Chapter 39 #2
Chloe’s head cocks to the side, her rose-quartz gaze guileless. “So you’re saying you didn’t stalk our nanny from Westbrook and try to force him into an unwanted courtship, again, by threatening our pup’s safety?”
Whispers rise up and down the hall.
I see the moment Carson realizes it’s really over. Not because of the investigation or the recording or even the Wright Pack standing at my back, but because the silent witnesses lining the hallway have collectively withdrawn the one thing he needs. Their belief in his version of reality.
He straightens his jacket with a sharp tug and glares at the crowd with disdain. “I’ll be addressing these fabrications through proper channels.”
Then he turns, footsteps echoing on the tile as he heads for the exit. The crowd parts around him, not with the old deference, but with the wary distance people give something foul they no longer intend to touch.
When Carson disappears through the double doors at the end of the hall, Chloe turns to Mrs. Peterson’s class. “I believe we’re here for a party! Who wants cupcakes?”
Her deflection breaks the tension, and the crowd disperses.
Mrs. Peterson takes the cue and claps her hands, directing her students down the hall to the movie room.
Quinn stands at the back, Sprinkles at her side. Her wide brown eyes lock on me, her bottom lip trembling until Nathaniel swoops forward to gather her in his arms and follow the rest of her class.
Only Blake remains, and he turns to me.
“I owe you an apology,” he says without preamble.
“I should have seen what was happening. I should have asked more questions when you brought up Carson’s suggestion for you to be more active at school.
I assumed you would speak up if things were bad.
It was my mistake. I put the responsibility on you instead of creating an environment where you felt safe enough to come forward. ”
I shake my head. “No, it’s my fault—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Whatever backlash follows, you won’t face it alone again.
You’re pack, Leif. We should have made that clear sooner.
If you’re open to it, we want to make it formal so you have the Wright Pack protection legally registered.
No one will ever be able to force your hand again. ”
A lump forms in my throat. Never in my life would I have dared to hope for such a generous offer.
It’s not the same as it would have been to join Emily’s pack, where romantic feelings were involved.
But there is safety in numbers, and if the past few months have proved anything, it’s that I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
One side of Blake’s mouth quirks. “It’s what pack does. And it’s time we get you settled at Misty Pines. Your cabin is ready for you to move in. Come home with us.”
My breath catches. “I’d like that.”
“That’s settled, then.” Blake gestures to where his bondmates disappeared. “Let’s go collect the others. Kyle’s waiting at the docks for us to return.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders, and I turn to walk at his side.
The cabin door swings open on well-oiled hinges, releasing a rush of air filled with fresh-cut pine and new paint.
I stand in the doorway, one hand still on the brass knob, taking in what will be my home.
The Wright Pack had gone back to my hotel room with me to collect my belongings, then stayed by my side on the boat ride to the island.
The landscape had changed since my last visit to Misty Pines, with the construction equipment moved to the commercial side of Phase Two, away from the sleeping spaces.
The staff cabins each hold personal touches, built in different sizes in a little cul-de-sac that allows everyone a semblance of privacy.
Blake and Nathaniel had walked me to the one at the end, pressed a key into my hand, and left me alone after getting my promise to come to the Homestead for dinner.
Now, my duffel bag lands with a soft thud on the hardwood floor, the sound echoing in the quiet space. Afternoon light filters through uncurtained windows, casting long rectangles of gold across the floor. I step inside and close the door behind me, sealing myself into this new reality.
The cabin is small but thoughtfully arranged, a main room with a kitchenette along one wall, a bedroom visible through an open doorway, an office, and a bathroom in between.
Bare walls painted a soothing cream await personal touches. A simple couch covered in navy blue fabric occupies the center of the room, a coffee table crafted from reclaimed wood, and a reading lamp with a paper shade. When I flip the switch, it casts a warm glow.
I move to the kitchenette, running my fingers along the smooth countertop. A single mug sits beside the coffee maker, the handmade ceramic a deep forest green. My favorite color. I wonder who remembered that detail.
The refrigerator hums quietly, and when I open it, I find it already stocked with milk, eggs, butter, cheese, and a loaf of bread from the bakery in town.
The bedroom contains a queen bed with a simple frame, topped with a handmade quilt of blue and green. I recognize it as one Emily was working on back in November. My throat tightens at the sight, and I turn away before I break out in tears.
My steps carry me back to the main room, where I come to a stop when I spot the bookshelf. My fingers tingle with the memory of sandpaper smoothing over the woodgrain. The threat of tears increases, and I turn in a circle, spying the shoe rack by the back door that leads into a simple garden.
I kneel beside it, my fingers tracing a small burn mark on one corner where the sander slipped. I remember the days we spent building it together in her wood shop, her patient instructions as she taught me to use the table saw.
The memory sends a pang through my chest, sharp enough to make me catch my breath.
These pieces were meant to be the start of a different life, one where I would wake in Emily’s cottage to the sound of her kneading bread dough in the kitchen, where Jared and I would drink coffee on the porch while watching the sun rise over the trees.
A life of belonging that I sacrificed in my misguided attempt to handle everything alone.
The cabin feels larger than it should, the silence settling around me with the reminder of what’s missing.
Through the window, I can see the Homestead in the distance. Lights glow in the windows, connected but still separate. That’s what Blake offered. A place in their pack, but I’m not part of their family.
I run my hand along the shoe rack one more time, remembering Emily’s words.
“It takes time, but all good things do.”
I have time now.
Time to prove that the life I lost is one I’m willing to earn back, no matter how long it takes.
Starting tomorrow, I will begin building again.