Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Levi
It takes me longer than I want to admit before I realize something is wrong. Twenty minutes, maybe more.
At first, I thought she’d just gone to the bathroom. She’d looked pale, perhaps even overwhelmed, so I figured she was catching her breath.
But twenty minutes is too long.
My mother excuses herself to check, and when she comes back shaking her head, saying the powder room is empty, my stomach drops.
“She must’ve stepped outside,” Beau says quickly, though his voice doesn’t sound as sure as his words.
Simon is already half out of his chair, his glasses glinting under the chandelier light. “I’ll check the porch.”
I follow him. The door creaks as we step into the night. The cool air greets us, crisp with the scent of pine and the faint smoke from someone’s fireplace down the street.
Empty. No Wren on the porch swing, no familiar laugh in the yard.
“She’s not here.” Simon’s voice is clipped, his jaw tight. He’s already pulling his phone from his pocket, scrolling to her name. He presses call.
I wait for the sound of her ringtone, hoping it’ll echo somewhere close. Nothing.
“It went straight to voicemail,” he mutters, shoving his phone back into his coat pocket. His eyes are flashing with worry, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour. I can almost see the list of possibilities he’s working through.
We head back in, and my parents look up immediately, reading our expressions before we say a word.
“Is everything all right?” my mother asks, her brows pinching.
“She’s not here,” I tell her, guilt threading through every word. “I think she slipped out without saying anything.”
Simon clears his throat. “She wasn’t feeling well earlier. Maybe she just needed air.”
Beau shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. His voice is sharper than usual. “No, she wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling us.”
The look on my father’s face hardens. “Then you boys need to go find her. Now.”
I glance at my mother, and she’s already rising from her chair, brushing her hands on a dish towel.
“Go,” she says firmly. “Don’t worry about us. Find her.”
I feel like a kid again, being dismissed by my parents. But there’s no hesitation this time.
I mutter an apology, a promise to explain later, and we’re all moving at once, bundling into Beau’s truck, gravel crunching under our boots as we climb inside.
“Where would she have gone?” Beau asks, starting the engine. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
Simon shakes his head. “If she felt sick, she might’ve gone home.”
“Café first,” I say. My voice is a command more than a suggestion.
The drive feels longer than it should; the truck is too quiet, except for the hum of the tires. Every scenario runs through my mind.
Did she faint somewhere on the walk? Did someone stop her? The thought twists like a knife in my gut.
We pull up in front of the café, and my heart sinks immediately.
The place is dark, with chairs stacked neatly inside; the “Closed” sign hangs in the window. No light, no Wren.
Simon tries her again, but it goes straight to voicemail. His muttered curse cuts through the silence.
“Maybe she went to Norah’s?” I suggest clinging to the hope. “They’re glued together half the time.”
Beau’s already pulling away from the curb, turning us toward Norah’s street. My pulse hammers in my ears, each block dragging longer than the last. When we pass by, the windows are dark and there’s no car in the driveway.
I can’t take the silence anymore. “Simon, maybe she’s at the hospital. Can you call? Just—just in case.”
He doesn’t argue. His phone is out in seconds, dialing the front desk. I hear his professional tone kick in, but his knee is bouncing restlessly. The answer comes quickly. He hangs up, shaking his head.
“She’s not there. No one’s checked in tonight under her name.”
Beau curses, slamming his palm against the wheel. “Where the fuck is she?”
I’m gripping the door handle so tight my knuckles ache. My mind is clawing at every possibility, but they all circle back to the same raw fear—she’s out there, alone, and not answering us.
We circle the town twice. The bookstore, the square, the grocery store parking lot. Nothing. Her phone is still off.
It feels like hours before Beau’s phone finally buzzes. He jerks it off the console, thumb swiping so fast he nearly drops it.
“Hello?” His voice is desperate, rough.
Relief surges the second I hear Norah’s voice. “Beau, it’s me.”
“Where the hell are you?” His voice cracks, and he glances at me and Simon, eyes wide.
“Put it on speaker,” I bark, my chest heaving.
He fumbles but taps it, and her voice fills the cab. “I’m with Wren.”
My lungs seize. Thank god. “Where?” Simon demands, his tone sharp enough to cut.
“We’re at the Fernbridge trail,” she says.
I blink. “The trail? At night?”
“What the hell are you doing out there?” Beau growls.
“She called me,” Norah says firmly, her voice calm in a way that sets my nerves even more on edge. “She needed me. I’m with her now. She’s safe.”
“Safe how?” I ask, my voice low, my throat dry. “Is she hurt? Sick? Tell me what’s going on.”
Norah exhales. “She’s not hurt. She’s… overwhelmed. There’s something she needed to talk about, and I’m helping her through it. That’s all I can tell you for now.”
“That’s not good enough,” Simon snaps. He’s leaning forward between the seats, his glasses slipping down his nose. “She disappears from dinner without a word, won’t answer her phone, and you want us just to take your word that she’s fine?”
“Yes,” Norah says simply. “Because she asked me to handle this. And I am. But,” her voice softens, “you should come. She’ll need you. Don’t push. Not tonight.”
I close my eyes, relief mixing with frustration. She’s alive. She’s safe. But my gut still twists because something’s wrong, something she couldn’t even tell us.
Beau looks at me, then at Simon. His voice is ragged when he asks, “What the hell do we do?”
Simon exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We go. We wait. We listen. Whatever it is, she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
My hands clench on my knees. It goes against every instinct in me not to demand answers, not to tear through the trail right this second until I have her in my arms. But Norah’s words replay in my head. Don’t push.
I nod slowly. “Drive, Beau.”
He slams his foot on the gas. Gravel spits from the tires as we head toward Fernbridge.
All I can think is that when I see her—when I finally lay eyes on her—I’m not letting her out of my sight again.
The truck’s headlights sweep over the gravel pull-off at Fernbridge Trail. My chest is so tight it feels like it might crack. And then I see her.
She’s standing beside Norah’s car, swallowed up in an oversized sweater I recognize instantly as Norah’s, her curls pulled back messily like she didn’t care what she looked like.
Even from this distance, I know she’s been crying. Her cheeks are blotchy, her lips bitten raw. My heart twists so violently I nearly double over.
We barely kill the engine before all three of us are climbing out. Norah catches our eyes, holding her hands up. “I’ll give you a minute,” she says quietly, and she slides into her car, shutting the door behind her.
The sound of her engine starting fades into the night, leaving only the three of us and Wren under the beam of Beau’s headlights, surrounded by the rustle of trees and the faint rush of the creek down below.
I don’t even think. My boots crunch over gravel until I’m in front of her, reaching for her arms.
“Baby,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “What is going on? Why did you run?”
Her eyes glisten, and she lifts her hand. Something small and white catches the light. My gut freezes as I see what it is. Not one. Not two. Four.
Pregnancy tests.
Her voice cracks as she speaks. “We went to the nearest town so no one would see me buying them. I took four. All positive.” She swallows, her hand trembling as she holds them out like evidence. “I’m pregnant.”
The world tilts. I hear Beau suck in a breath. Simon goes still beside me, his glasses catching the headlights, his face unreadable for one long, excruciating second.
My own pulse pounds in my ears so loud I can barely hear.
She hugs the tests to her chest, as if they might shield her from our reaction. Her voice is small, desperate. “Say something. Please.”
Simon is the first to move. He steps forward, wrapping her in his arms so tight she disappears against his chest. His voice is low and steady, the one he uses in the ER when everything is falling apart.
“Sweetheart, breathe. Just breathe. We’re not upset. Just surprised. That’s all. Can you tell us how you’re feeling? What happened?”
Her fingers clutch his shirt as if she’s drowning. She shakes her head, tears spilling again.
“I know I screwed everything up. I know this wasn’t part of the plan.
You didn’t sign up for this, and I didn’t either.
And now—now I’m ruining everything before it even begins.
I was supposed to have more time before this…
fuck! I should have been more careful. I know you guys have your careers, and I have the café, and then there’s… ”
“Stop,” Beau cuts in sharply, his voice rough. He steps forward, gripping her arm. “Fuck the plan. You hear me?” His eyes flash in the dark, fierce and confident.
She shakes her head hard, pulling back enough to look between us. Her voice is broken glass.
“No. I know what a child can do to a relationship. I watched it happen. My father resented my mother for tying him down. He took it out on us every day. I saw how the bond between them withered, leaving only anger and obligation. I will not do that to you. I won’t force any of you into something you don’t want. ”
I can’t listen to another word. My hands cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Listen to me, Wren. We marked you. All three of us. That means you’re ours. And we’re yours. You own us just as much as we own you.”
Her eyes shine, wide and scared.
“We love you,” I whisper fiercely. “And this”—I glance down at her trembling hands, those little plastic sticks clutched against her chest—“is not a mistake. This is an extension of everything we already feel for you.”
Simon nods, his hand smoothing up and down her back. “Levi’s right. This doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the thought that you’d feel like you have to hide something from us. That you’d run instead of letting us hold you through it.”
Her lip trembles. “I didn’t know how to say it.
I panicked, and when I panic, I run. I left this town as soon as I could.
I left that city and ran back here. And today, when I realized that I might be…
that I was… I don’t know. My instincts kicked in, and I ran again.
All I could hear in my head was my father talking about how hard it was to have a family.
All I could see was you guys resenting me for doing this to you. ”
“You did not do this to us!” I tell her.
“Do we have to remind you how babies are made? I know it’s scary.
Having a baby must be so scary, but we’ve got you.
We’ve got this. We are not your father. None of us is our families, babe.
We are the start of something new. We are the start of something pure and good… and ours.”
“And I know you run. I know you think that you ran to this town, and maybe that’s true, but I want us to try something new this time around.
When you feel the need to run, run toward us.
Next time,” Simon says gently, “let us be your escape. You know you can tell us anything. Say anything. Say it messy. Say it scared. Say it however you need to, but say it to us. There’s nothing you could tell us that would make us walk away. ”
Beau’s fists are at his side, like he’s restraining himself from shaking sense into her. “You think a baby will break us? You’re out of your damn mind. A baby with you, Wren, that’s… Christ, that’s the best thing I could imagine.”
Her sob breaks loose, and I catch her before her knees can buckle. She’s shaking in my arms, sobbing into my chest, and I press my mouth to her hair. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Simon tips his forehead against hers. “We’ll take care of you. Of both of you. But first things first—you’re coming to the hospital tomorrow. They’ll run tests, ensure everything is progressing as it should, and verify that you’re healthy. That’s the only thing that matters right now.”
Her fingers clutch at his arm, desperate. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” I repeat, pulling her back enough to see her face. “Sweetheart, the only thing I’m mad at is myself—for not being there when you found out. For letting you carry this alone even for a second.”
She looks at Beau, then Simon, back to me, her face streaked with tears. “I’m sorry for running at dinner.”
“You’ll be forgiven the moment we tell my parents they’re going to be grandparents,” I murmur, brushing her damp curls from her cheek. “Trust me, that’ll buy you a lifetime of forgiveness in their eyes.”
Her breath catches. “A baby.” The words come out almost reverent, like she’s tasting them for the first time.
I press my lips to her temple. “Yeah, baby. Our baby.”
Simon’s arms wrap around both of us from behind, Beau pressing in at her other side until she’s cocooned between us, her small body swallowed up by three men who would burn the whole damn town before letting her feel alone again.
Her sobs soften into hiccups, her breath stuttering against my chest as she clings to all of us at once.
When Beau finally speaks, his voice is steady, his hand smoothing circles over her hip. “Tomorrow, we go to Hazel and Vine. We register as a pack. Officially. Our scents are on file. Our bond is recognized.”
Her head jerks up, her green eyes wide. “You’re sure?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life,” I tell her. “This is it, Wren. We’re not going anywhere.”
Simon kisses the crown of her head. “And you don’t have to carry a single bit of this alone.”
Beau leans down, his forehead pressed to hers. “We’re yours. Forever. Nothing changes that.”
The words break something inside her. She whispers it back, almost to herself, as if trying to believe. “Forever.”
“Forever,” I echo.
When her tears spill again, this time they aren’t just fear. They’re relief. They’re love.
They’re the beginning of everything we didn’t even know we wanted until now.