Epilogue. Tessa Fortune. #2
I let the little boy and his mother lead the way into the kitchen once we arrived outside of it. They needed to feel comfortable here, learning that they belonged and didn’t have to ask permission to take up space.
My childhood kitchen buzzed with a different kind of energy now.
No caterers racing around with platters of salmon puffs and caviar.
No hundred sparkling champagne glasses lined up like little soldiers, waiting for bubbly.
My mother would never cook at the large gas stove again, or tease my father with her wooden spoon.
That life was faded, along with the different scents and sounds that once reminded me of home.
All replaced.
Not for the better. Or the worse.
Just replaced. New life breathed into the mansion’s walls.
Mac stood at the massive center island, methodically assembling sandwiches with his signature focus and precision.
His golden hair, which had grown past his shoulders, was tied back neatly.
Something about seeing him so carefully cutting crusts off bread for the children made my heart contract with love.
He was even gathering the pieces he’d sliced off into a bowl, to use for something later.
He glanced up, sensing my presence, and gave me that small, private smile that still made my stomach flutter.
Across from him, Ryder was spooning yogurt into little plastic cups; a white strainer of washed blueberries waited nearby for topping.
His dark hair fell across his forehead as he worked, a familiar vertical line appearing between his brows.
It was the same expression he wore when composing a particularly challenging song, only now his focus was directed at making sure each cup had exactly the same amount.
The rockstar who once got high off drugs and drank himself stupid was now ensuring that our residents got equal portions, and no one felt slighted.
By the industrial sink, Dixon was stirring a massive pitcher of lemonade, his freshly bleached hair catching the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
He stirred with vigor, nearly sloshing the pale yellow liquid out of its container.
I heard Tray say ‘easy, Guy Ferrari’, a play on a famous Alpha chef’s name and the sports car.
Dixon reached over and pinched his pack brother playfully.
Tray was sitting on the counter, legs kicking slowly, his tongue caught between his teeth as he drew little pictures on the smaller plastic cups with permanent markers.
Dinosaurs, rockets, superheroes—each cup received its own unique decoration.
Some even had personalized designs for specific children he'd already gotten to know. Tray’s playful nature had made him an instant favorite of the kids.
My Alphas knew I was settling in the mother and son, so they didn’t greet me with words. Just the smile from Mac, and quick glances when we’d arrived.
The little boy and his mother found the snack pantry without my help, thanks to the large sign mounted over it.
I walked to the fridge and pulled out two of the premade, plastic-wrapped ham and cheeses along with two milk boxes.
When I walked to the pantry’s doorway, the little boy was deciding between a circus box of animal crackers or a sleeve of chocolate chip cookies.
“Mom, I don’t know which I want.” He pouted.
“Only one, Trevor.” His mother knelt down, bringing them eye-to-eye. “I know it’s hard to choose, but I bet you can get the other next time.”
I was glad to hear her say that; it meant she was already feeling less unmoored. Maybe tomorrow she’d wake up feeling properly anchored here. Safe and secure enough to figure out her next step.
I closed the distance to them, and pitched my voice conspiratorially as I spoke. “If you want both, just this once, it’ll be our little secret.”
He beamed at me, and his mother stared at me gratefully.
“I’ll save this one for tomorrow, just in case.” He said it seriously, forehead crinkling as if saving one of the treats was going to take monumental willpower. It probably would for a small child.
“You don’t have to save one, Trever. I promise there’ll be more food tomorrow.” I reassured him.
He screwed up his mouth, considering. He didn’t want to wake up hungry and have nothing to eat. God, that sent a pang through my chest.
“You can trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.” I urged him to trust me.
At that, he nodded. “Then I’m going to eat this first,” he held up the animal crackers, “and this second.” He raised the cookies.
“Sounds like a good plan.” I mussed his hair, causing the ginger curls to get frizzier than they already were.
I gave the mother the milk boxes, then handed her the sandwiches. She gripped them tightly, but realized quickly that she was crushing the bread, and loosened her hold.
“Thank you,” she managed, trying not to cry again.
“You’re welcome.” I wrapped her in my arms, giving her a firm hug. When I let go, I could tell she needed to leave, needed to be somewhere she could get emotional without people watching. “Feel free to eat in your room, if you’re more comfortable there.”
“Okay,” was all she could say this time, taking her little boy’s hand and leading them back towards their new room. My old one.
I stood in the pantry, staring blankly into the kitchen and out the window near the breakfast nook with its giant table fit for ten. Sometimes, doing this was incredibly hard. Sometimes, seeing myself in these people hurt too much.
Outside the shelter, beyond the glass, Cat was still talking to reporters.
They’d been arriving daily, all hoping for an exclusive interview with the charitable Fortune heir and her mates.
I’d refused to let them inside for pictures.
No one’s pain should become a photo op or PR stunt.
Catalina would do what she did best anyways though—make sure Oblivion Haze were seen as the music industry’s golden boys.
The band's involvement with the shelter had naturally attracted media attention. We couldn’t hide it.
When I stepped out of the pantry, Ryder caught my eye first, his amber gaze warming.
He’d finished his task, and was leaning against the counter, his strong arms crossed over his chest. I went to him first, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing in his scent.
His arms enfolded me immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head.
His need for me always took my breath away.
He’d found a way to build my confidence, to get me on stage—a place I never thought I’d stand.
"I love you," I whispered against his chest. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love you too, Tessa."
Pulling from him, I moved to Mac, whose careful hands paused in their work as I approached. He studied me. His hazel eyes always saw through me. Maybe it was his nature, to pay attention to all the little details. He always knew what my silence meant. He always knew how to read me.
His hug was gentle—now that I carried our pack’s first pup, he handled me like a paper doll which might rip—and his piano hands splayed across my back with precise tenderness.
"You're changing lives," he murmured, his usual reserve softening. "Just like you changed ours."
“The way you all changed mine,” I added to his statement. “Thank you for being who you are Mac. I love you. I love every part of you.”
“And I love you, Tessa.” He murmured against my hair, face tilting down.
Dixon was next. Despite all our time together, he still tensed slightly when I approached out of the blue.
It was like part of him still couldn’t believe I existed, like he was waiting for the dam to burst and his ferality to rush back inward.
Then, like always, something in him quickly yielded and the edge of his worry receded.
He carefully pulled me into his body. I wasn’t as soft as I used to be.
I had real muscles these days. But even so, his hardness conformed to every soft part of me.
“Thank you, Dixon. Thank you so much.” I rose as tall as I could on tiptoes, kissing his neck.
"You're fucking amazing," he whispered roughly, then huffed. "Sorry. Can’t help it." He’d been trying not to curse at the shelter, worried little ears would hear him. He also figured he better get it under control now, before our own small one arrived.
“I love you, you giant oaf.” I chuckled out the words.
“Not as much as I love you, you tiny yard gnome.” He teased me with the nickname I hated. He’d come up with it a couple months ago, when I once again couldn’t reach the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. As soon as I’d reacted with annoyance, and Dixon grinned, I knew the nickname was here to stay.
But I gave him another squeeze anyways, and pulled way.
Tray didn’t wait for me to initiate. He hopped off the counter and gave me a winning smile, his dimples deepening. “You’re always saving the best for last.”
“Shhhh,” I admonished, “not so loud, they’ll hear you.”
“Let them hear that I’m your favorite,” he crowed, grabbing me up in a hug that lifted me from the floor.
“Gentle, Tray!” Dixon admonished. Mac said something too, but it was drowned out by Dixon’s booming voice.
“What? She’s not made of glass,” Tray rolled his eyes, then gazed at me. “One little bun in the oven, and all the sudden they think you’re so delicate.”
“I’m absolutely delicate. Like a bomb.” I winked, and he tilted his head back and guffawed. Then, though, he instantly sobered.
"We're so proud of you," he said, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. "You know that, right?"
I nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion yet again.
Only, there was no sadness this time to scar the happiness.
Tray set me down after a slow twirl, and my head was buzzing and my body felt like it was floating.
I turned to lean against the counter, to steady myself and digest everything that had happened, was happening, and would happen.
My gaze roved around the room, and everything seemed to be full of colors I’d never seen before. Prisms of light leaking from every surface. My Alphas haloed in rainbows.
Even when my brain stopped its humming, my body still felt effervescent. Bubbly. Filled with fresh champagne.
Ryder. Dixon. Mac. Tray. God, how I loved them.
These four men—so different from each other, yet so perfect together—had given me a place to belong when I'd forgotten what belonging felt like. Had believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself.
I’d rebuilt myself on the power of their collective love, and confidence in me.
Not the once privileged Omega princess.
Not the desperate survivor.
Someone new.
Someone worthy.
Someone bold.
Thank you so much for reading!