Chapter 59
Hunter
I pace the living room, the soft creak of the hardwood beneath my boots the only sound besides the click of the stove as it keeps the baked potatoes and pan chicken warm. Graham left it in there—still baking on low, ready for dinner.
Willow’s in her room.
Quiet.
Which is somehow worse than if she were yelling.
Carson leans on the couch arm, spinning a coaster between his fingers. He hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. That alone tells me how much this is messing with him.
Graham stands near the window, arms folded, eyes on the skyline, pretending he’s not waiting for me to speak.
“She followed him outside,” I say finally. My voice is low, but it might as well be a thunderclap in the silence. “Landon.”
Graham’s head turns. Carson’s coaster stops mid-spin.
“She chased after him?” Carson repeats, brows lifting. “Like…what? Rom-com final scene energy?”
“More like unfinished business,” I mutter. “There was anger, yeah—but there was something else too. It didn’t feel over. Not to her. And not to him.”
Carson exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Great. Love that for us.”
“She’s allowed to want closure,” Graham says.
“I get that,” I say, nodding. “But I think she’s still figuring out if she wants more than that.”
Carson lets out a low whistle. “Well, fuck. We survived stalkers, heat crashes, a fire escape, possibly welcoming said stalker into our pack—and now we’re adding her ex-wildcard to the pile?”
“Ex-scent match,” I correct him automatically.
Graham stiffens. “Ex-what?”
Carson frowns, glancing between us. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I realize too late that I never told them. My stomach twists, but I force the words out. “She told me. Yesterday. Landon…he wasn’t just some guy she fell for. He was her scent match.”
Graham’s arms drop to his sides, fists clenched tight. Carson’s eyes go wide, then narrow.
The silence is thick, heavy, until Carson mutters, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“She didn’t mean to say it out loud, not really,” I add quickly. “But it slipped. And it changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Carson says quietly. “It does.”
Because it’s not just an old boyfriend. Not just some past mistake.
It’s the bond. The first bond. The one that’s supposed to be for life. The one alphas spend years hoping for, and omegas are told they’re lucky to find.
“She didn’t perfume for him,” I say quietly. “Not even when he gave her back the necklace.”
That sobers both of them.
“She didn’t react,” I go on. “But she didn’t walk away, either. And when she followed him out that door, all I could think was…what if she’s not over him?”
Graham’s jaw clenches.
Carson looks at me, his voice softer now, the sarcasm fading just enough. “You thinking we let him in?”
“I’m saying…” I blow out a breath. “If it comes down to it—if she asks us to—can we make space for him? In the pack?”
Graham doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know I don’t play nice with people who hurt what’s mine.”
“She’s not ours like that,” I say. “Not unless she chooses us. And if she does—if he’s part of that choice—can we live with it?”
Carson swears under his breath, standing up and pacing toward the kitchen. “You’re asking the guy she tried to one-night-stand in her own apartment if he’s willing to share?”
I nod.
He turns around slowly, something calmer in his expression now. “If it means keeping her? If it means she stays happy, safe, and knows how fucking loved she is?” He shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll deal.”
Graham grunts. “Only if he earns it.”
Carson nods once. “And only if she’s sure.”
“She’s already ours,” I say.
“Yeah,” Carson murmurs. “But maybe being hers means letting her decide who she needs.”
We fall into silence again.
But something shifts between us. The truth’s been dragged into the light, and none of us are going to hide from it anymore.
Landon might always have a place in her heart.
And if she asks us to let him in?
Then we’ll find a way.
For her.
I hesitate at her door. Not because I’m unsure, but because I want to get it right. She’s been quiet since practice. Since Landon. Since everything.
I knock twice, firm but gentle. “Willow?”
A soft rustle, then, “Come in.”
I ease the door open.
She’s curled in the middle of her makeshift nest, blankets layered into a cocoon of safety and warmth. The little heat pillow Carson got her is tucked against her chest, and one of my hoodies is tangled in the edge of the pile.
She looks small in it. Tired.
But not broken.
Never broken.
I shut the door behind me and cross the room without a word. Her eyes follow me, wide and vulnerable, expecting the worst—a part of her still doesn’t believe she’s allowed to have this.
I sink into the nest beside her, and she doesn’t flinch. She watches me. Waiting.
I wrap an arm around her waist, the other under her knees, and shift until she’s tucked against my chest, her body molding to mine.
My scent wraps around her instinctively—warm and solid—and I start to purr. Low and steady. Her shoulders lose some of their tension.
She exhales.
And then she presses her face into my neck.
“Is this okay?” I murmur.
She nods.
I brush my fingers down her back, slow and rhythmic. “You wanna talk about what happened with him?”
A long pause.
“It’s over.”
Her voice is soft. Final.
I pull back just enough to look at her, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says again, this time with more certainty. “It needed to end. He had a piece of me once, and I think I needed to see that he didn’t have it anymore. I needed to say it out loud.”
I nod slowly, heart thudding. Because I want to believe her. Hell, I'm pretty sure she wants to believe herself.
But I saw the way she looked at him outside the rink. The way her whole body leaned toward him before she remembered to pull back. The way her voice cracked when she made him bleed with her honesty.
She’s trying to close the door.
But it’s not locked yet.
And that’s okay. I’m not here to push her into pretending it is.
“I’m proud of you,” I say instead, my voice low. “For going after closure. For not letting him decide your story.”
She looks up at me, something flickering behind her eyes—guilt, maybe. Uncertainty. A need to be understood.
“And if I hadn’t been ready to let him go?” she whispers. “If I’m not.”
I tighten my hold on her, not even thinking about it.
“Then we’ll find a way to make it work,” I murmur. “All of us.”
She blinks, surprised. Her eyes lift to mine, rimmed in the kind of sadness that only comes from hindsight. She gives me a small, broken smile.
“He was a playboy. I’m pretty sure he never had a real relationship before me—if you can even call what we had a relationship. My friends warned me he wasn’t the type to settle down. And before him, I wasn’t either. Or at least... I thought I wasn’t.”
She swallows hard, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “I thought I could change him. That being my scent match meant it would be some kind of fairytale ending, no matter what. I thought fate would do the work for us.”
Her voice catches.
“And you all saw the aftermath of that.”
I nod, brushing my thumb gently over her hip. “Yeah. But we also saw you rebuild.”
She exhales shakily, curling in closer.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” I murmur. “You don’t have to know how you feel about him, not yet. You just have to let us stay beside you while you figure it out.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
Then she whispers, “I don’t deserve all of this.”
My chest aches. “You do. You always have.”
Her fingers fist into my shirt, anchoring herself. Like a part of her wants to believe she can have it all without losing any of us in the process.
“I don’t want to lose any of you,” she whispers.
“You won’t,” I promise.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, letting my lips linger there.
“Not now,” I murmur. “Not ever. I love you.”
She stills.
Then slowly, she pulls back, just far enough to look up at me—really look. Her eyes shimmer with unspilled tears, and a small, disbelieving smile curls at the corners of her lips. It lights up her face. And I want to hold her tighter and never let her go.
“You love me?” she whispers.
I nod, my fingers brushing a lock of hair from her face. “So much it makes my chest hurt.”
A tear slips free, sliding down her cheek. But she’s still smiling, soft and radiant and completely real.
“I swore I wouldn’t fall again,” she says, voice barely more than a breath. “I told myself I couldn’t afford to love anyone. Not after what happened with Landon. Not after how much it broke me—and how much I blamed him.”
Her hand lifts to rest against my chest, over my heart, as though she needs proof it’s really beating for her.
“But here I am,” she continues. “Falling helplessly in love with you.”
I inhale sharply, everything inside me going still. She didn’t have to say it back. But I’m really glad she did.
Her smile deepens, her eyes shining. “With all of you. Carson. Graham. You. I love you all. And I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
I cup her face in my hands, reverent. “You don’t have to.”
She leans in, brushing her lips against mine, soft and sure. And in that moment, everything else falls away. No past. No pain. No uncertainty.
Just her. Me. Us.
And the love we’re finally allowing ourselves to hold.