19. Levi #2
"Is that croissants I smell?" Brookes appears from the hallway, hair still damp from his shower, wrapped in the blue robe that makes him look smaller with blue and grey plaid pajama bottoms covering his legs.
The transformation is remarkable, gone is the tension that lined his face earlier.
His eyes brighten at the sight of Charlotte, and his scent blooms fuller, sweeter.
It's the first genuine lightness I've seen in him today, and something in my chest eases at the sight.
"Only the best for my bestie," Charlotte crosses the room and embraces him, careful and gentle, mindful of boundaries in a way that speaks to their shared history. "Those vultures leave yet?" Her voice carries a protective edge that mirrors my own feelings.
"Just escaped," Brookes confirms, accepting the bag with a grateful smile, peeking inside with childlike eagerness. "Though I think Levi was contemplating homicide when Mathéo's assistant kept adjusting my inseam." His eyes flick to mine, teasing.
"It crossed my mind," I admit, my lips quirking despite my attempt at stoicism. The relief of seeing him smile, really smile, loosens something in my chest. I don't add that I'd calculated exactly how much pressure it would take to break the assistant's wrist when his hands lingered too long.
"Heya, gorgeous," Beaux saunters in, his golden-boy charm cranked to maximum as he approaches Brookes.
His easy confidence fills the space as he moves.
"Looking like a snack even in a bathrobe.
How's that fair to the rest of us mere mortals?
" He keeps a respectful distance, though, they all do. Pack Hudson knows Brookes’ boundaries, especially out of respect for us.
Brookes rolls his eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. "Maximum charm, Beaux. Save it for your Harlequin." He clutches the pastry bag closer, as if afraid Beaux might commandeer his breakfast.
"Hey, I can show you love too. You were ours first!" Beaux protests dramatically, clutching his chest with theatrical flair. "Don't you love us anymore, Brookie?" His pout is exaggerated enough to be comical rather than pressuring.
"Beaux, you're an attention whore." Charlotte's deadpan delivery cracks the room open with laughter, the sound filling our usually quiet space.
Dante and Hero emerge from their respective posts, drawn by the sudden life filling our space.
I catch Hero's subtle scan of the room, even as he offers a small nod of greeting.
The energy shifts palpably in our penthouse, transforming it from a quiet sanctuary to something livelier, brighter.
I scan Brookes reflexively, looking for any sign this is too much, too soon after the morning's stress.
My fingers twitch, ready to clear the room at the first sign of discomfort.
Instead, I find his shoulders relaxed, his posture open as he debates the merits of various pastries with Charlotte, gesturing animatedly with a half-eaten croissant.
Moses heads straight for the kitchen with grocery bags I hadn't initially noticed, moving with the confidence of someone who's been here before.
"I'm making margaritas," he announces, already rifling through our cabinets for glasses.
"And before Dante gives me that look, yes, they can be virgin for anyone who's working.
I'm not trying to compromise security." He shoots Dante a preemptive glance, catching the beginning of his scowl.
Josiah, meanwhile, has already pulled out his tablet and is scowling at it, his fingers flying over the screen.
"Just need to keep an eye on the building's security footage," he informs me, as if the man can't help himself.
When is he not working? "We have about three blind spots in the lobby alone.
I hate it, but it's the way this building was designed.
" His dissatisfaction is palpable, and I make a mental note to discuss these trouble spots with him later.
"You're not working," Teagan reminds him, plucking the tablet away and kissing his temple. "We're socializing. Like humans." His tone is gentle but firm, the way you'd speak to a workaholic child.
"Socializing is inefficient," Josiah grumbles, but allows himself to be led toward the emerging breakfast spread, his eyes still darting to security points around the room.
I find myself settling against the kitchen counter, watching as our carefully ordered world dissolves into cheerful chaos.
The controlled environment we maintain for Brookes’ safety now filled with laughter, overlapping conversations, and the clatter of plates.
Hero catches my eye across the room, his expression softening with understanding.
This is good for Brookes. Chaotic, yes, but necessary.
The vanilla notes in my scent must be strengthening with contentment, because I notice Dante's subtle nod of agreement.
"So," Charlotte perches on the arm of the sofa beside Brookes, balancing a plate of pastries on her knee, "tell me everything about tomorrow's look. I read that Mathéo is doing a ridiculous 'fashion as rebellion' concept." Her tone makes it clear what she thinks of such pretension.
"Worse," Brookes groans, biting into a croissant and closing his eyes briefly in pleasure.
A dusting of flakes clings to his lips. "Now it's 'fashion as resurrection'.
He called me his phoenix at least six times.
" He rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a hint of pride there too, he knows he's good at what he does.
"Of course he did," Charlotte's eye roll is practically audible as she steals a piece of his pastry. "Remember when that designer made you wear wings made of actual bird feathers and you had a sneezing fit on the runway?" She nudges his shoulder gently.
"Milan, 2021!" Brookes laughs, a real laugh that reaches his eyes and makes the room feel lighter. "I sneezed so hard one of the wings detached. Thank the heavens I was done walking and had reached the exit. I thought I had some latent allergy." He mimics an exaggerated sneeze.
"And somehow the fashion critics called it 'a deconstruction of beauty standards' instead of 'model has allergic reaction'." Charlotte shakes her head, her free hand gesturing expansively. "This industry, I swear. They'd call a nosebleed 'avant-garde expression through bodily fluids'."
"Speaking of resurrections," Beaux drops onto the couch beside Brookes, close enough to be friendly but not so close as to crowd him. "When are we getting you and your boys to St. Lucia with us? The villa has your name written all over it, literally. I had a plaque made for your bedroom door."
"I don't recall being invited to this villa," Brookes raises an eyebrow, accepting a margarita from Moses with a grateful nod. The salt rim catches the light as he takes a careful sip.
"Standing invitation," Charlotte confirms, tapping her glass against his.
"Saltwater heals everything. Plus, Beaux looks ridiculous trying to surf, and everyone should witness that at least once in their lifetime.
Last time he wiped out so hard his shorts came off.
" Her grin is wicked as Beaux protests loudly.
The conversation flows like this for hours, light, teasing, normal in a way that feels almost surreal after months of careful recovery.
I watch as Brookes gradually becomes more animated, his hands gesturing as he tells stories, his laughter coming easier.
The transformation is subtle but profound, like watching a flower that's been kept in shade finally turn toward the sun.
The rose scent of him fills the room, no longer tight and controlled, but open and sweet.
Charlotte inhales and smiles, as Omegas you would think being this close would make them anxious, but these two are an exception to the rule.
I'm so focused on Brookes that I almost miss when the conversation shifts, the subtle change in energy that has my protective instincts humming.
"—just got confirmation that we closed down another trafficking ring in Georgia last week," Charlotte is saying, her voice taking on the edge it always does when she discusses her pack's personal agenda.
Her fingers tighten around her glass. "Seventeen Omegas rescued, plus three Betas they were using as handlers.
The place was. . .well, exactly what you'd expect from these monsters. "
The mood in the room shifts subtly, a current of seriousness running beneath the lighthearted surface. Dante straightens from where he'd been leaning against the wall, suddenly alert.
"The youngest was fourteen," Teagan adds quietly. "Trafficked across three state lines before we could intercept. Poor kid was so drugged up he couldn't remember his own name the first day after rescue."
Brookes goes very still, his fingers tightening around his glass until I worry it might shatter. I take a half-step closer, instinctively positioning myself where he can feel my presence without being crowded. I don't touch him, but I make sure he knows I'm there.
"They'll need witnesses for the prosecution," Josiah remarks, all business now. He's retrieved his tablet somehow, fingers already moving across the screen. "Evidence is solid, but testimony always strengthens the case. Especially from someone with public recognition."
"That's actually why I wanted to talk to you, Brookes," Charlotte says carefully, her voice gentler than before.
"Not about this case specifically, but about Blaine.
Believe me. It's the last name I want to fall from my lips.
" She reaches toward him but stops short of touching, waiting for permission.
The name hangs in the air like smoke. I resist the urge to step between them, to shield Brookes from having to discuss this.
My muscles tense, ready to intervene, to clear the room, to do whatever he needs.
That's not my call to make. I breathe deeply, forcing my protective instincts back under control.
Brookes takes a slow breath, and I know he's using Hero's counting technique again. Four in, four out. I can almost count along with him. When he speaks, his voice is steady despite the slight tremor in his hands that only someone watching as closely as I am would notice.
"I'll testify." Two simple words that carry the weight of mountains. "Whatever you need me to do. If my face and name can help put these bastards away, then I will use it."
Charlotte reaches for his hand, squeezing gently.
"Are you sure? It won't be easy. The press will be merciless, and the defense attorneys worse.
They'll try to make light of what was done to you.
I worry they will try to explain away why I was taken.
But we can testify together." Her concern is evident, but there's pride there too.
"I'm sure." Brookes meets her eyes, and I see something fierce there, something unbroken despite everything.
His chin lifts slightly, that familiar determination I've come to admire.
"They don't get to win. Not Blaine, not any of them.
If you can do it, I can too. We're not hiding anymore.
" The roses in his scent sharpen with resolve.
The room falls silent, a moment of collective understanding passing between us all.
I feel an overwhelming surge of pride mixed with a fierce protectiveness that makes my chest ache.
This is Brookes choosing to fight back in his own way.
My hand instinctively moves to his shoulder, a silent promise of support.
"Well," Beaux breaks the silence, raising his glass with a solemnity that belies his usual playfulness, "I think that deserves a toast. To brave hearts and braver friends." The sunlight catches in his glass, sending prisms dancing across the walls.
"And to making bastards pay," Moses adds with a grin that's all teeth, predatory and fierce. The room fills with the sound of glasses clinking together.
As glasses clink and conversation gradually returns to lighter topics, I catch Brookes’ eye as he looks over his shoulder at me.
He offers me a small smile, private and genuine, a moment of connection amid the chaos.
I return it, letting him see in that moment everything I can't say aloud, my pride, my support, my unwavering presence.
I'm here. Always. Whatever comes next, we will face it.