Chapter 13 Gabe
Gabe
Isink into the couch, belly full of Melody’s delicious pasta, and watch as Finn deals cards with dramatic flair onto the coffee table.
Seeing the two of them sitting cross-legged on the floor fills me with warmth. Finn’s animated gestures, Melody’s laughter that comes easier with each passing hour—it’s a scene I could watch for hours.
I’m perfectly content being the silent observer.
“You’re cheating!” Melody accuses Finn, slapping her cards down.
“I would never,” Finn gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am a paragon of virtue. A beacon of honesty.”
“You literally just pulled a card out of your sleeve.”
“That was… a creative strategy.”
I hide my smile behind my coffee mug.
“Gabe,” Melody turns to me, her big blue eyes sparkling. “Tell your boyfriend he’s a cheater.”
Her vanilla-clove scent wafts toward me with the movement, and I inhale deeply before I can stop myself. It’s getting harder to pretend I don’t notice it, that it doesn’t affect me.
That she doesn’t affect me.
“Finn cheats at everything,” I confirm. “Board games, card games, rock-paper-scissors.”
“Betrayal!” Finn throws a card at me. “From my own boyfriend. The treachery.”
Melody laughs, and she perfumes; her scent becomes sweeter, warmer.
My pants suddenly feel tight and restrictive, and I grip my mug harder in response.
“You should join us,” she says, looking up at me.
“I’m good here,” I respond. “Someone has to judge the competition.”
The combined scents of Melody and Finn are driving me wild, and moving in any closer will give away the massive bulge in my pants.. Seeing Finn and Melody together, watching them bond, makes me happy.
“Go Fish is a legitimate strategic enterprise,” Finn insists. “It’s not just for children.”
“It absolutely is for children,” Melody counters, shuffling the deck with dexterity. “Along with Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders.”
“Next, you’ll be telling me Monopoly doesn’t tear families apart.”
“That’s different. Monopoly is psychological warfare disguised as a board game.”
I snort into my coffee.
Is this what people mean when they talk about home? Not a place, but a feeling. This sense of belonging, of pieces fitting together.
Finn catches my eye and smiles that smile, the one that’s just for me. The one that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
We’d talked for hours after the hot tub last night, working through what it would mean if Melody really was our missing piece, what it would mean for us, for Everett.
How we would potentially navigate the logistics of a four-person relationship when half of us live in the city and half in Snowflake Valley.
“We’ll figure it out,” Finn had said, curled against my side in bed. “If it’s right, we’ll figure it out.”
And looking at them now, I want to believe him. This could be our future: game nights and laughter, and cuddles.
Lots of cuddles.
“Royal flush!” Melody slaps her cards down with a triumphant grin.
“That’s not even the game we’re playing,” Finn protests. “We’re playing rummy!”
“I know,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see your face when I said it.”
Finn narrows his eyes. “You are dangerously close to replacing me as the troublemaker of this cabin.”
“I accept this promotion with great humility and—”
Her words cut off in a scream that has me on my feet before I even register moving.
“What?” Finn jumps up, cards scattering. “What is it?”
Melody’s pointing toward the window, where two large, dark eyes stare in from the darkness. For a split second, my alpha instincts kick into overdrive, ready to defend against whatever threat has appeared.
Then I recognize the distinctly unimpressed gaze of Oxford the llama.
“It’s just Oxford,” she says. “He scared the bejeepers out of me.”
She’s already moving toward the door, her initial fright giving way to genuine delight.
“What’s he doing out there? It’s freezing tonight!” She flings the door open. “Oxford, come in here this instant!”
I exchange a look with Finn. “Did she just invite a llama inside?”
Oxford hesitates at the threshold, as if considering whether to accept the invitation. His head tilts slightly, those intelligent eyes sweeping the interior before he takes one deliberate step inside, then another.
“I can’t believe you’re out wandering in this cold,” Melody scolds, closing the door behind him. “Where’s your scarf? Did you lose the one I gave you?”
The llama makes a soft humming noise.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come for your walk today,” she continues, genuinely distressed. “I got caught up helping at the bakery, and then I was making dinner…”
She trails off, staring at Oxford like she’s had a revelation. Then, she dashes across the room to the Christmas tree, where a small mountain of wrapped presents.
“I have the perfect thing!” she calls over her shoulder, dropping to her knees and rifling through the gifts. “It was supposed to be for my uncle, but he’s not coming, and frankly, he never appreciates my gifts anyway.”
Oxford watches her with what I swear is curiosity, his long neck extended toward the tree.
“Here it is!” She emerges triumphantly with a rectangular package wrapped in green paper with cartoon reindeer. She rips off the paper without ceremony, revealing a plaid scarf in shades of blue and green.
“Come here,” she beckons Oxford closer. “This will look so handsome on you.”
And the llama, the supposedly stubborn, judgmental llama that Everett says barely tolerates most humans, walks right over to her. He lowers his head, allowing Melody to loop the scarf around his neck.
“There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “Very dashing.”
Oxford straightens and does something with his head that looks suspiciously like preening.
“I think he likes it,” Finn says, moving to stand beside me. “He looks like a hipster llama now. Like he’s about to tell us about his vinyl collection and artisanal hay.”
I laugh, though I can’t take my eyes off Melody as she fusses over this animal, her hands gentle as they adjust the scarf, her smile bright and uncomplicated.
In this moment, with her guard down and her attention focused on making Oxford comfortable, her omega nature shines through, nurturing, caring, and determined to make everyone around her feel valued.
It tugs at something primal in me.
“Wait, I have another idea,” she says suddenly, hurrying back to the tree. “This one was for my cousin’s four-legged monster, but honestly, I prefer giving it to you.”
She grabs a larger package and unwraps it, revealing a plush, round dog bed with raised sides. It’s enormous, meant for a large breed like a Great Dane or a St. Bernard.
“I know it’s a dog bed,” she tells Oxford seriously, “but we can pretend it’s a llama bed. It’s the right size, and it looks comfortable.”
She places the bed near the fire, carefully arranging it. “There. If you want to stay and warm up, you’re welcome to join us. We’re playing cards, but we could switch to a game that doesn’t require hands.”
Oxford stares at the bed for a long moment.
Then, with a deliberate dignity that makes me think of university professors, he walks over, circles once, and settles into it.
He tucks his long legs beneath him and rests his neck on the raised edge, looking for all the world like he’s been waiting for this bed his entire life.
“Holy shit,” Finn whispers beside me. “Did she just… domesticate a llama in under five minutes?”
The expression on Oxford’s face is content, comfortable, and maybe a little emotional. It’s ridiculous to anthropomorphize a llama this way, but I swear he looks grateful, like Melody’s simple act of kindness has touched him deeply.
And something about that hits me right in the chest. Because I get it. I understand what it’s like to have someone see what you need and give it to you without hesitation or judgment. Finn did that for me. Showed me that I could be both strong and vulnerable, both protective and protected.
Now here’s Melody, doing the same for a llama, of all things.
“You good there, big guy?” she asks Oxford, who makes a soft humming sound in response. “Great. We’re playing rummy, but Finn cheats.”
“Slander and lies,” Finn protests, settling back on the floor.
Melody joins him, and they resume their game as if having a llama join their evening is the most natural thing in the world.
This scene before me, ridiculous as it is, feels right in a way I can’t explain, like the universe has aligned just so, bringing together these exact people (and a llama) at this precise moment.
I think of Everett, and how he should be here too, how the picture isn’t quite complete without him.
But it’s close. So close I can almost see it—the four of us together, building something real and lasting.
A true pack.
Oxford catches my eye from his new bed, and I swear the llama gives me a knowing look—like he understands precisely what I’m thinking and feeling, like he’s giving his approval to this strange, new possibility unfolding before us.
I smile back at him, acknowledging the absurdity of seeking validation from a llama and receiving it anyway.
They start playing again, with Melody winning every time, even though Finn is cheating.
“Gabe, seriously, come play with us,” Melody calls, looking up at me with those blue eyes that see too much. “Oxford is judging your antisocial behavior.”
I glance at the llama, who does indeed appear to be judging me.
“Can’t have that,” I say, sliding off the couch to join them on the floor. “What are we playing?”
“A game where cheating is impossible,” Melody says firmly.
“No such thing exists,” Finn counters.
As they bicker good-naturedly over the rules, I settle in, letting their voices wash over me. Oxford watches from his bed, his new scarf arranged perfectly around his neck, looking for all the world as if he belongs here.
Maybe he does.
Maybe we all do.
A true pack.