Chapter 33 Haunted Hearts & Hayrides
Haunted Hearts & Hayrides
~HAZEL~
Halloween night in Oakridge is when the town collectively agrees that scaring people for fun is totally normal and not at all psychotic.
"You look edible," Levi announces as I step out of my apartment, and I nearly trip down the stairs.
"That's not the compliment you think it is!"
"It absolutely is." He grins, taking in my outfit—the emerald sweater dress from the thrift store, paired with thigh-high socks that seemed like a good idea until I realized they make me look like I'm cosplaying as someone with actual confidence, and a pumpkin-colored scarf he insisted I wear.
"The scarf clashes," I point out.
"The scarf is festive," he corrects. "Plus, I bought it, so you have to wear it. Pack law."
"That's not pack law."
"It is now. I'm making it official."
"You can't just make up pack laws!"
"Watch me. Pack law number one: Hazel wears the scarf."
Rowan and Luca emerge from the bakery where they've been helping close up—or "helping" in Levi's case, which mostly meant eating the leftover Halloween cookies and getting in Mila's way.
"She's wearing the socks," Luca observes, and something in his voice makes me want to pull the dress down even though it's a perfectly reasonable length.
"The socks are warm," I defend.
"The socks are dangerous," Rowan corrects, amber eyes doing that thing where they go dark and hungry. "We should go before I decide we're staying in."
"But the hayride!" Levi protests. "I already bought tickets! Four tickets! Non-refundable tickets!"
"Then we'd better go," I say quickly, because the way Rowan's looking at me suggests clothes are about to become optional and we have plans.
Haunted hayride plans. Not... other plans. Though maybe later—NO. Focus, Hazel.
The festival grounds are transformed into what can only be described as Halloween thrown up everywhere in the best possible way.
Bonfires dot the landscape like flaming punctuation marks.
Fog machines work overtime to create an "atmosphere" that mostly just makes everyone cough.
The air smells like cinnamon, smoke, and that particular combination of hay and terror that only October can produce.
"Caramel apple?" Luca appears with four of them, because apparently he's been conditioned to buy everything in sets of four now.
"It's going to get stuck in my teeth," I protest, taking one anyway.
"That's half the fun," Levi says, immediately getting caramel on his nose because spatial awareness is not his strong suit.
"How do you get it on your nose? It's physically improbable!"
"I'm talented."
We wander through the booths—ring toss run by teenagers who are definitely high, face painting that's more like face abstracting, and a "guess your weight" game that Rowan forbids me from playing because "that's just asking for trouble."
"I could win a giant stuffed spider!" I protest.
"You hate spiders."
"But it's fuzzy!"
"It has eight legs."
"Fuzzy legs!"
"We're not having this argument."
But he buys me the spider anyway from the booth next door, and it's the size of a small child, and I immediately name it Fred.
"Fred?" Luca questions.
"He looks like a Fred."
"Spiders can't look like anything. They're spiders."
"Fred disagrees."
Fred comes with us on the hayride because apparently, I'm five years old and need a stuffed animal for protection.
The hayride itself is a wagon pulled by horses that look like they'd rather be anywhere else, decorated with fake cobwebs that are definitely going to be real cobwebs by tomorrow. We climb aboard with about fifteen other people, all couples, because apparently, terror is romantic now.
"Scared?" Rowan asks, pulling me against his side.
"Of a hayride? Please. I survived Levi's cooking."
"Hey! My cooking's not that—"
The wagon lurches forward, cutting off his protest, and we're plunged into darkness as we enter the "haunted" part of the trail.
The first jump scare is a zombie that pops out from behind a tree, and I definitely don't scream. The sound that emerges from my throat is more of a... strategic vocalization.
"Strategic vocalization?" Levi laughs. "You screamed like a banshee!"
"I was startled!"
"You tried to climb Rowan like a tree!"
"Instinct!"
The second scare is a chainsaw-wielding maniac, with the chain removed for legal reasons, and this time I do bury my face in Rowan's chest, which smells like cedar and safety and makes me want to stay there forever.
"It's fake," he murmurs against my hair.
"I know it's fake!"
"Then why are you shaking?"
"Adrenaline! Fight or flight!"
"You chose hide."
"Hiding is a valid response!"
Luca, meanwhile, is death-glaring at every actor who jumps out like they've personally offended his ancestors. When a werewolf—someone in a questionable fur suit—howls at us, Luca actually growls back, and the actor breaks character to mutter "Jesus, dude."
"Did you just alpha-posture at a teenager in a costume?" I whisper.
"He startled you."
"He's doing his job!"
"Badly."
The wagon jolts to a stop in the middle of the fog-shrouded woods, supposedly for "mechanical difficulties" but really to build tension. The fog is so thick we can barely see the other passengers, and the sounds of the night—owls, wind, possibly actual murderers—create the perfect ambiance.
Levi leans close, his breath hot against my ear.
"Bet I could make you scream louder than that ghost."
I swat him, but I'm laughing and definitely blushing, and the couple across from us is staring.
"Behave!" I hiss.
"Never." He grins. "Pack law number two: Levi doesn't behave."
"That's already a universal law."
"Now it's official."
The wagon starts moving again, and the final scare is actually impressive—a full graveyard scene with fog and lighting and zombies that look almost real. One reaches for me, and I grab the first thing available.
Which is Fred.
Which I throw.
At the zombie.
Who catches it and looks confused.
"Did you just assault an actor with a stuffed spider?" Rowan asks.
"Fred volunteered as tribute!"
"Fred is inanimate!"
"Fred is brave!"
The actor, still holding Fred, breaks character completely. "Ma'am? Do you...want this back?"
"Yes, please," I squeak, and Luca has to reach over to retrieve Fred while the entire wagon tries not to laugh.
"We're never living this down," he mutters.
"We could move," I suggest.
"After all that renovation? Not a chance."
The ride ends with us disembarking to scattered applause—apparently, my spider-throwing has made me festival famous—and we escape to a quieter corner by one of the bonfires.
"That was mortifying," I moan, clutching Fred like he can protect me from my shame.
"That was hilarious," Levi corrects, pulling me down onto a hay bale. "You're a legend now. The Omega who fought back with plush weapons."
"I panicked!"
"You improvised," Luca says, appearing with mugs of hot cider that smell like autumn in liquid form. "With style."
"With a spider."
"A stylish spider."
Rowan settles behind me, arm draped over my shoulders, and I lean back into his warmth. The bonfire crackles, sending sparks into the night sky like tiny wishes. The cider is perfect—not too sweet, not too spiced, just warm enough to chase away the October chill.
"This is nice," I say without thinking.
"The cider?" Luca asks.
"All of it. This. Being here. Not being afraid."
"You were terrified on the hayride," Levi points out.
"That's different. That was fun scared. Not real scared."
They understand. After years of real fear—of Korrin, of failure, of being not enough—fake fear feels like freedom.
"First good Halloween in how long?" Rowan asks quietly.
"Since high school. Before everything got complicated."
"Everything's still complicated," Luca points out.
"Good complicated though. The kind with stuffed spiders and three Alphas who buy me too many caramel apples."
"Four," Levi says, producing another one from somewhere. "I got an extra."
"Where were you hiding that?"
"Trade secret."
He leans in, kissing me quick and sweet, tasting like cinnamon and mischief and that particular Levi flavor that's sunshine and chaos mixed together.
When he pulls back, there's caramel on my nose.
"You got it on me!"
"Sharing is caring."
"That's not—"
Fireworks explode overhead, cutting off my protest.
The town always does them for Halloween—not as big as Fourth of July, but pretty enough. They reflect in the bonfire smoke, creating double explosions, and I tilt my head back to watch.
"Make a wish," Rowan murmurs.
"Don't need to."
"Everyone needs wishes."
"Not when you already have what you wanted."
His arm tightens around me, and Luca's hand finds mine, and Levi's head drops to my shoulder, and we sit there watching the sky explode in controlled bursts of beauty.
This feels like the first Halloween I've actually loved in years.
No. More than that.
This feels like the first time I've let myself believe that joy and safety can exist together. That I can be happy without waiting for the other shoe to drop. That three Alphas can want me without wanting to change me, control me, make me smaller.
"You're thinking too loud," Levi mumbles against my shoulder.
"How can thinking be loud?"
"Your face gets all scrunchy."
"It does not!"
"Does too. Like you're doing calculus."
"I don't even remember calculus."
"Neither does Levi," Luca says dryly. "Failed it twice."
"Once! The second time was algebra!"
"That's worse."
"Numbers are hard!"
"You run a ranch. That requires math."
"That requires Luca doing math while I look pretty."
They bicker over my head while fireworks paint the sky, and I realize I'm smiling. Not the careful smile I perfected during my marriage, not the customer service smile I wear at the bakery, but a real, unguarded, probably goofy smile that makes my cheeks hurt.
"Happy?" Rowan asks, noticing.
"Yeah," I admit. "Really happy."
"Good. You deserve to be happy."
"We all do."
Another firework explodes—purple this time, painting everything in violet light for a moment.
In that light, I can see my pack clearly: Levi still somehow covered in caramel despite multiple napkins, Luca pretending he's not cold even though he's shivering slightly, Rowan solid and warm and present behind me.
"Next year," Levi announces, "we're doing couple costumes."
"Pack costumes," Luca corrects.
"I am not being a sexy anything," I state firmly.
"Sexy baker?"
"That's just me in my apron."
"Exactly!"
I throw Fred at him, which starts a stuffed spider war that has nearby festival-goers giving us wide berth. We're those people now—the chaotic pack that can't go anywhere without causing a scene.
And I love it.
"Home?" Rowan asks eventually, when the fireworks end and the bonfires start dying down.
"One more cider," I request. "It's not midnight yet."
"Cinderella rules?" Levi teases.
"Halloween rules. The magic ends at midnight."
"The magic doesn't end," Luca says quietly, and when I look at him, his gray eyes are serious. "Not anymore. Not with us."
My chest goes tight with emotion I don't have words for, so I kiss him instead. Then Rowan. Then Levi, who tastes like he's eaten possibly every caramel apple in existence.
"How are you still eating caramel?"
"I'm talented!"
"You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously handsome."
"That too."
We stay until the last bonfire is just embers, until the fog machines run out of fog, until Fred has been through so many adventures he's missing an eye.
"Battle-scarred," I declare, adjusting his remaining googly eye.
"Like his owner," Rowan says softly.
"Not scarred anymore," I correct. "Healing. Healed, maybe."
"Healing is not linear," Luca points out.
"Thanks, fortune cookie."
"I'm profound!"
"You're freezing. Come on."
We walk home through streets littered with candy wrappers and abandoned costume pieces, past jack-o'-lanterns beginning to sag, under streetlights that flicker like they're tired too.
"Thank you," I say as we reach my apartment. "For tonight. For the hayride. For not laughing when I threw Fred."
"We definitely laughed," Levi admits.
"Internally!"
"Very externally."
"You love us anyway," Rowan says confidently.
"Unfortunately."
"Fortunately," Luca corrects.
"Jury's still out."
But I'm smiling as I say it, clutching my battle-damaged spider, covered in hay and probably some caramel, feeling more myself than I have in years.
And one traumatized stuffed spider.
The first Halloween where I remembered what it feels like to be actually, truly happy.
Even if Fred is definitely going to need therapy after tonight.