Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
SASHA
The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, golden light shines through the trees as I drive toward our meeting spot. The familiar sites should settle me, but my mind is anything but calm. Today feels different. This isn’t just another outing, not just another night with the four of us, it’s more.
Flynn is in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh, his usual nervous energy coiling beneath his skin. His scent—soft, warm, laced with something hesitant yet undeniably alluring—fills the car, making my own instincts stir. Omegas have never drawn me in except Nadia with her quiet strength and softness. But Flynn? He’s something else entirely.
“You’re quiet,” I say, breaking the silence.
Flynn glances at me, the corners of his lips twitching upward before he looks away. “Just… thinking.”
I don’t push him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Flynn, it’s that he’ll talk when he’s ready.
The parking lot is empty when we arrive, but Levi’s black motorcycle is already there. He’s leaning against it, scrolling through his phone, but when he sees us, he straightens, his sharp caramel eyes flicking between me and Flynn.
“You two ready?” he asks, a knowing look in his gaze.
Flynn exhales, nodding. “As I’ll ever be.”
Levi smirks, but doesn’t push. Instead, he leads the way toward the trailhead. Stone will be here soon, but he doesn’t know why we’ve asked him to come. Not yet.
We walk in comfortable silence, the forest around us humming with life. Flynn stays close, his shoulder brushing mine every so often, and Levi glances back at us with something unreadable in his expression.
When we reach the clearing, the three of us step aside, waiting. The space we created for Stone’s sister is simple but meaningful. Candles, unlit for now, are arranged around a large, flat stone. Flowers, wild and growing freely, bloom in the spaces between. A framed picture rests against the base of the stone, slightly weathered but still intact. It’s a place for her, for Stone, for the grief he never got to process properly.
A few minutes later, footsteps crunch along the trail. Then Stone appears.
He stops short at the sight before him, his entire body goes still. His eyes widen, flicking between the arrangement, the picture, and then us. “What…?” His voice is rough, caught somewhere between shock and something deeper, something raw.
Flynn is the first to step forward, his arm outstretched before he cups Stone’s face. “We wanted to give you this,” he says softly. “A place to remember her.”
Stone swallows hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “You did this… for me?”
Levi steps closer, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something more sincere. “Yeah, man. You never had a chance to say goodbye. Thought maybe… this could help.”
Stone exhales, a shaky, uneven sound, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he walks forward, kneeling beside the stone. His fingers trace over the frame, lingering on the image of his sister.
I step up beside him, crouching down. “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him quietly. “Just be here.”
His throat bobs as he nods, his gaze fixed on the picture. “She would’ve liked this.”
Flynn kneels on his other side, his voice just above a whisper. “Tell us about her.”
Stone hesitates, but only for a moment.
The story is raw, unfiltered. A sister taken too soon. A brother left with too many words unsaid. A wound that never quite healed. And through it all, Flynn listens. Not just listens—absorbs. Takes it in like it’s his own grief, his own loss. I realize, with startling clarity, that this is who Flynn is.
He feels. Deeply. Fiercely. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what’s been scaring him this whole time.
When Stone finishes, the quiet lingers. Flynn exhales slowly, then reaches out, fingers brushing against Stone’s wrist in the briefest, softest touch. “She’d be proud of you.”
Stone doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.
Levi clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Alright. We’re getting too serious. Someone say something stupid.”
Flynn snorts. “I once got my head stuck in a chair when I was eight.”
I blink. “How?”
“I thought it would be fun to see if I could fit. Turns out, I could. Just not back out.”
Levi barks out a laugh, and even Stone shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Levi says, grinning.
“Hey, I was eight,” Flynn protests, but there’s a smile playing on his lips now, something lighter threading through the moment.
I nudge him with my shoulder, an easy, instinctive touch. “You’re an idiot.”
He glances at me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I’m your idiot.”
My breath catches, and I know that us… this pack, it’s shifting, molding into something new, something we all needed but didn’t know was out there.
Flynn looks at each of us in turn—Stone, Levi, me—and then exhales, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding on to for far too long.
“I want this,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “All of it. All of you.”
Silence. Not the kind that comes from uncertainty, but the kind that comes from something falling into place. Something inevitable.
Then, Levi grins, stepping closer, pressing his palm against Flynn’s cheek. “Took you long enough.”
Stone exhales, a slow, measured sound, and nods.
And me? I just smile, because for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.
The night stretches on, the tension melting into something warmer, something real. And as we sit there, side by side, a pack forms in the quiet spaces between words.
Breaking the silence, I grin and lean forward. "We should go on a group date. We haven't had fun outside the house together. We've all gone on dates with Flynn, but we should do something as a pack."
Flynn perks up instantly, his blue eyes lighting with curiosity. "Okay, what do you have in mind?"
I smirk, already bracing for Levi’s reaction. "We should go mini-golfing at the Putt-Putt Bar."
As expected, Levi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sasha…"
"What?" Stone asks, his brows lifting with interest.
Levi exhales heavily. "Every time we go to the Putt-Putt Bar, Sasha gets beta-girl wasted and has to be put to bed like a child."
Stone bursts out laughing. "I kinda wanna see this."
Flynn blushes, biting his lip. "Me too. Also, I haven’t had a drink in years—I’d love to have a cocktail."
I gasp. "Well, that settles it! We’re going. Right now. No backing out."
Levi sighs but doesn’t argue, which means I’ve already won. Within minutes, we pile into the cars and Levi climbs on his bike. The drive is filled with laughter, music blasting from the speakers as Flynn and I dramatically belt out the lyrics to the throwback hit Big Girls Don’t Cry.
The Putt-Putt Bar is just as chaotic as ever, a neon-lit dive with music thumping from inside, laughter spilling from the patio. The smell of fried food and spilled beer lingers, and the mini-golf setup in the back glows under strands of multicolored lights.
We step up to the bar, the familiar neon glow of the Putt-Putt Bar washing over us. It’s a bit of a ritual—pay for a round of mini-golf, get your putter, pick your ball color. It’s the little things that make this place feel like home.
The bartender slides over a set of neon green and pink balls for Flynn and me, and Stone gets a bright blue one while Levi picks a classic black. I grab my purple putter, Flynn taking a shiny red one, and we head toward the bar to grab drinks before we start.
“I’ll take a Mojito,” I say, giving Flynn a side glance. “You?”
“Same,” Flynn agrees, his eyes lighting up.
Levi and Stone both roll their eyes in unison.
“Beers for us,” Levi grumbles, his voice low as he adjusts his cut.
“Cheers to that,” Stone smirks, clearly amused. The bartender quickly lines up their beers and slides them across, and we take our drinks and find a spot near the edge of the crowd.
Somehow, my Mojito’s already half gone. I’ve been nursing it through a tiny straw—and okay, maybe I’m a little buzzed. The excitement in the air sure isn’t helping.
“This place never changes,” I muse, twirling the plastic sword, skewering a lime wedge.
“That’s what worries me,” Levi mutters, eyeing me like a handler watching a tiger about to leap out of its enclosure. He takes a slow sip of his beer, already resigned to his fate.
I shoot him a mischievous grin before grabbing my putter and ball. "Come on, let’s do this."
We step onto the green, and Flynn hesitates, gripping his club with the kind of careful precision that tells me he’s overthinking every move. His lips purse in concentration as he lines up his shot.
“You play much?” I ask, nudging him lightly with my hip.
Flynn exhales. “Not since I was a kid.”
“Perfect. That means I can crush you.”
“Highly unlikely.” He smirks, giving me a glance full of quiet challenge. “I’m actually very good at handling balls.”
Levi chokes on his beer. Stone barks out a laugh, and I blink before bursting into giggles, nearly doubling over.
Flynn’s cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. “I didn’t—God, I meant?—”
“Too late,” Stone drawls, grinning as he claps Flynn on the back. “You walked into that one.”
Flynn groans, but he’s smiling now, that tension he always carries slipping away as he laughs along with us. He takes his shot, and—of course—it’s perfect. The ball rolls smoothly, weaving past obstacles before sinking neatly into the hole.
“Shit,” I mutter. “I take it back. You’re a threat.”
Flynn grins, bouncing slightly on his heels, the picture of smug satisfaction. “Told you.”
Stone steps up next, stretching lazily before setting up his shot. He makes it look effortless, barely even focusing as he sends his ball gliding across the green.
Levi sighs. “Of course, you’re good at this.”
Stone shrugs. “It’s all about instinct.”
Levi rolls his eyes and takes his turn, and despite all his brooding, he plays well. Annoyingly well.
Then it’s my turn.
I place my ball down, gripping my putter with what I hope is an air of confidence. I line up my shot, tongue caught between my teeth as I focus.
“You got this,” Flynn encourages, but I don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.
I inhale, swing—and miss.
“Fuck,” I hiss, adjusting my stance. “Wait, wait. That was a practice shot.”
Levi crosses his arms. “Uh-huh.”
I swing again, and the ball veers wildly off course, bouncing off the side of a fake rock before rolling directly into a nearby planter.
Silence.
Stone snorts. “Yeah, this is gonna be fun.”
Flynn is outright giggling now, pressing his fingers to his lips. “Maybe… maybe a little less power next time?”
I scowl at my traitorous putter before marching over to retrieve my ball. "Alright, wise guy, let's see if you can keep up once these Mojitos kick in."
Three holes later, Flynn and I are positively tipsy, our giggles escalating with every shot. I’m leaning against him for support, and he’s holding on to me to keep himself upright, both of us practically useless at this point.
Levi sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”
Stone, ever the enabler, just grins. “No, this is amazing.”
Flynn hiccups, clinging to my arm. “I—wait. Shit, where’s my ball?”
I point vaguely in the direction of a different hole. “I think you hit it into someone’s drink.”
“Fuck.” He leans into me, giggling uncontrollably. “I’m so bad at this.”
I throw an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m worse.”
Stone smirks. “Yeah, we noticed.”
Levi groans. “How do I always end up babysitting?”
I bat my lashes at him. “Because you secretly love it.”
He glares, but I don’t miss the way his lips twitch.
Flynn stares at his empty cup, then at me. “You want another drink?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Stone claps his hands together. “Alright, drinks first, then we finish this game.”
Flynn nods eagerly. “Deal.”
Levi sighs again, but he’s already following us back toward the bar.
Yeah, this is a disaster waiting to happen.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.