Chapter 16
Cassian
Friday morning arrived with the kind of crisp October clarity that made the mountains look close enough to touch. I’d been awake since five, unable to sleep, my mind churning through tomorrow’s meeting at The Brew.
Twenty-four hours until I sat down with Jace Maddox and Hollis Green to discuss whether three alphas could actually coordinate around one omega. Whether pack formation was a realistic possibility or just a beautiful theory that would collapse under the weight of actual human complexity.
Talia had texted me last night after Jace left: Are you nervous about Saturday?
Terrified, I’d admitted. But ready.
Her response had made something warm settle in my chest: Good. Me too. But I think we can do this.
I’d spent the rest of the evening researching pack dynamics with the same analytical focus I’d once applied to development projects.
Academic papers on multi-alpha households.
Psychological studies on polyamorous relationship structures.
Forums where people discussed the practical realities of making unconventional families work.
The data was surprisingly encouraging. Pack bonds showed higher stability rates than traditional pairings when all parties entered with clear communication and mutual respect.
The key factors were emotional maturity, willingness to address conflicts directly, and genuine care for the omega’s wellbeing above individual ego.
Could three competitive alphas actually achieve that? Could I?
My phone buzzed at eight thirty. Talia’s name on the screen made my pulse quicken in ways I was still learning to accept.
Are you free this morning? Something came up with the bistro. Could use a second opinion.
I was already reaching for my keys. Be there in ten minutes.
The drive to Main Street took exactly nine. I parked behind the bistro and found Talia’s Chevy already there, along with two contractor trucks I didn’t recognize and a vehicle with health department plates.
My stomach tightened. Health department meant inspection. And unscheduled inspections usually meant problems.
I found her in the kitchen, surrounded by three men in work clothes. The air tasted wrong. Damp and slightly musty with an underlying chemical tang that made my lungs protest. And Talia’s scent had spiked with stress, the vanilla sweetness buried under sharp anxiety.
She saw me and something in her expression shifted. Not quite relief, but close. Like reinforcements had arrived when she’d been bracing to fight alone.
“Cassian.” She crossed to me quickly. “Thank you for coming.”
“What’s wrong?” I kept my voice low, just for her.
“Black mold. Behind the kitchen walls.” Her hands twisted together, the only visible sign of how much this was costing her. “The health inspector was doing the preliminary walk-through. He found moisture damage near the ventilation system and made them open up the wall.”
I looked past her to where the contractors had removed a section of drywall, exposing wooden studs visibly darkened with water damage. Black growth spread across the surface in patterns I recognized from too many property evaluations.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that he can’t approve any permits until it’s remediated.
” Her voice stayed level, controlled. The kind of calm that came from managing kitchen crises while everything inside screamed.
“The contractor says minimum thirty thousand dollars. Maybe more once they see how far it spreads. And they’re booked out six weeks. ”
I processed the numbers automatically. Thirty thousand would destroy her budget. Six weeks would push her opening into January or February, missing the holiday season entirely, burning through savings while paying rent on a space that couldn’t generate revenue.
“Let me see their estimate.”
She pulled a folder from her makeshift desk and handed it over. I scanned the line items quickly, my mind automatically categorizing and analyzing.
The estimate was inflated. Not criminally so, but definitely padded with the assumption that she was desperate and uninformed. Full wall replacement when strategic patching would probably suffice. Equipment rental at retail rates. Labor hours that seemed excessive for the scope of work.
“This is high,” I said carefully. “Not fraudulent, but definitely taking advantage of the situation.”
Her jaw tightened. “Of course it is.”
The health inspector approached, his expression professionally neutral. “Ms. Quinn, I’ll need documentation of the remediation before I can proceed with permit approvals. The mold suggests water intrusion that predates your tenancy, so you’ll want to contact the building owner about liability.”
“The building owner lives in Phoenix and hasn’t returned my calls in three weeks,” Talia said quietly.
The inspector’s expression softened slightly. “Then document everything thoroughly. Your lawyer can help with that.”
After he left, the contractors gave their timeline projections and headed out, promising formal quotes by end of business.
Talia stood very still in the middle of her kitchen, staring at the exposed wall.
I waited. Sometimes the most strategic move was silence, giving someone space to process.
“I can’t believe this is happening now,” she said finally. “Right when everything was finally coming together. The permits were almost done, the equipment was functional, the timeline was perfect.” She turned to look at me. “And now thirty thousand dollars and six more weeks.”
“Then we find alternatives.” I pulled out my phone. “I know people. Remediation specialists who’ll give honest assessments. Contractors who can start next week instead of six weeks from now.”
“Cassian.” Her voice carried something I couldn’t quite read. “You’ve already helped so much. And yesterday I told you I have feelings for you, and now you’re here solving my problems again.” She paused. “I don’t want you to think I need you to fix everything for me.”
Understanding hit me. This wasn’t about the mold. This was about what we were building, or trying to build. About whether her feelings for me came from genuine attraction or gratitude for support she desperately needed.
I set my phone down and moved closer, not crowding but making sure she could see my face clearly.
“Yesterday you told me you have feelings for me because I make you feel competent instead of helpless. Because I see solutions where you see problems.” I held her gaze. “Helping you solve this doesn’t change that dynamic. It demonstrates it.”
“But what if…”
“What if you’re using me for my connections? What if you only think you have feelings because I’m useful?” I finished for her. “Talia, I’ve spent three months in this town. You’re not the first person who needed help. You are the first person I’ve had feelings for, though.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “I just don’t want to mess this up before we even start. Tomorrow we’re meeting with Jace and Hollis to talk about actually doing this. About pack. And I’m standing here letting you rescue me from another crisis.”
“You’re standing here accepting help from someone who cares about you.” I corrected gently. “That’s not being rescued. That’s being part of something where people support each other. And that’s what being in a pack is all about.”
She studied my face for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Okay. Make your phone calls. But I’m paying fair rates for whatever work gets done.”
“Negotiated rates,” I agreed. “The rates I’d get for any client I was advocating for.”
The next two hours disappeared into phone calls while Talia documented everything for potential legal action against the building owner.
By the time the sun started angling toward afternoon, I had commitments from a remediation crew that could start Monday, a structural engineer who’d assess the damage today for a reasonable fee, and a contractor who specialized in historical building restoration.
“They can start Monday,” I told Talia as she organized her photographs. “Two weeks maximum instead of six.”
“And the cost?”
“Eighteen thousand instead of thirty.” I pulled up the email on my phone. “Here’s their quote. Itemized, transparent, with a satisfaction guarantee.”
She read through it carefully. “This is significantly lower.”
“Because they’re not padding numbers for someone they think won’t negotiate. And because I made it clear that taking advantage of you would mean I’d never use them again.” I watched her face. “You can verify everything. Call other remediation companies if you want comparisons.”
“I trust you.” The words were simple but weighted. “Thank you, Cassian. This doesn’t solve everything, but it makes it survivable.”
“That’s all we can ask for sometimes. Survivable instead of catastrophic.”
We stood in the bistro kitchen while afternoon light shifted across the exposed wall. Talia pulled her cardigan tighter, and I noticed the exhaustion starting to show around her eyes.
“You should go home,” I said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be intense.”
“Tomorrow.” She looked up at me. “Are you really nervous? About meeting with Jace and Hollis?”
“Terrified,” I admitted again. “I don’t know them well.
Don’t know if we’ll mesh or if I’ll be the odd one out.
” I paused, weighing honesty against vulnerability.
“And I definitely don’t know how to coordinate a relationship with three other people when I’ve never successfully managed a relationship with one. ”
“None of us have done this before,” Talia said, but there was confidence in her voice now. Decision made, no longer questioning. “That’s why we’re meeting. To talk through logistics, boundaries, what we each need.”
“You make pack formation sound like a business plan.”
“Everything works better with a plan.” She smiled, genuine despite the stress of the morning. “Besides, Jace seems to think the three of you talking will make things easier. And Hollis agreed.”
“Smart thinking.” I meant it. Getting the alpha dynamics sorted before adding the complexity of her presence was strategic.
She moved toward the door, then paused. “Cassian? I know you think your family baggage makes you difficult to be with. But you spent all morning solving my problems without hesitation. That’s not difficult. That’s exactly what I need.”
The fierce certainty in her voice made something warm unfurl in my chest.
After she left, I stayed in the bistro for a few more minutes, looking at the exposed wall with black mold spreading across aged wood. A problem that had seemed catastrophic this morning but was now just another challenge with a timeline and a budget.
Tomorrow I’d meet Jace and Hollis properly. We’d talk about boundaries and expectations and whether three alphas could actually coordinate instead of combust.
But tonight, I had confirmation from Talia that my instinct to help wasn’t unwanted. That solving problems for someone I cared about was part of what she valued, not something that made her uncomfortable.
My phone buzzed with a text from my father’s lawyers. Another settlement offer. Another attempt to buy my silence about the development project.
I deleted it without reading past the first line. Some bridges needed to burn.
Going through the emails I’d received today, I noted the confirmations from the contractors with the detailed timeline proposal.
I pulled up a new message to Talia: Remediation crew confirmed for Monday. Timeline back on track. See you tomorrow at 2.
Her response came quickly: Thank you for today. For not making me feel helpless. For understanding what I needed.
That’s what pack is supposed to be, I typed back. Supporting each other.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Then: See you tomorrow. We’re going to figure this out.