Chapter 18 First Pack Dinner #2
"No buts. We'll handle the Alpha bullshit. You just focus on being the beautiful, brilliant omega you've always been."
"That's not—I can't just let you fight my battles."
"Why not?" Levi squeezes her hand. "We're good at battles. You're good at making people happy. Division of labor."
"It feels selfish."
"Be selfish," I tell her, tightening my arms. "You do enough, Hazel. You feed the town joy, literally. You wake up at ungodly hours to make sure everyone has fresh bread. You remember every regular's order, every kid's favorite cookie, every dietary restriction in a fifty-mile radius."
"That's just—"
"That's everything," Luca interrupts. "You give everything to everyone. Let us give something to you."
"Protection isn't something you give."
"It is when it's freely offered," I say. "When it's chosen, not demanded."
She's been quiet for so long, I think she's not going to respond.
The October wind picks up, rattling the windows, and she shivers despite our combined warmth.
"I want to stop being afraid," she finally whispers. "I want to believe this is real. I want to trust that you won't—that this won't—"
"That we won't become him," Levi says softly.
She nods against Luca's shoulder.
"I want to learn how to be loved," she continues, voice stronger. "I've never... even before Korrin, no one ever just... loved me. Wanted me for me, not what I could do or be or provide."
"We do," I say simply. "All three of us. Separately and together."
"I want us to start tomorrow," she says, then laughs. "Or today. Now. Officially."
She turns in the circle of our arms, looking up at me with those hazel eyes that knocked me flat in tenth grade and never let me up.
"Do we need rings?" she asks. "Documents? What makes a pack official? Is there paperwork? Oh god, is Luca in charge of paperwork?"
"Hey!" Luca protests. "My paperwork is impeccable."
"Your paperwork is terrifying," Levi corrects. "You have spreadsheets for your spreadsheets."
"Organization is not a crime."
"It is the way you do it."
"Wait!" Levi suddenly bolts inside, leaving us confused on the balcony. He returns thirty seconds later with—
"Are those candy rings?" I groan.
"They're SYMBOLIC," he insists, holding out the handful of twenty-five-cent machine jewelry. "Also delicious."
"You're an idiot," Luca tells his brother.
"I'm a romantic."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
But Hazel's laughing, really laughing, taking a candy ring with the solemnity of someone accepting the crown jewels.
"I, Hazel Holloway, take you three disasters to be my pack," she says, sliding the candy ring on. "To have and to hold, in renovation and in chaos, in good bakes and burnt ones—"
"I don't burn things!" Levi protests.
"You burned WATER."
"—from this day forward," she continues, ignoring us, "as long as we all shall deal with this town's nonsense."
We each take a candy ring, and it should be ridiculous—four adults on a tiny balcony, pledging ourselves with convenience store candy—but it's perfect. It's us.
"To pack," I say, raising my candy ring.
"To pack," they echo.
We "cheers" with candy jewelry, and then Levi eats his immediately because impulse control is not his strong suit.
"Next time," Hazel says, giggling, "I'll save up so we can decorate the balcony. Fairy lights, maybe some plants that'll definitely die because I forget to water things, a better blanket..."
She heads inside, saying she'll pack up leftovers for us, leaving the three of us on the balcony.
"Fairy lights," Luca says thoughtfully.
"Plants," Levi adds.
"Outdoor heater," I suggest.
We look at each other, and the decision is made without words. Tomorrow, while she's at the bakery, Operation Balcony begins.
"She's going to be mad," Luca points out.
"She's going to love it," Levi counters.
"She's going to be mad that she loves it," I correct.
"Worth it," we say in unison.
Inside, Hazel calls something about containers, and Muffin and Ember race past in what's apparently become their evening ritual of chaos.
This is what I wanted. Not just Hazel, but all of this—the too-small apartment, the chaotic dinners, the candy rings and renovation conspiracies. Pack.
Real pack. Not the political alliances or territorial agreements of traditional packs, but chosen family. People who show up, who build instead of break, who love without conditions or contracts.
"Rowan?" Hazel calls. "Can you reach the tall shelf? Why did I put containers up there? Why am I so short? These are important questions."
"Coming," I call back, then pause. "Thank you. Both of you. For this. For her."
"Thank yourself," Luca says. "You're the one who waited years."
"We all waited," I correct. "Just for different amounts of time for the one who’s finally lighting a flame under our asses."
"Philosophical bullshit before eight PM should be illegal," Levi declares. "Go help our omega reach things. It's what you're tall for."
Our omega.
The words settle in my chest like coming home.
I head inside to help Hazel wage war against tall shelves, leaving my brothers to plan fairy light installations, and think maybe—just maybe—everything we've broken and built and become has led to exactly this moment.
Four people. Three Alphas. One omega. One pack.
And a seventy-pound dog is currently being sat on by a twenty-pound cat while Hazel laughs bright enough to light the whole town.
Worth the wait. Worth the work. Worth any fight that comes our way to challenge this blooming fruition.