Chapter 41
Lo
The call comes while I’m still in bed, tangled in sheets that smell of them. Cedar and smoke and heat and home. My phone buzzes across the nightstand, and I grope for it, half asleep and hoping it’s Hayes reminding me to eat or Beck sending another meme that shouldn’t make me laugh but always does.
It’s not.
It’s the mayor.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming. The screen glows with his name. Which is… weird.
I answer anyway, because what else do you do when the mayor calls?
“Lo.” His voice comes through smooth and official, the kind of tone that makes people sit up straighter. “There’s a community meeting tonight. Six sharp. At the hall. It’s important that you attend.”
My brows knit. “What’s this about?”
A pause. Just long enough to make my stomach dip. “You’ll see when you get here.”
And then the line goes dead.
By the time I’m dressed, the guys are circling with stress etched in their faces.
Beck leans in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. “What was that about?”
“No idea. The mayor wants me to come to a town meeting.” I shove my phone in my pocket like that can hide the unease crawling under my skin. “It sounded… official.”
Ford steps closer, eyes sharp. “Lo.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, because it’s easier than explaining how the mayor’s voice is still a hook in my ribs.
Hayes studies me for a long beat, then says, calm and certain, “One of these days, you’ll know you can’t lie to us any longer.”
Ford tilts his head. “We can feel you. Every second.”
“We’re coming with you,” Beck announces.
I open my mouth to argue. Close it when I see their faces. They’re not moving on this. And maybe, God, maybe I’m glad for that.
I guess I need to get changed…
I stare at the closet because it’s a test I didn’t study for. Smart. Polished. Something that says respectable citizen, ready for a town meeting.
“Why does everything I own look like a crime against fashion?” I mutter, shoving hangers aside.
Hayes leans in the doorway, arms folded, wearing that slow grin that makes my pulse skip. “Pretty sure you could wear a garbage bag and still shut down the room.”
“That’s not helpful,” I shoot back, even though my cheeks warm.
“Helpful wasn’t the goal.” He pushes off the frame, sauntering closer, his fingers brushing a sundress on the rack. “This one’s good. Soft. Looks like you. Would pair well with one of those big sweaters you own by the dozen.”
Before I can answer, Beck appears behind him, brows drawn. “Too sweet. They’ll underestimate her.” He digs past both of us and yanks out a sleek black number. “This says, ‘don’t mess with me.’”
I blink. “Pretty sure that says ‘funeral chic.’”
Ford’s voice rumbles from the bed where he’s sprawled out. “She’s not wearing black. Pick something that makes her look like ours.”
That word does something to me. Warmth blooms under my skin, sharp as a brand.
Beck smirks, unbothered. “You want to scent her up too, big guy? Maybe stamp ‘property of us’ across her back?”
Ford sits up, eyes flashing dark amber. “Don’t tempt me.”
My stomach flips, heat coiling low. God, not the time. Definitely not the time.
“Okay,” I cut in before this turns into a testosterone contest. “Neutral. Professional. Non-threatening.”
Hayes hums, fingers landing on a soft cream blouse and tailored trousers. “This,” he says simply. “Elegant. Confident. Doesn’t scream Omega trying too hard.”
I take them, smoothing the fabric waiting for it to steady me. “Yeah. This works.”
By the time I shimmy into the outfit, I feel… different. More polished. Someone who might actually belong in a meeting called by the mayor.
“What the hell do you think this is about?” Hayes asks. “This seems so weird.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter, tugging at my sleeve. My stomach’s a tight knot. “Maybe it’s… God, maybe it’s about the parade.”
That gets all three of them to look at me.
“You mean when you turned Main Street into a demolition derby?” Beck smirks, but his jaw’s still tight.
Heat crawls up my neck. “I didn’t crash on purpose!”
“Sure,” he drawls, leaning against the wall. “Normal Lo behavior.”
Hayes cuts in before I can snap back. “It’s been a while, Lo. If they cared about that, they would’ve handled it when it first happened.”
Ford’s been silent, looming in the corner. He finally speaks, low and dark. “Could be Dylan.”
The name hangs heavy in the air.
My pulse stutters.
“No,” I whisper, too fast. “He’s gone. He’s—”
“—an asshole who doesn’t know how to quit,” Beck finishes, eyes sharp now. “If this is about him—”
“It’s not,” I cut in, because if I let them run with that theory, we’ll never leave the house. “That’s a police matter, surely?”
Hayes perches on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee brushes mine. “Could be nothing. Some new regulation. A check-in for Omegas.”
“Those usually come with a notice,” I say. “Not… whatever that was.” My voice comes out thinner than I want, so I paste on a smile that feels about as sturdy as wet tissue. “Maybe they’re finally giving me an award for Best Parade Crasher.”
Beck snorts. “You’d win that by a landslide.”
The drive feels like it stretches forever.
The SUV hums along the back roads, sunlight flickering through the trees in broken patterns that might as well be a warning. I’m sandwiched between Hayes and Beck in the back seat, Ford at the wheel, radiating so much Alpha calm it’s almost smug.
Almost.
By the time we pull up to the town hall, my nerves are frayed. There are more cars than I expected. Rows of them gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The whole damn town showed up for a spectacle.
My pulse kicks up.
Beck notices. Of course he does. His hand lands on my thigh, warm and heavy, thumb brushing slow circles. “Relax, Lo. You look like you’re heading into a firing squad.”
“Maybe because that’s what this feels like,” I mutter, forcing a laugh that sounds brittle to my own ears.
We climb the steps together. The heavy doors swing open, and a wave of murmured voices rolls out, warm and expectant.
And then I see them.
Front row, middle seats.
My parents.
Sitting there as if butter wouldn’t melt under the scorching heat of their disapproval. Like they didn’t cause years of damage I’m still shouldering.
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. The air sticks in my throat, thick and choking.
“Lo?” Hayes’ hand ghosts against my back, a steadying anchor.
But I can’t answer. Not when my mother’s eyes are fixed on me. Not when my father’s mouth curves into that politician’s smile that hides a thousand knives.
The hum of voices dies as the mayor steps up to the podium, clearing his throat with all the pomp of a man who loves the sound of his own authority.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he begins. “We’ve gathered today to address… a matter of community concern.”
My stomach knots tighter. Concern. That word never means anything good.
And then he gestures toward the front row. Toward them.
My parents rise as one, a rehearsed performance. My mother, in her immaculate navy suit, and my father, in his tailored charcoal, both looking like they stepped out of a campaign ad.
“Friends,” my father says, warm, practiced, oozing sincerity, “we asked the mayor to call this meeting because we believe it’s time to talk about honesty. About loyalty. About what it means to truly belong in Honeysuckle Grove.”
My pulse spikes. This is bad. So very, very bad.
He keeps going, calm as a man delivering scripture. “For too long, certain… choices have threatened to divide us. Certain behaviors have put this town at risk. And we, my wife and I, cannot stand by and watch the Grove lose its way.”
A low murmur runs through the crowd.
My mother steps forward, her eyes sweeping over the room before landing on me with pinpoint precision. “We all remember what happened, don’t we? When our daughter—”
I flinch at the mention of me.
“—made the decisions that cost this town its peace. That humiliated her family. That led to…” She presses her lips together like the words taste bitter. “Tragedy.”
Heat floods my face. My chest squeezes tight, breath stuttering. Oh god. What are they doing? Here. In front of everyone.
I can feel a hundred eyes turning toward me.
And just like that, just like before, I’m back there. Almost twenty years old and stupid and alone, while whispers shredded me from the inside out. She brought this on herself. She ruined everything.
I told myself I was past it. That I didn’t care anymore. But standing here, every old wound splits wide open.
My father’s voice cuts, a blade dipped in honey. “We only want what’s best for this town. And what happened years ago was dreadful. We were blamed for things that were not our fault. Our daughter was to blame for it all.”
The room is silent. My skin crawls with it. And for one horrifying second, I think it’s working. That look in people’s eyes, the doubt, the tilt of heads, the faint crease of brows, I know that look. I’ve drowned in it before.
My throat burns. I want to speak, to scream, to fight, but the words won’t come. They never do when I need them most.
Then a voice slices through the quiet.
“Are you done?”
Every head swivels. Beck is leaning against the aisle rail, all lazy menace, his smile sharp enough to bleed. “Because I gotta say… I’ve heard a lot of horse shit in my life, but that?” He shakes his head slowly. “That takes the blue ribbon.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
“Excuse me—” my father starts, indignation snapping at the edges of his tone.
“No,” Beck snaps right back, straightening to his full height.
“You don’t get to stand up there and pretend you’re some kind of savior when all you’ve ever done is cause hell.
” His voice is rising, raw and furious. “You stole from us all, and now you’re trying to blame your daughter.
You have the audacity to waltz in here and act like you care about this town when you bled us dry? ”
People are staring now, not at me, but at him.
At us.
Hayes steps forward next, calm as still water but with that undercurrent of steel that makes the hairs on my arms lift.
“Lo didn’t ruin anything,” he says. “She survived. And if you think you can twist the truth, think again. Some of us were there. Some of us know exactly what happened.”
A murmur rises, louder this time. Agreement. Not doubt.
Ford doesn’t even move to the stage. He just says, “You’re done here,” in that deep, immovable way that makes grown men back down.
My mother’s mouth flattens. “This is none of your business—”
“The hell it isn’t,” Beck snarls.
Before she can spit another word, another voice cuts in. Tansy.
“Lo did nothing wrong. She tried to warn us about you. She came with proof. With documents that explained everything. And what did you come with, outside of nothing more than accusations you can’t defend?”
Another joins. Then another. People standing, one after the other.
“She was a child when you stole from us.”
“We’ve seen the evidence.”
“You don’t belong here anymore.”
My vision blurs. I swipe at my eyes, but the tears come anyway, hot and blinding. And then the sound swells. A tide of people rising together. Not whispers this time. Not doubt, but support.
For me.
My parents try to hold their ground, but it’s useless. The current has shifted, sweeping them out with it.
The mayor clears his throat, clearly wishing he was anywhere else. “I think it’s clear where this town stands.”
And then my father says my name one last time. But I can’t look at him.
I’m already moving, straight into the arms waiting for me.
Hayes catches me first, pulling me in, and then Beck’s hand finds mine, Ford’s presence solid at my back. Their scents surround me, fierce and calming, until the room fades and all I can feel is them.
Safe. Wanted.
Home.
Here, in Honeysuckle Grove. The last place I ever thought I’d feel at home.
The hall empties in waves, buzzing with leftover tension and righteous satisfaction. Chairs scrape. Doors swing. The smell of coffee and old wood lingers. A ghost of everything that just happened.
My parents disappear. Swept out without so much as a goodbye, their polished smiles cracking somewhere between Beck’s speech and the mayor’s awkward retreat. I should feel triumphant. Vindicated. The town stood up for me.
For me.
But all I feel is… hollow. Like someone reached inside and wrung me out.
The guys keep close as we slip out the side door into the cooling night air. Hayes’s hand brushes my back. Ford is a wall at my shoulder. Beck walks a step ahead, daring anyone to come for me.
“You okay?” Hayes asks softly once we’re clear of the hall.
I nod, but it’s a lie, and they know it. I’m okay with that, though. One of these days, I’ll be okay with myself once again. If nothing else, they’ve taught me that.
“Yeah. Fine.”
The street is quiet. The sky, deep and bruised with stars. I suck in a shaky breath, tasting snow and Christmas on the breeze, and it’s almost enough to loosen the knot in my chest. When my phone buzzes, I jump, heart lurching. For a second, stupid panic flares.
Them. Coming back for another round.
But it’s not. It’s my brother.
My throat goes tight. I stare at the screen like it might shatter if I touch it.
“Answer it,” Ford murmurs.
My thumb swipes before I can think, and then…
“Lo?”
“Hey,” I whisper. And suddenly I’m crying again, tears slipping hot and fast down my cheeks because I didn’t know how much I needed my brother until right now.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, relief cracking through the line like sunlight. “I just heard from Mom. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I choke out, even though fine is the last thing I am. “I just… Jamie, they tried to—”
“I know what they tried. And screw them, Lo. You hear me? Screw them. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because I’ve been waiting years to hear them.
“I thought…” My breath stutters. “For a second, I thought everyone would believe them. Like before. But the whole town kinda went to war for me.”
“Good.” He pauses, softer now. “I’m proud of you, Lo. You stayed. You fought. That’s more than they’ll ever do. It’s more than I did.”
I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, breathing through the tangle of relief and love and exhaustion knotting in my chest.
“Thanks, Jamie.”
He chuckles. I’ve missed his chuckle. “Always, you nut.”
We talk a little longer, about nothing and everything, until I’m still inside again and the night feels less heavy. When I hang up, the guys are waiting, patient and watchful.
Hayes tips his head. “Better?”
“Yeah.” My smile wobbles, but it’s real this time. My words are real this time. “Better.”