Chapter 9 #2
Maybe that was why Gideon had steered me past it so quickly on the tour. Had he been embarrassed by how overgrown they’d let it get? Or had he not wanted me to claim it as one of my havens—a place an Omega felt safest outside of her nest—unless I planned to stay?
I snapped off another dead vine and tossed it aside. Then another. My hands moved before my brain caught up, clearing a small section of the bench’s base, suddenly needing to fix something, to control something, when everything else in my life felt like an out-of-control mess.
“I could make this beautiful again,” I murmured, brushing dirt from a buried border stone. The smooth river rock was still intact underneath, just hidden.
I sat back, looking at the tiny patch of cleared earth.
“Maybe this pack is the same way. Beautiful bones. Maybe they just need someone to nurture them, like this garden needs someone to show up and start pulling weeds. And maybe this pack can do the same for me.” I said to the grove like it might answer back.
There was something about this place that settled the turmoil and made it easier to think. Easier to breathe.
This was definitely my own private little haven now.
Dusting off my hands, I picked up my phone and headed back toward the house. The path through the tall grass was just visible in the last blue light, and the windows of the main house glowed warm and amber ahead of me, beckoning me forward.
Two figures sat on the porch.
Gideon was in the rocking chair to the left of the door, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.
A novel sat closed on his knee with one of his fingers keeping his place.
River occupied the porch swing, one arm draped along the back, rocking it in a slow, absent rhythm with the toe of his boot.
Two empty mugs sat on the railing between them, and I could tell they’d been out here for a while.
And yet, they hadn’t come to find me. They’d just been here, present and patient, waiting for me to come back on my own terms. My chest squeezed at the thoughtfulness.
River saw me first. Rising to his feet without a word, he unfolded a soft, thick blanket that had been draped over the arm of the swing and moved to the top of the porch stairs.
I climbed the last step, and he settled the blanket over my shoulders, his large, warm hands lingering just long enough for his honeyed spice to wrap around me like a hug.
“You’re cold,” he murmured.
I hadn’t realized I was until the warmth hit me. “A little.”
Gideon held out a tumbler. Steam curled from the top carrying a sweet herbal scent. I took it with both hands, sighing as the heat warmed my chilled fingers.
“You made me tea?” I took a small sip and hummed happily.
Gideon’s mouth curved into one of his easy smiles. “It’s Earl Grey. I almost made you coffee but thought the lower caffeine level would be better since it’s getting late.”
I smiled behind the tumbler. The man was a sweetheart.
Since when had anyone cared if I had a hard time falling asleep at night?
But it was deeper than that. It meant someone cared about me enough to think about the little things.
I wrapped the blanket tighter and sank onto the porch swing where River had been sitting.
He lowered himself beside me, leaving enough space between us that our shoulders didn’t touch, but close enough that his warmth radiated across the gap.
Gideon watched me over the rim of his own mug—a fresh one, I noticed. He’d made himself another just so I wouldn’t drink alone.
I stared out at the dark silhouette of the mountains against the stars.
“I’m not running,” I said, because they needed to hear it, and I needed to say it out loud.
“I want you to know that. The kids don’t change anything.
If anything, they make this more real.” I took a slow breath.
“But I need some time. To find my footing. Everything is happening really fast, and I just...” I searched for the right words.
“I need a minute to figure out how to stand in all of this without losing my balance.”
The porch swing creaked as River shifted his weight. “Take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere.”
Gideon nodded, his blue eyes soft in the porch light. “We’ll follow your lead, Julia. Whatever pace you set, that’s the pace.”
I took another long sip. It was perfect. Of course, it was perfect—Gideon had been paying attention and had already noted I liked my drinks sweet.
“Can I ask you both something?” I kept my gaze on the mountains. “The bench. Under the cottonwoods, past the vegetable garden?”
The silence that followed lasted two beats too long.
“We know the spot,” Gideon hedged. The same careful, light tone. But I knew deflection when I heard it. I’d grown up in a family that had turned it into a competitive sport.
“Would you mind if I fix it up a bit? It’s a beautiful spot but the weeds have taken over and the garden is overgrown.”
River’s scent shifted. The graham cracker warmth was still there, but something heavier snuck through underneath. The swing stopped rocking as he gazed my way. “I think that’d be real nice.”
I released the breath I’d been holding, letting go of some of the tension pulling at my shoulders, and finally felt… content.
We sat there for a while, the three of us, in the kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.
The tea warmed me from the inside while the blanket kept the outside chill at bay.
Inside, I could hear the faint, low murmur of August’s voice reading a bedtime story in the living room.
The words were too muffled to make out, but the tone carried, unhurried, warm, and safe.
The kind of voice that promised monsters weren’t real and morning would always come. That everything would be okay.
The sound of it nearly undid me.
I looked down at my phone. Still no read receipt from Addy.
The guilt and the warmth sat side by side in my chest, and I let them both stay.