22. Brookes
Brookes
C harlotte is waiting for us at the penthouse, a champagne bucket already chilling beside a platter of strawberries and chocolate dipped in gold-flecked ganache.
She launches herself at me the moment I step through the door, her arms wrapping around me like a vice, her familiar perfume enveloping me before I even have time to set down my bag.
"You were magnificent," she whispers fiercely in my ear, her fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt. "Absolutely magnificent. The way you held your ground up there, God, Brookes."
I hug her back just as hard, burying my face in her shoulder for a brief moment.
She smells like home, like safety and friendship and all the years we've survived together, through dingy apartments with leaking ceilings, through nights of Chinese take-out and our favorite movies, through the aftermath when they found me broken and bleeding.
"Thanks for being there. I couldn't have done it without seeing your face on the sidelines. "
She pulls back, hands still on my shoulders as she studies my face with that laser-focused gaze that's gotten us both through hell and back.
Her eyes catalog every micro expression, every hint of tension around my eyes.
"How are you feeling? And don't bullshit me, Brookes Daniels.
I want the real answer, not the one you've been rehearsing for the cameras. "
I can sense my three Alphas moving around us, giving us space while staying close.
Dante checks the balcony doors, Hero scans the room with practiced efficiency, and Levi positions himself near the entrance.
That's how they always are, present but not hovering, protective but never suffocating.
They've learned my rhythms, when to step in and when to fade back.
"I'm okay," I say, and mean it, even as exhaustion settles into my bones like an old friend. "Better than okay, actually. That protester was?—"
"Already being handled," Charlotte cuts in, her expression hardening into something dangerous, the look she gets when someone threatens what's hers.
"Josiah has people on it. They're tracing connections, checking social media accounts, following money trails, seeing if it leads back to Blaine's inner circle or if it was just another random bigot with a sign. "
I nod, not surprised. Since the trial began, the senator's supporters have been getting more desperate, more vocal, more willing to cross lines.
Security measures have doubled, then tripled around the courthouse.
The man who once seemed untouchable, who graced magazine covers and shook hands with presidents, is now facing decades behind bars for trafficking and assault.
His empire is crumbling brick by brick, and people like us, the ones he hurt, the ones who survived, the ones who lived to tell the tale are the reason why.
Our voices, once silenced, now echo through marble halls of justice.
"Come sit," she says, leading me to the suite's plush sofa. "You've been on your feet for hours."
I sink into it gratefully, kicking off my shoes. Levi appears with a glass of water before I can even think to ask, and Hero drapes a soft throw over my lap. Little gestures that would have seemed suffocating from anyone else but from them feel like being wrapped in care.
"You know you don't have to be at the courthouse tomorrow," Charlotte says carefully. "Your testimony is already on record."
I watch as Dante pours champagne for everyone else in the room. "I want to be there."
"Brookes—"
"I need to be there," I clarify, accepting the flute Dante hands me. "I need to see his face when the verdict comes in."
Charlotte studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. But we move as a unit. No separating, no solo bathroom breaks, nothing."
"Yes, General," I salute with my glass before taking a sip. The champagne fizzes on my tongue, bright and celebratory.
"I mean it," she insists, but there's a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "I didn't drag your ass out of hell just to have you wander off and get ambushed by some Blaine loyalist with a grudge."
I roll my eyes, but the fond smile I give her is genuine. "As if these three would let me out of their sight for even a second." I gesture to my Alphas, who've taken up their usual positions around the room, Dante by the window, Hero near the door, Levi perched on the arm of the sofa beside me.
"Speaking of which," Charlotte's gaze darts between the four of us, mischief sparking in her eyes. "So, do I call you Pack Daniels now?"
Heat creeps up my neck, spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. "Charlotte." My tone carries a warning, but she's known me too long to be deterred.
"What? I'm just asking as your friend and advocate. I mean, you're a pack now. Packs need a name," she shrugs teasingly, swirling the champagne in her glass with deliberate nonchalance. "It's a legitimate question. For legal purposes, of course."
Hero makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. From my peripheral vision, I catch Dante's lips twitch suspiciously as he studies the city lights beyond the window, suddenly very interested in the skyline.
"Pack Daniels makes sense, I don't think the three of us would be okay with using one of ours. We're evolving," Levi says diplomatically, his deep voice a rumble beside me. His warm vanilla scent wraps around me and I resist the urge to lean further into his solid presence.
Charlotte's eyebrows shoot up, her smile widening. "Evolving, I like that. So mature. So, no Alpha-hole posturing. I'm loving you three. You're perfect for my Brookie." She raises her glass in their direction, a toast and an approval all at once.
I groan, dropping my head back against the plush sofa cushions, staring up at the ceiling.
The champagne sloshes dangerously close to the rim of my flute.
"Can we not do this tonight? I just walked in six different outfits without tripping, survived a political protestor screaming in the middle of my show, and tomorrow I have to stare down the man who—" I stop abruptly, the words catching in my throat like thorns.
The room suddenly feels too warm, too close, the memory of hands and pain and terror threatening to surface.
The playfulness vanishes from Charlotte's face, replaced by immediate concern. Her eyes soften, and she sets her glass down on the coffee table with a gentle clink. "I'm sorry. You're right." Her voice has lost all its teasing edge, now carrying nothing but genuine remorse.
Levi's hand settles on my shoulder, warm and steady. I lean into it without thinking.
"It's fine," I sigh. "I'm just tired. And maybe a little on edge about tomorrow."
"That's understandable." Dante moves from the window to sit in the armchair across from me, his green eyes intent. "Facing him again won't be easy."
"But you won't be facing him alone," Hero adds quietly.
I look around at the four of them, Charlotte, who survived her own hell and came back stronger. Dante, whose quiet strength has become my cornerstone. Hero, whose watchful protection makes me feel seen rather than scrutinized; and Levi, whose gentle heart belies his powerful frame.
A year ago, I was alone, terrified, battered in ways both visible and not. Now I have this. Them.
"I know," I say softly. "That's the only reason I can do it."
Charlotte reaches over and squeezes my hand, her touch familiar and grounding. "Together, Brookes. A united front." Her eyes hold mine with that fierce loyalty I've come to rely on. The same look she gave me years ago when we were just two Omegas trying to survive in Houston.
I nod, feeling the tension gradually release from my shoulders like a slowly exhaled breath.
The knots that have been building there for weeks loosen incrementally.
Tomorrow will come with its own gauntlet of challenges—cameras flashing, whispers following, but tonight I'm safe.
I'm surrounded by people who care about me. The broken pieces and the healing ones.
"Now," Charlotte says, her expression brightening as she reaches for the champagne bottle with elegant fingers, the diamond on her wrist catching the soft lamplight. "Shall we properly toast your triumphant return to the New York fashion scene?"
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its authenticity as I hold out my glass. The crystal catches the light, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the coffee table. "You just want an excuse to finish this bottle, you lush."
"It's Dom Pérignon, darling," she replies with mock offense, filling my glass with practiced precision.
"One does not need an excuse. One simply requires the appropriate appreciation for life's finer offerings.
Okay, I'm channeling Beaux's crazy ass." She winks, the familiar gesture making my heart swell with affection.
As the night unfolds around us, soft with laughter and warm with companionship, I find myself watching my three Alphas more than usual.
Dante, ever vigilant by the window, his profile strong against the city lights.
Hero, quiet but attentive, his hazel eyes missing nothing.
Levi, his smile creating those dimples that make something flutter in my chest every time.
I thought I would never find this, this sense of belonging, of safety after what happened.
Here I am with three wonderful men who love me.
Not the face on billboards or the body in designer clothes, but me.
The real Brookes Daniels who cries at commercials and burns toast and sometimes wakes up screaming.
Evolving, Levi had said earlier, his deep voice rumbling through me like a caress. The word settles in my chest like a promise, taking root where fear once dominated.
Whatever tomorrow brings, the cameras, the questions, the memories, we'll face it together.
After that? Well, maybe it's time to let this evolution take its natural course aiming us toward forever.
Forever. The concept no longer terrifies me the way it once did.
I catch Dante's eye across the room, and his subtle smile makes my heart race. I can't wait.