, or I do. Everything I should have done with Landon, if I’d known how.
And maybe…maybe it’s not too late.
I don’t know what that means yet. I don’t know if we’ll find a way forward or if we were only ever meant to collide and grow apart. But the door inside me—the one I slammed shut—it’s not locked anymore. Just cracked. Just enough to wonder.
I take a slow, measured breath and rest my head against Carson’s shoulder. His hand rubs lazy circles into my arm, grounding me.
And I don’t say anything else.
I don’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long time, there isn’t another shoe that’s going to drop, or something waiting around the corner to go wrong. I just feel…wanted. And maybe the future isn’t about choosing between what was and what could be.
Maybe it’s about finding space for both.
I take a slow, measured breath.
The apartment smells like rosemary and simmering beef broth. I’m pretty sure Graham was meant to be a chef, not a bodyguard. He’s spent over an hour on the roast, and that’s not counting the prep he did before we even left for practice.
He’s at the stove now, sleeves rolled, carefully ladling a spoonful into a small bowl to taste-test the seasoning. His brow is furrowed in concentration, as if the balance of garlic and lemon is the most important mission of his life.
It’s…adorable, honestly.
Hunter is at the table now, his knee bouncing as he scrolls through his phone, but his eyes shift to me every few seconds. Watching. Present. His words from earlier echo in my head.
You don’t have to hold it together around us. Not with me.
The sincerity in his voice, the quiet steadiness—he wasn’t offering pity. He was offering trust. Safety. Maybe even something deeper.
And I’m trying.
I really am.
But I’m not just unraveling one thread—I’m trying to untangle a whole web.A scent match. A pack I never asked for but somehow ended up needing. A stalker.
The thought makes my gaze wander. My eyes drift to the wide window just off the living room, and before I even realize I’m moving, I slip from Carson’s lap and cross to it. I stand at the glass, my fingers grazing the edge of the sill.
Finn’s there.
Across the street. Standing in the window of that apartment he rented solely to watch me.
He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile.
But he sees me. And I see him.
The distance between us is weighted—charged. Full of things unsaid and moments unfelt and tension that refuses to loosen. I feel movement behind me and glance over my shoulder.
Graham.
He approached on silent feet, the towel slung over his shoulder, his eyes on me. His attention shifts to Finn across the street and then back to me.
I expect him to look angry. To shut the blinds. To come up behind me and pull me away. Tell me I’m being stupid for watching someone I shouldn’t want.
But he doesn’t.
He holds my gaze for a beat, then nods once, barely there. Almost imperceptible.
When I turn back to the window, Finn is still watching. And even from this far away, I swear I see it, the twitch of a smile. A slow nod. He saw Graham’s nod.
Saw that I wasn’t pulled away.
And somehow, that means something.
It’s not permission. It’s not a decision made. But it’s a start.
And my heart stutters in my chest because I know now—I’m not the only one letting Finn stay in this story—in my story.
My new pack sees it too.
I should be sleeping.
The make-shift nest is warm—soft blankets layered around me like a cocoon, the lingering scent of Graham’s cooking still hanging in the air.
One of the guys is softly snoring behind me.
Carson, probably. He’s warm and curls close.
Hunter is nearby, too. I can feel his presence even without touching. He’s protective even in sleep.
But my thoughts are somewhere else entirely.
Finn.
I slip out of the nest with the same guilt as if I were cheating. Quiet, slow, careful not to wake any of them.
Padding across the room in my sleep shorts, I settle at the window. The street is quieter now. A few cars pass. And there, in the window across from mine, lit only by the soft glow of his desk lamp—he’s still watching.
My stomach flips, and I hate how it doesn’t scare me. How the attention settles around me, soft and comforting.
Finn doesn’t move. But the way his head tilts? The subtle lean forward? I know he’s watching me.
He sees me.
I press my palm to the glass.
And then—
A hand touches my waist. I gasp, half-spinning.
Graham.
He says nothing at first. Just steps in behind me, his chest to my back, one hand steady on my hip.
“You can’t sleep?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
I shake my head. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” His other hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my shoulder. “You were thinking about him.”
It’s not a question. I nod anyway, guilt blooming in my throat. He doesn’t growl. Doesn’t scold. His hands stay gentle.
“If you want him,” he says slowly, “we’ll figure it out.”
My heart lurches.
“Really?”