Chapter 62 #3
That warmth stirs something deep in my chest. I’ve noticed the small things between them before—touches, looks, moments that spoke louder than words—and Carson basically confirmed they’re a real pack. But seeing it?
It feels right. This is exactly where I belong.
Hunter steps in a few seconds later, closing the door with less fanfare than Carson’s grand entrance. He doesn’t say anything at first, just crosses the room with that grounded, sure-footed purpose that’s so uniquely him, and stops right in front of me.
“Hey, princess,” he says. “How was your day?”
I puff out my cheeks before slowly releasing the breath, trying to decide what version of the story I want to give him. Eventually, I settle for the highlights.
“I had a good practice,” I say. “Told Landon off, helped Graham cook, ran into Finn at the store…and discovered what a softie Graham really is.”
Hunter’s brows lift at my list, but he doesn’t react the way I expect. There’s no sharp intake of breath at Finn’s name. No frustration about Landon. No teasing about Graham’s alleged softness.
Instead, he studies my face.
His gaze lingers—slow and careful—taking in every detail and checking for cracks. For bruises that might not be visible.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His hand finds my waist, warm and grounding. “Then that’s what matters.”
I blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. No interrogation. No judgment. Just trust.
“But for the record,” he adds, his thumb brushing lightly against my side, “if Finn so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way, you tell me.”
“Why? You gonna growl at him from across the street?” I ask, my voice light, but my heart pounding.
He leans in, voice low, rough with meaning. “No. I’ll make damn sure he remembers whose omega you are.”
Heat flares across my skin.
Not because of the words alone, but the certainty behind them. The promise.
Not if I’m his omega. Whose.
“Oh, my God,” Carson says, dragging the words out like he’s witnessing something scandalous. “Did we just witness the strong, silent alpha pull a full territorial swoon? Are we… are we sure you don’t have omega blood somewhere in that stoic body?”
Hunter doesn’t look at him.
He just shrugs, one corner of his mouth tilting. “She’s mine. I’m allowed.”
“Damn right you are,” Carson replies easily, then turns to me and fans himself dramatically. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m jealous—but if someone wanted to throw me against a wall and stake a claim, I wouldn’t say no.”
I burst out laughing, the tension bleeding out of me with my joy.
Graham snorts from across the room. ”You already are claimed.”
Hunter lifts an eyebrow at Carson. “You want to be thrown against a wall, you just have to ask.”
Carson’s grin goes positively feral. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”
Then he looks at me, his eyes running over me, all the playfulness shifts.
“I like seeing you like this,” he says. “Happy.”
My throat tightens, but I nod, unable to put the warmth swelling in my chest into words.
Carson leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, then to my temple, and then—because it’s Carson—to my nose. “And just so you know,” he murmurs, “you are ours. No matter how many ghosts from the past or obsessive voyeurs try to distract you.”
I exhale slowly, eyes darting between them.
“My god,” I whisper. “You three are going to ruin me.”
Graham speaks from the kitchen. “That’s the plan.”
The living room is cozy and dim, the glow from the TV flickering across the soft lines of our makeshift nest of pillows and throw blankets.
The coffee table is loaded with snacks; popcorn, pretzels, sour candy in a bowl I swear was once meant for salad.
Carson, of course, claimed it with dramatic flair and zero shame.
“Okay, but I’m serious,” he says, pointing his half-eaten gummy worm at the screen. “If a ghost ever tells me to get out, I’m not sticking around like these morons. I’m grabbing my things and sprinting.”
Hunter snorts. “You’d trip over your shoes and blame the ghost.”
“I would not!” Carson protests, indignant. “I’m very coordinated.”
“Mm-hm.” Graham leans against the armrest, one arm slung behind me. “That time in the training room—”
“That was a fluke,” Carson cuts in, wagging the candy. “And someone moved the mat.”
I chuckle, resting my head against Graham’s shoulder. “You guys do realize I’ve seen you all in action, right? Pretty sure Carson did a somersault last week trying to avoid a squirrel. He’s very coordinated.”
Hunter raises an eyebrow. “That was tactical.”
Carson tosses a pillow at him, but it’s a lazy hit, more fondness than frustration.
It’s nice, this moment. Light. Easy.
I shift slightly, tugging my legs under me and letting my fingers brush against Graham’s thigh. He goes still for a second, and so does my heart. I’m about to change everything.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat.
Three sets of eyes swing toward me. I swallow down my nerves.
“I want you to mark me,” I say quietly. “Both of you. I’m ready.”
The room stills. The movie keeps playing in the background, but none of us are watching now.
Graham’s jaw clenches, the muscles in his arm flexing around me. “Willow... are you sure?”
I nod once, my heart in my throat. “Yeah. I’ve been sure for a while, I just—I needed to be ready to say it out loud. I don’t want temporary. I want forever. With you. All of you.”
Carson’s expression shifts, all his teasing dropping away. He leans forward, the softest look in his eyes. “You mean it, peaches?”
Tears sting my eyes. “I do. I want to be yours. I already am, really. So making it official makes sense.”
Hunter doesn’t speak—he just leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple, a quiet kind of approval that makes my chest ache.
Graham brushes his thumb along my jaw. “You are. We’ve loved you since that first day, I’m pretty sure.”
“I love you,” I whisper. “All of you.”
Carson takes my hand, linking his fingers through mine. “Are you ready for forever with me?”
A smile pulls at my lips.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s make it forever.”