Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Leif
The Breakwater Hotel ballroom spills golden light across the lobby floor. I stand at the threshold, one foot on polished marble, the other still planted on the lobby carpet, as if my body can’t decide whether to enter or retreat.
Inside, crystal chandeliers catch the harbor lights, scattering prisms across the dark wood floor and the gathered crowd. The celebration of Phase One’s completion pulses with laughter and clinking glasses, all of it beckoning me forward while my instincts scream to turn and walk away.
My heart thumps so hard I’m certain the woman checking coats ten feet away must hear it, and sweat prickles along my hairline despite the air conditioning. Three weeks of careful navigation through Pinecrest without encountering Carson has left me on a constant edge.
But the teacher summit ended yesterday. Carson should be traveling back home today to prep for the start of the new school year on Monday.
The coast is clear.
I tug at my collar. Working on the island, I’ve gotten used to wearing casual button-downs and khakis loose enough to chase after an active child. Now, I chafe in a charcoal suit with subtle blue undertones, a crisp white shirt, and a tie in shades of deep indigo.
A waitress passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, the bubbles catching light like tiny stars. She pauses, offering me a glass.
I accept one. “Thank you.”
She continues into the ballroom, weaving between clusters of people without spilling a drop.
Through the open doors, I spot familiar faces. Kyle throws his head back in laughter at one of Clint’s remarks, his weather-beaten face relaxed and open. Blake stands near the windows with Dominic, both engaged in conversation with an older couple I don’t recognize.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cedar-infused candles and catered seafood, and the knot of tension between my shoulders loosens.
I’m allowed to be here. I was invited. This celebration marks the completion of a project that will bring security to Quinn’s family, for the entire Wright pack.
And for me, at least for now.
I wipe my damp palms on my thighs, the expensive fabric reminding me that I can still choose elements of my life. Carson doesn’t get to take everything.
“Mr. Leif!”
Quinn barrels across the lobby in a whirl of sparkles, Sprinkles trotting alongside her in a service vest adorned with a small bow tie. She clutches the skirt of her purple sequined dress with both hands to keep from tripping.
I crouch to her level as she reaches me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You came!”
“I promised I would, didn’t I?” The tightness in my chest eases at her presence. Quinn grounds me in ways she’ll never understand.
Sprinkles nudges my hand with his wet nose, and I scratch behind his ears. The crowd has Quinn on edge, but she’s still coping. Progress.
“Aunt Chloe says there’s going to be a chocolate fountain. And ice sculptures.” Quinn bounces on her toes, sequins catching the light. “You have to come see!”
Behind her, Blake comes up with a rueful lift of his brows. “Sorry about the escape artist. She was supposed to stay with Holden while I checked on the dessert table.”
“She’s fine.” I rise to my full height, my knees cracking. “Just sharing the excitement.”
A grin splits Blake’s beard, which winks with sparkles. “Glad you made it. Remember you’re here as a guest tonight, so no thoughts of work.”
“I’ll do my best.” I wink at Quinn. “But if there’s dancing, I don’t know if I can resist.”
Quinn giggles and fluffs her skirt.
“Good.” Blake ruffles his niece’s hair. “You deserve to celebrate, too. Your work with Quinn this summer has been invaluable.”
Before I can deflect the praise, Quinn tugs at my sleeve. “Are you coming in or not?”
The question hangs between us, simple yet loaded with meaning. Am I entering the ballroom or retreating to safety? Am I choosing to participate or observe from a distance?
“Yes.” I squeeze her small hand. “I’m coming in.”
Blake holds out a hand, revealing nails painted the same purple as Quinn’s dress. “Come on, princess. Holden is setting up the chocolate fountain.”
I follow them through the doorway, and the noise rises around me, conversations layering over music. Expensive perfume mingles with pheromones and the salt air drifting through open balcony doors.
For the first time in weeks, my breathing evens out, my pulse steadies. The room is full of people who have worked side by side to build tangible results, and the sense of shared effort settles over me.
This space is safe.
I’m allowed to be here.
I could belong.
The last thought catches me by surprise with its simplicity. I could belong here.
I weave between clusters of people, accepting calls of greeting from those who know me as Quinn’s nanny.
The resort crew dominates the center of the room, their laughter louder than the string quartet, their postures relaxed after months of tension. And at their center, drawing my attention despite my efforts to focus elsewhere, stands Emily.
Each time I turn my focus away, it drifts back to her, drawn by a gravity I can’t dismiss as simple curiosity.
She stands with her back to the windows, the harbor lights silhouetting her tall frame. The midnight blue dress she wears falls to her knees, its structured lines not attempting to hide her muscular shoulders or the strength in her arms, developed from years of physical labor.
Her steel-gray hair, which she wears pulled back on the island, has been styled in a way that emphasizes her high cheekbones and strong jawline.
Unlike many female Alphas who attempt to soften themselves in formal settings, Emily is unapologetic in a modern dress, accepting congratulations from her crew with the same authority she displays on the construction site.
And my mouth goes dry at the sight of her. The desire to move closer wars with the instinct to maintain distance, leaving me suspended between opposing forces.
She laughs at Clint’s antics, the sound carrying across the room to where I stand, and my heart rate increases.
The logical side of my brain compiles reasons to approach her. She had offered woodworking lessons, and with Quinn starting school, I’ll have more free time. Or I could thank her for all her hard work on the Homestead renovation.
Both valid reasons. Both true.
Neither revealing the deeper truth pulsing beneath them.
I want a life outside of work. A skill. A connection. A reason to stay that isn’t about duty or service or maintaining my usefulness.
The thought surfaces with unexpected clarity, forcing me to acknowledge what I’ve been avoiding since arriving on the island. In running from Carson, I traded one form of control for another. Not malicious, not cruel, but still a life defined by its margins rather than its center.
A server offers me champagne again, and this time I accept, needing to occupy my hands. The bubbles tingle on my tongue, tart and sweet at the same time.
From across the room, Emily’s eyes meet mine before shifting back to her conversation. The brief connection sends electricity up my spine, equal parts thrill and dread.
Wanting someone with Emily’s gravitational pull is dangerous. My instincts flare in warning, reminding me of every time I’ve mistaken interest for connection, every relationship where power differentials remained unacknowledged until they became insurmountable.
I place my still-full champagne flute on a passing tray, craving clear-headedness.
This isn’t Carson. Emily isn’t Carson. The comparison does her a disservice, yet I can’t silence the warning bells every time I consider stepping into the orbit of another Alpha with such obvious strength and certainty.
Still, when a moment opens and Emily stands alone at one of the high tables, I find myself moving across the room before I can second-guess the decision.
My pulse thrums in my ears as the distance between us shrinks.
Fifteen feet away, then ten, then five.
As if sensing my presence, Emily turns as I approach. “Leif. Are you enjoying the party?”
“Yes.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “The Wright Pack went all out. Congratulations on completing Phase One.”
“It was a group effort,” she says, gesturing toward her crew members, who glance my way with varying degrees of curiosity before shifting farther away to give us space.
I take a breath, steadying myself. “I wanted to thank you again for fixing Quinn’s dragon toy. The wing repair was beautiful work. When we packed it the other day, I couldn’t even see the seam.”
“It was nothing.” Once again, she dismisses the praise. “Just a bit of wood glue and patience.”
“Not nothing to Quinn.” I stand my ground despite the urge to step back, to create a safer distance. “She cherishes that dragon.”
At the mention of Quinn, Emily’s eyes light up. “She’s a good kid.”
“She is.” I wet my lips, gathering courage for what I really came to ask. “I was wondering if you were serious… that is, with Quinn starting school next week, I’ll have more free time, and you offered lessons…”
The words tumble out with less grace than planned, and I force myself to stop, take a breath, and wait for her response without filling the silence with nervous chatter.
Emily studies me, her brow furrowing in thought before it smooths out. “I have the next two weeks off before we start Phase 2.”
My pulse quickens with nervous excitement. “If you’re sure you want to give up some of your relaxation time…”
She tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “We can pick a time and start with basic techniques and tool safety.” Her lips curve into something more playful. “We’ll start with a simple project.”
“I’m hoping my mother wasn’t right, and these hands are good for more than books.” Embarrassed heat creeps up my neck. “Fair warning, though. I may be a complete disaster.”
Emily’s face softens. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been a disaster a day in your life.”
I rub the back of my neck. “You’d be surprised.”
“Well, we’ll take it slow—”
“Got you a plate.” Jared appears at Emily’s side, a napkin-wrapped bundle of silverware in one hand and two small plates balanced in the other.
His tall frame fits beside her, and he offers the larger plate without asking what she might want. As if he’s intimately aware of her preferences.
“Thanks.” She accepts it with easy grace, their fingers brushing in a casual exchange. “Leif and I were talking about some woodworking lessons during the break.”
Jared chuckles and rubs his cheek against her bare shoulder. “Of course you were.”
“Hush, you,” she says, a blush rising to her cheeks. “This isn’t work.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Amused, he turns toward me. “The crew had bets on how many days it would be before Emily got twitchy and wanted to get back to work.”
“Oh, no, don’t let me—”
“It’s too late,” Jared interrupts me. “The wheels are already turning in Emily’s head. She’s excited about the project.”
My attention jumps back to Emily, who hums in agreement as she nibbles on a puff pastry hors d’oeuvre.
A new figure joins our small gathering, the tap of his cane on the hardwood floor announcing Grady’s approach, his movements slow but not hesitant like mine were.
“There you are.” Emily shifts, making space for Grady between herself and Jared. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”
“Interviews for the article.” Grady gestures toward the group of investors near the bar. “Got some good quotes about Phase Two funding.”
Emily holds out her plate to him. “Have you eaten? They’ve got these delicious little pastry things.”
Grady leans closer with interest and plucks a mushroom cup from her plate with an easy familiarity that twists in my stomach.
She nudges her plate closer. “Eat as much as you want. You need fuel for all this schmoozing.”
Satisfaction radiates from her as he takes another hors d’oeuvre before she turns back to include me. “Grady’s writing an article about the resort for the local paper.”
The easy intimacy between them speaks of deep familiarity. The way Emily fusses over Grady, ensuring he eats. The way he leans into it. Jared’s comfortable presence at Emily’s side, bringing her food without needing to ask what she wants.
And me. The Omega in orbit around them, older than Jared, yet lacking his easy confidence when interacting with others.
He’s younger, less experienced by any reasonable measure, and still certain in a way I haven’t been for years.
Closer to Emily in age, I should be more established in my life, yet I’m stuck in quicksand.
The comparison hits harder than it should. I have no claim here, no right to feel left behind. Yet watching them interact makes me aware of how much Carson took from me, how he taught me to fear trust itself. And I want to be more than this fear.
I clear my throat. “Can I get anyone a refill? I’m headed to the bar.”
The offer comes from a need to walk off the tension tightening around my chest.
Emily touches her empty glass. “I wouldn’t say no to another seltzer with lime.”
I reach for her glass, grateful for the task, when Jared’s attention shifts past my shoulder, and his brow furrows.
“Who’s the new arrival?” he asks, stiffening with an Alpha’s territorial awareness. “By the dessert table.”
Grady turns to look, balancing with his cane. “Oh, that’s the new dean of Pinecrest Academy. Probably here to schmooze donors.”
Curious, I turn, and my stomach drops, the room tilting for a fraction of a second.
Grady squints in thought. “I believe his name is—”
The name falls from my numb lips. “Carson Whitaker.”