Whiskey
Don't make it weird.
That's the mission.
Ivy texted us about the bad news Wraith got from his doctor about masks, and even though Thane got the exact same message Plague and me did, Wraith's devoted brother took it upon himself to make a formal announcement.
He looked at me and Plague and said, "When they get here, do not make it weird."
And Plague looked at me the entire time he said it.
Rude.
So now I'm standing in the parking garage, waiting for them to come home and running drills in my head.
Don't stare at his face.
Don't NOT stare at his face, because not looking at him at all could be worse. Look at him a normal amount.
What's a normal amount? How many seconds is normal? Is it three?
It's probably three.
Thane's leaning against a support pillar with his arms crossed, watching the ramp. He's been out here ten minutes longer than Plague and me, so he's been waiting since before Ivy even texted that they were close.
Big stoic captain energy as always, but the man missed his mate and his brother so bad he's been peeking out the window even more than I do when I'm waiting for one of my giant fucking online shopping deliveries.
We all missed them.
The pack house has sucked for two days. Nobody even stole my hoodies. I'm not used to being able to leave a warm hoodie with my scent all over it on the back of a kitchen chair without Ivy yoinking it.
Plague did, though. Or at least I caught him smelling it, and he denied it and got pissed at me for catching him, and I shut him up with a kiss. Only to find out he was disappointed no one stole his tea last night.
So I did, just to keep him guessing and wondering if it's me or Valek. I hate the stuff, but it's good enrichment for him. He likes being mad.
Headlights sweep up the ramp.
"That's them," Thane says, pushing off the pillar.
My heart does a stupid little combat roll because them includes my wildcat.
Don't make it weird.
Exactly three seconds of eye contact.
You got this, Marine.
The SUV pulls into its spot and the engine dies.
The driver's door opens and Valek unfolds out of it, coming around to get Ivy's door.
She's sitting in the back for some reason, and when she hops down in Valek's black sweater—the preppy kind with a fucking zipper, which is probably half of why Plague ogles him all the time—I charge at her before she can even get a word out.
"WILDCAT!"
I get to her in two steps and she jumps up, and I catch her, grinning like an idiot as she laughs into my neck. I bury my face in her hair and inhale like her hair's made of spun fuckin' cocaine and squeeze until she squeaks.
"Missed you too," she wheezes. "Ribs. Whiskey. Riiibssss."
I set her down. Plague's already there, taking her chin in two fingers, tilting her face toward the garage lights.
"Quit giving her a physical exam," I tell him.
He ignores me, kissing her.
Wraith gets out next.
Hood up, head down, and… nothing else. Not even a scarf. Just the shadow of the hood and, under it, his bare face. Scarred jaw. Sharp teeth. All of it, out in the open air in a public space for the first time since he tore his gaiter off in the arena so he could breathe.
Like it's nothing.
Except his giant shoulders are tense and his hands are jammed in his hoodie pocket, so it is very much not nothing.
Okay. Three seconds of eye contact. Normal amount.
I'm gonna count.
One.
Two.
"You look GREAT," I announce.
The garage echoes it back at me.
GREAT…
GREAT…
GREAT…
Plague closes his eyes.
Wraith stops moving.
"I mean—" My mouth keeps going without authorization. "Not, like, great in a way where I'm noticing anything. I'm not noticing anything. There's nothing to notice. Your face is… it's a face!" I gesture wildly at my own. "A regular… it's a good… I look at it a normal amount."
"Whiskey," Thane grits out.
I groan and throw my head back. "Come on, bro, I even counted the seconds! I was doing so good!"
Ivy is biting her lower lip and I can tell she's fighting for her life to not laugh. Valek is staring openly at me, head slightly tilted, one eyebrow raised.
And then Wraith laughs.
Well, that rough, scraping huff-huff-huff that's his laugh, anyway, and his shoulders relax slightly.
I let myself breathe. Okay, I fucked up and made it weird, but I made it weird enough that it looped back around to funny, and that works.
Thane lets out one of his famous long-suffering sighs and walks straight up to his brother, hesitates in front of him, and pulls him into a bear hug.
Wraith goes stiff for a second. Then his chin drops down onto Thane's shoulder and his arms come up, and the two enormous alphas hug while I'm suddenly trying not to feel emotional about this.
Ivy leans into my side. I put my arm around her and don't say anything, which for me is a medal-worthy display of restraint.
Thane steps back, clears his throat, and scrubs a hand through his hair. His eyes are looking kind of wet. I might harass him about it later. "Good trip?" he asks hoarsely.
Wraith tilts his hand back and forth. So-so.
"He beat up Valek," Ivy offers.
"He's stronger than you," Valek says to me right away.
"You LET him beat you up?" I demand. "In CANADA you flipped our whole—"
"Whiskey." Plague pinches the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you go get the cake before the buttercream completely melts?"
Oh shit.
THE CAKE.
I bolt back to the workbench where I stashed the box and come back holding it out in both hands like I'm presenting a sword to a king and not a store-bought cake to an alpha who I've never actually seen eat anything sweet in his life.
"Bro. I got you something."
Wraith looks at the box, then at me. His eyes narrow under the hood, because the last thing I presented to him this ceremoniously was my own personal fan edit of himself set to Toxic.
"Sorry, man, it isn't a kitten. Thane still says no cats. Trust me, I tried."
Wraith actually looks slightly disappointed. Keeping his head slightly downturned and shadowed, he takes the box in his huge scarred hands and lifts the lid.
He stares down at the cake.
It's round and white with blue trim the same color as his eyes, which I thought was a pretty sweet detail.
There's a fondant stethoscope coiled on top, although it got slightly disturbed by the ride on the back of Hogzilla and now it kinda looks like a really long flaccid penis.
Especially since when I plucked off the marzipan graduation cap, it took the ear-thingies that made the stethoscope a stethoscope.
Big piped letters spell out CONGRATULATIONS, and underneath, in janky blue gel and visibly rushed handwriting, on surviving.
Wraith stares at it.
He stares at it for a long time.
He hands the box back to me so he can sign.
What the fuck?
"It's a cake!"
Why?
"Yeah, well." I shrug. "I guess it's for people graduating medical school. I had to, uh, make a few modifications of my own."
Wraith looks down at the cake again.
He huffs, harder this time, a deep subwoofer of a broken laugh rumbling in his chest, and lifts his eyes to mine. They're warm and soft, and for a moment, I don't understand how anyone could think he's scary at all.
And he's put me through walls.
Thanks. It's the worst cake I've ever seen.
"You're welcome," I say, grinning. "I love you too, bro."