Chapter 11 Carlos #2
"Just take it," I say, stepping closer and pressing the warm fabric into her hands. "You're freezing. I can see you shaking from here."
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the henley, and the contact sends electricity sparking up my arm, lighting up nerves I didn't know existed.
She stares at the shirt for a moment longer, then disappears into the hallway. I hear the bathroom door close with a soft click.
I stand there like an idiot, bare-chested in a flooded bedroom at four in the morning, trying to get my breathing under control.
This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just half-naked in your ex-best friend's ex-girlfriend's bedroom. Totally normal contractor behavior.
When she comes back, she's wearing my henley.
And oh God.
It's too big for her, hanging to mid-thigh, the sleeves dangling past her fingertips. The grey fabric brings out the warmth in her skin, the gold in her hazel eyes. My scent is all over it, until I can barely think straight.
She looks like mine.
The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs.
"Better?" I manage to croak out.
"Better." She wraps her arms around herself, swimming in the excess fabric, and smiles. Small and shy but real. "Thank you."
"We should talk about where you're going to sleep tonight."
Her expression shutters again, the smile fading. "I can take the couch downstairs."
"The couch is forty years old and has a spring that pokes you in the kidney," I say, moving to pick up my tool belt. "I know because I've slept on it multiple times and woken up with bruises."
"Then I'll take my parents' room."
"The one that shares a wall with the bathroom that just flooded? The one that probably has water damage seeping through the plaster right now?" I shake my head. "Not safe, Jess."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, her shoulders sagging.
I press my advantage, taking a step closer.
"The packhouse has heat. Running water that isn't about to explode. A guest room with a real bed and clean sheets and a door that locks from the inside." I pause, watching her carefully. "And four alphas who will make sure Callum never gets within a hundred feet of you."
Her eyes flicker at that last part, and her scent spikes. Not with fear.
"He was here earlier," she admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yesterday afternoon. Circling the house. Nacho ran him off, but..."
"But he'll be back."
"Probably." She wraps her arms tighter around herself. "He doesn't give up. Once he decides he wants something, he doesn't stop until he gets it."
The way she says it makes my jaw clench. Makes my hands curl into fists.
"Then come stay with us," I say, gentling my voice with effort. "Just until I finish the repairs. No pressure. No expectations. Just a safe place to sleep and maybe some of my mom's cooking because she'll definitely show up with casseroles once she hears you're there."
She's wavering. I can see it in the set of her shoulders, and her scent is shifting from sharp fear to something softer.
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She picks it up and frowns at the screen.
"My mom," she says, surprise in her voice.
"At this hour?"
"They're in Mexico. Different time zone." She swipes to answer, putting it on speaker. "Mom? Is everything okay?"
"Jessica, darling!" Her mom's voice is bright, cheerful, slightly tipsy. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? You're not in the middle of... you know." She giggles.
Jessica's face goes red. "Mom. No. There was a plumbing emergency. Carlos came to help."
"Oh! Carlos!" More giggling. "The handsome carpenter one? With the forearms?"
I try not to grin. Fail completely.
"Yes, that Carlos," Jessica says, shooting me a look that's half embarrassed, half amused. "He's standing right here."
I wave, even though her mom can't see me.
"Well tell him I said thank you for taking care of my girl." Her mom's voice softens. "How bad is it?"
"Bad. The whole system needs replacing. Could take a month."
"Oh no. Where will you stay?"
"Carlos offered me a room at the packhouse," Jessica says carefully. "Just until the repairs are done."
There's a pause on the other end. Long enough that I can hear music in the background, laughter, the sound of a party happening.
"That's a wonderful idea," her mom says finally, and there's something knowing in her voice. "You need to stop running from things, sweetheart. And Marie Negrorio makes excellent pie. Tell her I expect a slice when I get back."
I can't help it. I laugh.
"What else did she say?" I ask after Jessica hangs up, watching the play of emotions across her face.
"She said I need to stop running from things." Jessica meets my eyes. "And that sometimes the scariest choice is the right one."
My heart kicks against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
"Is staying with us the scariest choice?"
"It's terrifying," she admits, and the honesty in her voice makes my chest ache. "But so is Callum showing up in the middle of the night."
"So?"
She takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle.
"I'll need to pack some things. Whatever isn't soaked."
The relief that floods through me is almost embarrassing in its intensity. I have to physically stop myself from grinning like an idiot.
"I'll help you carry them," I say, already moving toward her closet.
While packing her things, I spot a book on her nightstand. Pride and Prejudice. The spine is cracked, pages worn.
"You still read this?" I pick it up carefully.
She looks over, and her face softens. "My dad gave it to me. Said every woman should have a Mr. Darcy in her life."
"And Callum was your Mr. Darcy?" "Callum was Mr. Wickham pretending to be Mr. Darcy."
She takes the book from me, holds it to her chest. "I should have paid more attention to literature. Jane Austen tried to warn me."
"For what it's worth," I say carefully, "I think your dad was right. You deserve your Mr. Darcy."
"Maybe I don't want a Mr. Darcy."
"No?" She looks at me then.
"Maybe I want a carpenter who makes terrible puns and shows up at 4 AM to fix my plumbing."
My heart stops. "Jess—"
"That was hypothetical," she says quickly, breaking eye contact.
"Not about anyone in particular."
"Right."
"Very hypothetical."
"Got it."
We stand there in her flooded bedroom, both of us lying through our teeth, and I've never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life. But I don't. Because she just left Callum, and she's vulnerable. So I just pick up another box and pretend my heart isn't trying to escape my chest.
By the time we're done, the sky outside is starting to lighten, turning from black to deep purple. Jessica is swaying on her feet, dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes, exhaustion written in every line of her body.
"Ready?" I ask gently.
She looks around the room one last time. At the water damage and the ruined furniture and the ceiling that's going to need replacing. At the life that's falling apart around her, piece by piece.
"No," she admits, and the honesty breaks something in me. "But let's go anyway."
The drive to the packhouse is quiet.
Jessica sits in the passenger seat of my truck, huddled in my henley that's still warm from my body, watching the dark streets of Largo Waters slide past. Her hands are folded in her lap, small and pale in the dashboard light.
Her scent fills the cab, creating something new. Something that smells like possibility.
Something that smells like home.
"The others will probably be asleep," I say, breaking the silence as we turn onto our road. "Except maybe Sergio. He doesn't sleep much. Insomnia. Has since high school."
"Will they mind? Me being there?"
I glance at her, taking my eyes off the road for just a second. "They'll be relieved."
"Why?"
"Because we've been worried about you since you came back," I admit. "Worried about Callum, and no one around to protect."
"I don't need protection," she says, but there's no conviction in it.
"Everyone needs protection sometimes." I pull into the driveway and park next to Nacho's patrol car, killing the engine. "There's no shame in accepting help, Jess. There's no shame in admitting you can't do everything alone."
She's quiet for a moment, staring at the dark bulk of the packhouse through the windshield.
"Callum used to say that," she says softly, and her voice is hollow. Empty. "That I needed his protection. That I couldn't survive without him. That I was too naive, too trusting, too stupid to make it on my own."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard I hear the leather creak.
"This isn't like that," I force out through clenched teeth.
"How do I know?"
I turn to face her fully, shifting in my seat so I can look at her properly. The porch light illuminates half her face, leaving the other half in shadow. She looks young. Scared. Nothing like the vibrant woman who used to light up our packhouse with her laugh, her passion, her joy.
"Because we're not asking you to be anything other than what you are," I say, and I pour every ounce of sincerity I have into the words. "We're not trying to change you or control you or make you smaller. We just want you safe, healthy and happy."
Her eyes search my face in the dim light, looking for the trap.
I let her look. I have nothing to hide.
"Okay," she whispers finally.
“You’ll stay?”
"Yes.” She takes a shaky breath. "But I'm setting ground rules."
"Name them."
"One: I pay rent. Whatever I can afford once I get a job. I'm not a charity case."
"Done."
"Two: I have my own space. Nobody comes into my room without permission. I need... I need boundaries."
"Absolutely."
"Three..." She hesitates, and I can smell the spike of anxiety in her scent. "Whatever happened tonight. The kiss. We don't talk about it until I'm ready."
That one stings. Burns. But I nod anyway because this isn't about what I want. It's about what she needs.
"Agreed."
"And four." She meets my eyes, and I see steel there. Determination. The fierce light that first made me fall for her. "If Callum shows up, you let me handle it. I'm done running. I'm done hiding. If he wants a confrontation, he can have one. But it'll be on my terms."
The fierce light in her eyes makes my alpha sit up and take notice. Makes pride swell in my chest.
"Done," I say. "But if he threatens you, all bets are off. If he so much as raises his voice at you, I'm stepping in."
"Fair enough."
I get out of the truck and circle around to open her door, because that's what you do. That's how I was raised. She slides out, clutching her bag to her chest like armor, looking up at the packhouse like it might swallow her whole.
It's a big house. Victorian. Three stories of wraparound porches and gabled windows and the kind of history that seeps into the walls. Built by Sergio’s great-grandfather, expanded by his parents until they died.
It's home. Has been my whole life.
And now Jessica's here. Finally. After six years of waiting, wishing, hoping.
"It's not as intimidating as it looks," I say, shouldering her bag.
"That's exactly what someone would say about an intimidating house," she counters, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I grin despite myself. "Fair point."
The front door opens before we reach the porch steps.
Sergio is standing in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of the living room lamps.
He's wearing sweatpants and a faded hockey t-shirt, feet bare, dark curly hair mussed from whatever passed for sleep.
His brown eyes move from me to Jessica and back again, taking in my bare chest, her wearing my henley, the bag in my hand.
His expression softens.
"Welcome home, Jess," he says quietly, and the word hangs in the air between them.
Home.
I watch the word hit her. Watch her eyes fill with something I can't quite name. Tears, maybe. Or hope. Or both.
She freezes on the bottom step, one hand on the railing.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice breaking. "For letting me stay. I know this is... I know I don't have any right to be here after I left the way I did."
"You're always welcome here," Sergio says, and he steps aside, holding the door open wider. "You always have been. Even when you weren't here, there was always a place at our table for you."
Jessica climbs the porch steps slowly, like she's approaching something sacred. Like she's afraid it'll disappear if she moves too fast. She pauses at the threshold, looking back at me one last time, her hazel eyes wide and uncertain.
I give her an encouraging nod. A smile that I hope says it's okay, you're safe, we've got you.
She takes a deep breath.
And steps inside.
At last, the packhouse feels complete.