Chapter thirty-four
Lily
It’s absolute chaos, and I can’t get enough of it.
Garrett has pulled open every drawer in the kitchen, checked the coat pockets he never uses, and moved the couch two feet from the wall.
He’s been through the kitchen, living room, the entryway, under every cushion, behind every chair and table, and right now he’s standing in the hallway holding a boot like it has answers.
“They were right here,” he says, again, for what’s got to be the fourth time.
“They’re on your head,” Cyrus tells him, not even glancing up from his coffee.
Garrett reaches up, and sure enough, there they are. He looks a little sheepish for about a second before sliding them down onto his nose as if that’s what he meant to do all along.
At the counter, Miles is in his own world, listing complaints: “I hate amusement parks.
I hate lines. I hate children with sticky fingers and I hate the smell of funnel cake and I hate—“ He stops talking long enough to swipe a bite of my toast. I see him. He sees me seeing him. There are crumbs on his lips. He just chews, shrugs at me, like what’s the big deal. “What?”
“You just stole my toast.”
“You never finish your food anyway. I was helping with clean up.”
Gabriel’s the only one holding the day together.
He’s got his keys, his wallet, and the look of a man who’s been trying to herd four people toward the door for at least twenty minutes.
One more complaint and he’s picking someone up and carrying them out.
“Everyone. Door. Now.” He points. No one argues.
We pile into Gabriel’s spare SUV, the big one.
It must not see much action lately—Garrett has to wrestle the third-row seat into place, and Cyrus pulls a mummified french fry out of a cup holder.
Miles takes the middle row and pulls me in next to him.
Gabriel’s driving, Garrett calls shotgun, and Cyrus folds himself into the back, legs awkward against the seat in front of him.
It’s noise and movement and bickering. I wouldn’t change a thing.
The drive takes about an hour. Miles holds my hand the entire time, his thumb tracing little circles over my knuckles, and he tells me about this documentary he watched on failed architecture projects.
He’s animated, gesturing all over the place with his free hand, and I mostly just watch his face because I’ve never seen him like this. Light and unburdened.
When we pull up in the parking lot, the park is spread out in front of us.
There are rides everywhere and weird towers and the distant sound of people screaming, the fun kind of screaming.
It’s been ages since I stepped foot in an amusement park.
Not since I was twelve, before the registry. Before everything changed.
“Ready?” Gabriel asks, glancing at us in the rearview like he’s about to start a race.
Miles gives my hand a squeeze. “Let’s go.”
Inside, it’s Miles who takes the lead, not Gabriel.
He’s already moving ahead, scoping out the park like he’s planning an attack, and the alphas just fall in behind him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I’m watching it happen and there’s this moment where I realize they’re letting him lead.
Gabriel, the one who controls everything, is literally two steps behind his omega, waiting for orders.
Miles stops at the giant map board, his focus absolute. His eyes scan the options before landing on a roller coaster on the far side of the park—the tallest one, with three vicious loops. My stomach lurches. A glint of mischief appears in his eyes just before he points.
“Lily’s riding that with Garrett,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Garrett blinks. “She is?”
Miles looks at me. “You are.”
“I’ve never been on a roller coaster.”
“That’s why you’re going.” Then to Garrett, “Take her. Don’t let her chicken out.”
Garrett glances at me, then at Miles, then at Gabriel. He’s checking, making sure it’s not some trick assignment. Gabriel gives him the tiniest nod. Permission granted, from the lead and the omega. Garrett grins.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “You’re going to love it.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“That’s the same thing.”
Miles watches us go. For a second, I think he’s about to change his mind. He hesitates, eyes on Garrett’s hand near mine.
Then just as sudden he turns to Gabriel and Cyrus. “We’re doing the log ride. Let’s go.”
We split up. Me and Garrett toward the coaster, the others off to the one with water and a fake log.
The line for the coaster is endless, which gives me all the time in the world to panic.
The thing towers over us, all metal and height, the cars rattling through the loops like there’s a thunderstorm inside the track.
Every few seconds someone screams, and every single time it makes my heart pound faster.
Garrett notices. He doesn’t make a big deal about it.
He just shifts closer, lets his arm brush mine, and keeps up a steady stream of conversation about his job, some horrible movie he watched last week, the time Cyrus tried to cook Thanksgiving dinner and the turkey came out resembling a giant lump of coal.
He’s distracting me on purpose, and it’s actually working.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says when we’re almost at the front. “Miles won’t care if you back out.”
“Miles will absolutely care.”
Garrett laughs. “Fair point.”
We get in the car. The harness comes down over my shoulders and locks with this dramatic click. Garrett sits beside me, his hand finding mine on the bar between us. The touch jolts up my arm. I wonder if he feels it too. He must, but he plays it cool—his face never changes.
“If you need to scream, scream,” he says. “Nobody’s going to judge you.”
“What if I need to cry?”
“Then I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.”
The car jerks forward. We climb. The world below shrinks, people turning into little dots, all the noise fading except for the wind. At the very top, there’s a pause—a single moment where everything is sky and we’re just balanced there, waiting.
Then we drop.
I scream.
I scream until my throat is raw. The wind tears at my hair, the loops slam me into the seat, my stomach is somewhere above my head. I am absolutely terrified and totally alive. I haven’t felt this in years.
Garrett screams too, but only because he’s having the time of his life watching me lose my mind.
When the ride screeches to a stop, I’m shaking. My legs are jelly. Garrett half-carries me down the ramp, both of us laughing so hard we’re barely upright.
“Again?” he asks.
“Absolutely not.” But I’m grinning so wide my face hurts. “That was the worst and best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
We find the others at the log ride exit.
Miles is soaked from the waist down, water dripping off his jeans, looking extremely not amused.
Cyrus is weirdly dry, which makes no sense.
Gabriel just has one tiny splash on his shirt and this look like he’s enjoyed every second of watching his omega get drenched.
“How was it?” Miles asks, wringing out his shirt.
“I screamed the entire time.”
“Good.” He sounds pleased, like that was the whole goal.
After that, we move through the park as a group, Miles calling the shots, the rest of us just along for the ride.
He sends me on the spinning teacups with Cyrus, which is honestly hilarious because Cyrus is gigantic and looks so awkward wedged into a pastel teacup, arms crossed, face blank while I spin us as fast as possible.
When we get off, Cyrus says, “That was unnecessary.” I laugh so hard I nearly cry.
Miles does bumper cars with Gabriel and Garrett while Cyrus and I eat churros on a bench and watch the carnage.
Miles rams Gabriel’s car so hard it spins, then reverses into Garrett and cackles when Garrett’s head snaps forward.
Gabriel gets revenge, traps Miles in a corner, and Miles yells something so foul a nearby mom covers her kid’s ears.
Lunch is burgers, fries, onion rings at a picnic table.
Greasy food that somehow tastes perfect when you’re exhausted and happy.
Miles steals my fries. I steal his onion rings.
He threatens me with bodily harm and I threaten him back, and Garrett watches like he’s never been so delighted in his life.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Garrett says.
“Don’t make it weird,” Miles says, at the exact same moment I do.
We look at each other. He smirks. I smirk back.
After lunch, Miles nudges me toward Gabriel for the Ferris wheel. It’s the first time he’s really pushed me toward his lead, and I can feel his hesitation. His hand lingers on mine before he lets go. His eyes track me as I walk away with Gabriel.
“You okay?” Gabriel asks as we wait in line.
“I think so.” I pause. “Are you?”
He looks at me. Really looks. We’re standing close enough that his scent invades my nose and scrambles my senses a little. For once, he doesn’t pull away.
I don’t pull away, either, though it’s a struggle. My omega is ready to roll over, but the human part of me still flinches. Even after his apology, the words reject and unwanted flash through my brain whenever he gets this close.
“I’m good,” he says. Honest. “This is a good day.”
The Ferris wheel is slow, gentle, not even close to the coaster.
Our car rises and the whole park spreads out below, rides and lights and the tiny figures of our pack walking around the game booths.
From here, I can see Miles, his dark hair, how he moves.
He’s watching our car go up with a strange look.
“He’s watching us,” I say.
“He always watches,” Gabriel says. “It’s how he keeps himself safe. If he can see everyone, he knows they’re still there.”
I understand more than he knows. Gabriel sees Miles like I’m starting to. Someone who loves so much it scares him.
When we get off, Miles is waiting. He doesn’t mention the Ferris wheel. He takes my hand and leads me over to the games.
He’s terrible at most of them. The ring toss is a disaster, the basketball throw is worse, and he loses three rounds of duck shooting while inventing new swear words. But at the last booth—a dart game where you have to pop three balloons in a row—he nails it. Three shots, three pops, easy.
The prize is a ridiculous oversized cat with crossed eyes and a dopey grin. Miles takes it, inspects it, and refuses to admit he’s even a little bit proud.
“It’s rigged,” he says, handing me the cat. “They let you win so you’ll come back for more.”
“You won on the first try.”
“Shut up.”
I hug the stupid cat to my chest. He tries not to smile and fails miserably.
The sun starts to go down, lights popping on everywhere, and the park shifts from chaos to something softer, all the rides glowing in the dusk.
We do a few more, like a lazy river boat that Miles calls “pointless” even though he’s clearly having fun, and a haunted house that makes Garrett grab Cyrus’s arm and not let go.
Our next ride is some gentle spinning thing that lifts you up in the air. There’s an alpha behind us in line, and he’s been eyeing me for a while, but I ignore him. He’s big, confident, the sort that takes up way too much space and expects the world to move for him.
“No claiming marks,” he says, staring at my bare neck. “That’s unusual for an omega this pretty. You looking for a pack, sweetheart?”
He barely gets the words out before Miles is in front of me. Pure instinct. He puts himself between us, scent turned bitter.
“Don’t talk to her,” Miles says.
The alpha grins down at him, all dismissive. “Relax. I’m just being friendly.”
“Be friendly somewhere else.”
“Hey, easy.” The alpha’s hands go up, but his eyes are still on me, over Miles’s shoulder. “No marks means she’s available. That’s how it works.”
Miles growls. It’s a deep, dangerous sound, not omega at all. His whole body is rigid, his fingers clamped on my hip, pulling me in. “She’s mine. Walk away.”
That’s when the three alphas behind Miles step up and the other alpha sees them. They’d have stepped in sooner, but Miles got there first. Gabriel comes first, face like a glacier. “Problem?”
Cyrus goes left. Garrett goes right. Three alphas forming a wall behind an omega who just bared his teeth at a stranger.
The alpha does the math, eyes skipping from Miles to Gabriel to Cyrus to Garrett, and he gets it. He backs off, mutters something about not wanting trouble, and vanishes into the crowd.
The line goes quiet. People are staring.
Miles is shaking. Just a little, but enough that I see it. Adrenaline, sure, but more than that. He’s afraid—not of the stranger. Of his alphas. Of how they’re going to react to what he just did. Challenging an alpha, growling in public, calling me his. It’s not omega behavior.
Garrett gets to him first. He ruffles Miles’s hair, casual and proud. “Look at you. Defending your girl.”
“That was impressive,” Cyrus says.
Gabriel pulls Miles in and kisses his temple. “You did good. She needed protecting, and you didn’t hesitate.”
Miles blinks, and I see his face change. Shock, then slow understanding. They’re not angry. They actually think it’s adorable.
His hand finds mine again and he doesn’t let go for the rest of the night.
After that, Miles keeps me close, always touching. His hand in mine or his arm around my shoulders, his body between me and every alpha with wandering eyes. It’s not a performance. He’s decided I’m his to protect, and he’s not letting up.
We do the last ride—the gentle one, up and spinning, the whole park sparkling below. Miles sits next to me, thigh to thigh, and doesn’t say anything. He just looks at the lights.
We cram into a photo booth that barely fits all five of us. Garrett perches on Cyrus’s lap, Gabriel squishes onto the end, Miles pulls me onto him and wraps his arms around my waist, and for a second, in the flash, we look like a real pack. Complete.
Gabriel buys the photo strip. I catch him looking at it on the walk to the car, his thumb brushing the edge, his face soft.
The car ride home is warm and dark and smells like us. Cotton candy, alpha and omega, all tangled together. Miles grabs the middle row again and pulls me to his side. Garrett ends up next to us, arm behind Miles’s shoulders, palm resting there.
I lean into Miles. He leans into Garrett. Cyrus drives because Gabriel asked, and Gabriel sits up front, turned so he can watch us through the gap.
My eyes get heavy. The day—the rides, the sun, the laughter, the screaming—sinks into my bones. I want to keep it forever.
I fall asleep between them. Miles’s heartbeat under my ear. Cyrus’s steady driving humming through the seat. Gabriel’s scent drifting back from the front.
Every piece of it. Every person. All around me, keeping me safe.
My instincts are quiet. Nothing hurts. I feel whole. I’m terrified to trust it.
But for the first time in my life, I’m home.
Nobody’s said it out loud yet, but my body knows.
I’m home.