Episode 35 No Place Like Home #2
She nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t want to send anyone out to grab us food, not yet.” The look she gives us tells me she’s feeling a little needy and clingy, and she doesn’t want to be away from any of us.
It makes my heart turn into a puddle of goo.
“Besides,” she says, sauntering into the kitchen and yanking open the fridge door. “I want to make sure the nursery is ready and to prepare some meals and things for them, so they don’t have to even worry about what to eat when they bring back Lyla.”
I could tell her, that’s the whole point of having a pack, that they--The Calloways--can divide and conquer. But I know it won’t do any good. Ren’s set on her path.
“I’ll help,” I tell her. “We can place a grocery order for delivery for anything you need.”
The smile she flashes me is warm and a little tired, but still beautiful. “Thank you, dimples.”
She sways just a little and my pack exchange looks and then we break into action. “Why don’t you sit down, killer,” Thayer suggests, already steering her to a stool at the island. “And we’ll get breakfast started?”
Technically it’s more like lunch, but I’m not going to split hairs.
Court posts up next to our omega, cooing over the pictures she snapped of Haven, Lyla and Ren. His job is to keep her occupied while the rest of us feed our omega.
I move first. Of course I do. This is what I do, my love language.
“Alright,” I clap my hands once, already scanning the kitchen. “What are we working with?”
“I’m not sure,” Ren admits, twisting on her stool like she might pop off it to help. “Eggs, some fruit, I think there’s yogurt—”
“That’s plenty,” I cut in gently, as Court grips her thigh to hold her in place “We’ll make it work.”
Grieves huffs but moves to the cupboards, pulling things out with more force than necessary. Thayer claims the coffee maker like it’s a research project, already measuring grounds with precision, while Court keeps up a steady stream of commentary to keep Ren smiling.
Forsythe lingers for a second, watching her like he’s trying to memorize every blink, every breath—then he shakes himself and joins in, rolling up his sleeves. Good.
That’s how it should be. Even though he’s not going to be much help. But I’m not going to tell him that.
I step in close to Ren, brushing my knuckles lightly over her knee. “You stay right there, sunshine. Supervisory role only.”
She snorts softly. “Taking the lead, hm?”
“Someone has to,” I say easily. “And we both know, none of these arseholes know how to cook anything.”
That earns me a tired little smile.
Satisfied she’s settled, I move around the kitchen, slipping into something that feels a lot like instinct—cracking eggs, slicing fruit, whipping up pancake batter, nudging Grieves out of the way before he can overcook something, redirecting Court when he tries to “help” by putting away ingredients we still need.
It’s… easy.
Natural.
Exactly like I always hoped pack life would be.
While the others fall into a rhythm, I duck out of the kitchen for just a moment, padding quietly down the hall toward the nursery. I don’t really have any idea what it should look like, but if I can take another thing off my omega’s plate, I’m going to do it.
The door creaks softly as I push it open.
It’s warm. Calm. Looks ready.
Still, I make a few small adjustments—straightening the crib sheet, setting out a fresh stack of burp cloths, double-checking the monitor is charged and positioned correctly.
Something about all of this--the tiny clothes, the soft stuffies, the mobile hanging over the crib--opens a great well of longing in my chest. I want this.
I want to set up a nursery with my omega, with my pack.
I want Ren to sit in a rocking chair in the corner with her feet propped up as she tells us what to do, directs the positioning of the crib, and decorations.
Soon, I tell myself.
When I’m fairly certain the nursery is as ready as it can be, I close the door with a satisfying click.
One less thing for Ren to worry about.
One more way to take care of what matters to her.
To us.
When I step back into the kitchen, the scent of coffee hits me first, followed by combined sweet and savory scents.
Ren’s laughing at something Court said, her shoulders relaxed, her earlier tension eased just a little. Thayer nods to a plate full of food, pancakes covered in sliced berries and whipped cream, eggs and bacon.
I know without asking it’s for Ren. I brush a kiss to her temple as I set the plate in front of her. “Eat, little bird.”
She leans into me without hesitation, smiling up at me. “Thank you, dimples.”
“You know the rest of us actually cooked all that food,” Thayer says with an arched brow.
Ren nods. “Yes, but he directed you all on how to do it. He deserves my thanks.”
“And we don’t?” Grieves growls sitting with his own plate piled high with food, claiming the stool on the other side of Ren. Forsythe glares at him, but reluctantly takes another spot.
Ren hums as she chews her first bite of pancake. “No, you all do. These pancakes are divine. Perfectly cooked.”
We all watch as she devours the entire plate of food. Something settles in my chest, in my bones. For weeks we’ve watched her pick at her meals, barely eating half of what we’ve given her and now here she is consuming every crumb.
If we needed a sign that her Rejected Mate Disorder is gone, this would be it.
Forsythe’s phone rings next to his plate and he frowns at the screen, before answering and setting it to speaker phone. “Lizzie?”
“Hey, little brother.” The greeting is typical, but there's a strain in her voice that I’m not used to hearing. It makes all of my senses prickle. “How are things with Ren’s friend? Is the baby okay?”
Forsythe’s brow wrinkles as he flicks his gaze up to the rest of us. “Yes,” he answers slowly. “The delivery went well. The mother and child are both resting. We’re back at Ren’s now.”
“Good,” Lizzie says. “Good. That’s good. Listen… Have you seen the news coming out of Bravonne?”
That has me reaching for my own phone, because no, we haven’t checked anything since we took off on the airplane. But I stall out when she says urgently, “You should stay there for a while. Don’t come back.”
“What?” Forsythe spits the word.
“I mean it. Don’t come back. Not right now. Things are… they’re tough right now and they’re only going to get tougher and I don’t want you or your omega caught in the crossfire. Grams is on a warpath.”
My prime stares down at his phone, while Ren slips under his arm, and climbs into his lap, nestling into his chest, a soft purr vibrating through her, trying to soothe her alpha while he gets devastating news.
Some of the tension in his muscles relax as he wraps his arms around her, ducking his head to inhale her scent.
“You don’t want me there?” he asks eventually.
Lizzie sighs, and I can practically see her scrubbing her hand over her face.
“It's not that I don’t want you here, Sythe. It's that it’s not safe for you and Ren here. It's already… she’s all but disowned you in the media, okay? There hasn’t been an official announcement or anything, but she’s being vicious.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to arrest you for treason as soon as your plane landed, because you bonded your fated mate without crown approval. ”
“On what grounds?” Grieves growls.
“Doesn’t matter does it? And it certainly wouldn’t stick, but it wouldn’t stop her from tossing your entire pack in jail for at least a few days.”
Our entire pack. Every one of us looks at Florence, tucked into our prime’s chest like he’s trying to absorb her into his body. I know we’re all remembering the alpha care challenge, the one where the omegas were tied to chairs and put in cages, the one that threw our omega into a panic attack.
Sure, she wouldn't be restrained in any way, but she would still be in a jail cell, likely a different one from ours, alone and contained.
No. No way. We are not putting her through that.
“If you want to go back,” she says hesitantly, offering herself up if it’s what Forsythe needs, what we need. “I could manage.”
“No, cor mea. No. There isn’t a chance in hell that I would put you through that. We’re staying.” He sounds grimly determined as he says it. “It was our plan all along to move here anyway.”
“It was?” Ren and Lizzie ask at the same time.
Ren tilts in his arms to look up at him. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He smooths her blond hair back from her face. “This is your home, where you feel safe. Your family is here. Haven and Ginny and Moira. The Calloways, though I still don’t fully understand how you can view those savages as your family.”
She lets out a choked laugh and shakes her head. “But your families are in Bravonne. You’re a prince, Sythe! You can’t just… you can’t just walk away from that.”
“I can, cor mea. If it means I get to have you, that I get to love Piers in the open for everyone to see? I can do fucking anything.” Oh Jesus. I blink back the tears that have suddenly sprung to my eyes as he lifts those warm brown eyes to mine, making me the same promise he’s made to Florence.
“We’ll get dual citizenship,” Thayer adds. “It shouldn’t be too terribly hard. Once things calm down in Bravonne, we can go back whenever we want.”
“This has always been the plan, bubbles.”
Her head whips in Grieves’ direction. “Really?”
“Really, Pix. We wouldn’t ask you to give up your family for us. What kind of villains do you think we are?”
“I’ve never thought of you as a villain, pretty boy.”
I can’t help but snort at that and she gives me a sharp look. “I mean it. Did you hurt me? Yes, undoubtedly. But I always knew your reasoning for it. I understood it. Having a sense of duty doesn’t make you a villain.”
I give her a soft smile. “I know, little bird.”
“So in the meantime we just wait?” Ren asks, turning her attention back to the phone.