79. Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Seventy-Nine
D ishes clink and clang in the kitchen sink, an off-key symphony to accompany the lingering smell of dinner and the fragile balance that waits in the air. My head feels thick, stuffed with the echoes of today. I'm adrift in them when Lucian calls, "Pack meeting time!" from across the room, his voice somehow gentler and more demanding than usual. I find my way to the couch and settle in, folding into its embrace and feeling the pull of everything that is about to be spoken.
The others trail behind me, their footsteps a hushed procession. Soren and Elias plop down near me, flanking my sides with warmth and an easiness that doesn't match the tremor inside. Lucian perches on the arm of a chair, his confidence an anchor that leaves me floating, buoyant and without tether. He regards the room with a casual certainty that I both envy and fear.
He raises an eyebrow, voice gentle but firm. "Just wanted to check in on everyone," he says, the hint of a challenge in his words, “and see how things went today."
I see the others exchange glances, the kind that come with shared histories and open futures. I try to keep my focus on the woven pattern of the rug, losing myself in its threads like the way I’ve tangled my own life with theirs. But the pull is too strong; their eyes are on me, waiting.
Lucian nods, catching my unsteady gaze. "I think we're all wondering," he continues, "how you're feeling about the next steps, and when you want to take them."
The weight of the moment is as real as the body sinking next to mine, Elias' hand gently brushing my arm. "We've been waiting for you," he says, softly, so different from how he called me today. The words are a kind of shelter and a promise I’m not sure I can keep.
They hold their silence like breath, each second stretching into the empty spaces between my thoughts. I gather them, pieces of a life I almost lost and another I might still. My voice feels distant, as though trying to speak from behind glass. "Today was..." I pause, feeling the catch of truth against what I should say. "Intense."
Elias' fingers give a slight squeeze, the physical pressure countering the more profound weight I feel. Soren leans forward, a lazy smile touching his lips. "You did good," he tells me, as if I'm the last to know.
His affirmation sits heavy in my chest. This morning, I was the woman who ran from what it meant to be me. Now they see someone else, someone who can hold her own, even among the best of their kind. Even with them.
Lucian nods, confirming what the others don’t say. "We know it’s a lot to take in," he offers. "But you handled it."
I manage a small, wavering smile, even as my heart beats in patterns that no longer match my own. They’re being kind, I tell myself, even as the meaning behind it unravels in my mind: they think I'm ready. More than ready.
I let the question spin its thread through my resolve. Lucian looks around the room, inviting more words into the space I haven’t filled. "Maybe the marking," he suggests, almost to himself, "could happen sometime soon. When we're all ready for it."
The others take this as their cue, their voices folding into each other. Soren, flippant and light, talks about not wasting any time. Elias, more measured, considers my comfort. Finn, usually the quietest, surprises me with his insistence that everyone gets time off, suggesting that the moments they crave are more than they’ve been able to share. They all speak with the kind of confidence that I'm not sure how to carry yet. I hear them talking logistics, but I see something else: I see the heart of this moment, and I'm not sure if it can stretch to fit everything I want, everything they need from me.
“When did you have in mind?” I asked, genuinely curious on if he had a plan already formed in his mind.
Lucian leaned a bit back, grey eyes on me, “Whenever you are ready….and willing to take some time off from your store again….cause you may need a few days off.”
Soren nudges me, soft and conspiratorial. "In fact," he says, dropping his voice as if it's a secret, "I think you may even need a week off."
His words send a shiver through me, an electric spark of delight and terror and everything between. They want me here. They want me . It’s enough to fill me to bursting, but it also reminds me of the places I still haven’t let them reach. I am out of breath with them, with all of it, with the idea that their desire matches my own. But more than that, with the hope that I can match the ease they wear, that the shyness I still carry can burn off like fog in the light of a new morning.
Finn joins in, his humor so gentle I almost miss it. "We might even let you sleep," he suggests, the laughter a shared thing between us all. I am inside it, part of it, a thread woven tight and warm into a place I've never dared imagine I could fit.
Lucian finally speaks, his practicality a soothing balm on the chaos they leave in their wake. "We could plan it around some time off," he proposes, looking at the others. "Give everyone a chance to get a full week."
It’s a relief, that small act of planning. A counterbalance to the thrill and heat that overwhelms me. It lets me breathe, lets me pretend that there is time enough to find my footing before I leap. But it also shows their certainty, their willingness to wait even though they are already there.
I sink back into the couch, let it cradle me with its warmth and its promise, like the arms that surround me, like the hearts that will it to be. The future they describe is so close, I can almost touch it. I want to reach out, but I’m afraid of breaking it with the truth I have to speak.
The energy shifts as the practical men make practical plans. It's not like me to be surprised by such things, to let them unsettle the comfort I've found. And yet I am. The speed and ease of their arrangements leaves me struggling to catch up, like I'm a guest at a party I haven't dressed for. Lucian takes the lead, like I know he will, his efficiency putting us all to work before I have time to protest. I watch, an outsider to my own decisions, as they make them for me.
Lucian leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes bright with intention. "I’ll talk to work about getting some time off," he begins, each word a step on a path I’m just learning to follow. He’s unflinching, ready to shape the world to our needs. To mine. I’m not used to such things bending around me. "They’re usually pretty flexible with pack-related stuff."
Elias shifts beside me, the curve of his smile easy, unworried. "We can close the stall for a bit," he adds, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like everything else. Like me.
Finn chimes in, his voice calm and measured. "We were planning on being away from the market after tomorrow anyway," he says, as if their world has always moved with the kind of grace I find only when I stumble into it.
Soren laughs, the sound warm and conspiratorial. "Already working from home," he reminds us, as if to say he’s the only piece in this puzzle that’s always been where it should.
I let myself drift into their plans, like surrendering to a current that pulls me faster than I know how to swim. They make it so easy, so effortless. I want to hold that ease, even if only for a moment, and wear it like they do.
Lucian meets my eyes, the look of a question and an answer all at once. "We could start next week," he suggests. "Or whenever you're ready."
I try to gather myself, to catch up with their efficiency, but my head spins with the quickness of it all. It’s exhilarating, like rushing downhill with no brakes.
Finn senses my hesitation, gives me a small, reassuring nod. "Just say the word," he encourages. "We’ll work around you."
That thought, that new reality, sits heavy and bright in my chest. I never dreamed of so much being mine, of decisions made and held until I could reach. They’re not what I’m used to. But then, none of this is.
Lucian waits, patient and sure, a smile in his eyes even before I find my own words to agree.
They're all eyes and ears, waiting for me to speak and more than ready to bend themselves to fit whatever I say. It's a strange power, a heavy and unfamiliar gift. I fumble with it, this responsibility I've never learned to carry.
"My shop..." I start, and all of them lean in, the same way I imagine my customers have when they found the door locked and lights out. I’ve been away, I realize, from more than just the store.
"A few days," I finally say, my words feeling both selfish and sure. "To get things in order." Their agreement is too quick, too easy. Too full of everything else they don’t say.
Soren lets out a slow breath, as if the air he's been holding were full of reluctance and maybe a bit of longing. "That makes sense," he says, stretching out the words and the time I’ll be gone.
"Is that what you want?" Elias asks, and I know he means it both ways.
"It’s what I need," I confess, more to myself than them. They take my answer, shape it around the quiet hope I see in their eyes.
Lucian gives a nod, the movement all certainty, all understanding. "We’ll pick up wherever you leave off," he assures me, and I can’t help but laugh at the unspoken second half of his promise. Wherever you leave off, and whenever you come back.
The brief freedom they grant is an unfamiliar gift, but so is the way they gather up my selfishness and cradle it like something precious. It’s not how I’ve lived, with others’ lives wrapped tight around my own. But then, I’ve never lived like this.
Soren sits up, eyes playful and probing. "Think we can manage to get by without you for a couple of days," he says, as though the idea is new to him, the way it still is to me.
I breathe in the room and all its waiting, my resolve bolstered by how strong the pull is. It won't break. Not even when I leave for a little while. Not even when I come back.
Lucian takes the reins, his natural state. "The move," he starts, and I see Elias’ eyes brighten at the sound.
My heart lurches, my breath catching on the thought of what comes after this week.
Lucian forges ahead, not seeing or maybe choosing not to see the small fear that dances around my heart. "Could it be full time?" he wonders, letting the question fill the space between what I want and what I think I can have.
I scramble to keep up, to bridge the distance with the only truth I know for sure. "My lease..." I say, hesitating. The words are clumsy with the need not to disappoint. "There’s still three months left. But if I give notice," I rush to explain, "maybe we can work it out."
I imagine telling the landlord, picture the text in my mind: I'm moving in with my pack. The certainty is as shaky as my hand would be, typing it. With enough time, with enough faith, with enough of everything I thought I had to go without.
Soren leans back, a lazy grin on his lips. "Seems like a lifetime," he muses, like he's always known where this was going, like they all have.
Finn’s words are slower, but they travel just as far. "It's not that long," he says. "If you're sure."
They watch me, the weight of their attention steady and reassuring.
"I'm sure," I say, finding the belief I need in the faces around me. The fear is still there, but so is the hope.
Lucian lifts his hand in a gesture so open I don’t know how it can hold so much of both. "We’ll handle moving your things later," he suggests, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, as if it’s not just my belongings but my entire life we’re talking about.
He keeps going, the forward motion a comfort. "We can even clear out a room," he offers, "so you'll have space of your own."
It should be frightening, the speed of it, the lack of any other options but this. Instead, it feels like light after a long, hard storm. The warmth that comes when there is nothing left to do but dry yourself off and start again. I think I can, even after everything. Especially after everything.
"Thank you," I say, the words weak with too much meaning. "For everything."
Finn shakes his head, his smile as gentle as the voice that follows it. "You don’t owe us anything," he insists, and his words chip away at the thin shell of reserve I thought would hold me together. "We love you."
His simple declaration hits harder than anything else tonight, anything else in weeks. Maybe years. I feel it in my heart, in the way it stutters and skips, the way it keeps going even when it’s too full to do anything else.
Soren’s hand finds my knee, his fingers a light reminder that the rest of me has to follow. "Not news, Lydia," he teases, but I hear the sincerity beneath his mischief. "We’ve been saying it since day one."
"Not in so many words," I protest, though the heat in my face makes it hard to argue.
Elias pulls me back to him, soft and insistent, the way his love has been all along. "Well, then," he says, "it's about time you heard it."
They pile on, a mess of affection and belonging, each new word more outrageous and wonderful than the last. I don’t stand a chance against it, not against them, not against this feeling that sweeps me under and keeps me afloat at the same time.