30. Twinkling Acceptance Of Us
Twinkling Acceptance Of Us
~WILLA~
T he ranch house swallows us in darkness and silence, a stark contrast to the hotel room we left behind with its tangled sheets and the echo of my cries still hanging in the air.
My bare feet whisper against the wooden floors, and I have to concentrate on each step because my body feels like it's been taken apart and reassembled by someone who lost the instruction manual halfway through.
Everything aches in that delicious way that makes me want to both collapse and do it all over again.
A yawn cracks my jaw wide, the third one since we pulled into the driveway, and I lean heavily against the doorframe while Mavi locks up behind us. His flannel hangs to mid-thigh on me, soft and worn and carrying his scent so strongly I feel wrapped in him even though he's three feet away.
My dress is somewhere in his truck, probably crumpled beyond salvation, along with my dignity and any pretense that I'm not completely, utterly wrecked by what just happened.
"This is your fault," I mumble through another jaw-popping yawn, rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Every bit of it."
Mavi huffs, a sound caught between amusement and indignation as he pockets his keys.
"You ain't blaming the alcohol but me. That's not nice." His voice carries that particular rough edge it gets when he's tired but trying to stay alert, probably from years of late-night surveillance or whatever mysterious things occupied his time before fate dumped me on his doorstep.
"The alcohol was also your fault," I point out, though the words come out slurred with exhaustion. "You bought it. You let me drink it. You..." Another yawn interrupts my litany of accusations. "You did things that made me very, very tired."
Even in the darkness, I can feel his smirk.
"Things, huh? That what we're calling it?"
Heat floods my cheeks despite my exhaustion.
"Shut up. I'm too tired to be embarrassed right now. Ask me again in the morning when my brain works."
His hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers threading through mine with a certainty that makes my chest tight.
"Come on, troublemaker. Let's get you to bed before you fall asleep standing up."
I shuffle along beside him, my body operating on muscle memory more than conscious thought.
The house wraps around us like a living thing, all creaking boards and settling wood, the particular silence that comes from multiple people sleeping under one roof.
It's different from the aggressive quiet of Iron Ridge, where silence meant someone was angry or planning something.
This is peaceful, protective, like the house itself is standing guard while its occupants rest.
My nose picks up the familiar scents as we move through the living room—Cole's leather and pine lingering on his favorite chair, the faint sweetness of the formula Austin mixed earlier for Luna, River's earthier scent clinging to the couch where he probably fell asleep watching one of those nature documentaries he pretends he doesn't love.
Each scent is a thread in the tapestry of this place, and I'm beginning to realize my own is weaving in among them, becoming part of the whole.
"Careful," Mavi murmurs, steering me around the coffee table I'd definitely have walked into. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, a absent gesture that sends warmth spreading up my arm. "Three more steps to the hallway."
I count them off in my head, one-two-three, like a child learning to walk.
Which isn't far from the truth—I'm learning to walk through this new life, to navigate spaces where I'm wanted rather than tolerated.
My free hand trails along the wall, fingers finding the edge of picture frames I can't see but have memorized.
Cole and River at some rodeo years ago. Austin's nursing school graduation.
A candid shot of all four men with Luna that makes my heart squeeze every time I look at it.
"Do you think everyone's asleep?" I whisper, though I'm not sure why I'm whispering. Something about the darkness makes raised voices feel sacrilegious.
"Probably," Mavi answers just as quietly. "Cole passes out by eleven like clockwork. River might be up reading, but he uses those noise-canceling headphones. Austin..." He pauses, considering. "Actually, Austin's probably up with Luna. She's been fussy at night lately."
The mention of Luna sends an unexpected pang through my chest. I've been gone less than six hours, but I miss her weight in my arms, the way she smells like baby powder and innocence, how her tiny fingers curl around mine with absolute trust.
When did I become someone who misses a baby? Or thinks of this place, these people, as home?
"I miss her," I admit, the words surprising me with their truth. "Is that weird? Missing a baby I've known for less than a week?"
Mavi's hand tightens around mine.
"Not weird at all. She has that effect on people. Drew us all in, one by one, until we couldn't imagine life without her." His voice softens. "Kind of like someone else I know."
My throat closes up at the implication, at the easy way he includes me in their circle.
I want to say something, to acknowledge the gift of it, but another yawn steals my words. My eyelids feel weighted with lead, and I'm grateful for Mavi's steady presence guiding me through the darkness.
The hallway stretches before us, longer than I remember, or maybe that's just my exhaustion distorting distance.
Our joined hands swing slightly between us, and I'm struck by how natural this feels. Not the careful distance I maintained with Blake, always aware of boundaries and expectations. Just two people holding hands in the dark, one leading and one trusting enough to follow.
"Almost there," Mavi promises, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Think you can make it, or do I need to carry you again?"
"Don't you dare," I threaten without heat. "I've been carried enough for one day. My dignity can't take anymore."
"Your dignity seemed fine an hour ago when you were?—"
"Finishing that sentence will result in violence," I interrupt, though we both know I'm too tired to follow through on any threats. "Slow, calculated violence when I'm capable of movement again."
His chuckle vibrates through our joined hands, and I find myself smiling despite my exhaustion.
This is what I missed all those years with Iron Ridge—this easy affection, the teasing that comes from fondness rather than cruelty, the simple pleasure of being guided through the dark by someone who actually cares if I stumble.
My bedroom door looms before us, and I prepare myself for the simple pleasure of falling face-first into my bed.
Just a few more steps, then blessed unconsciousness where I don't have to think about everything that's changed, everything I want, everything that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
Mavi's hand on the doorknob pauses, and he turns to look at me in the darkness. I can barely make out his features, but I feel the weight of his gaze, the consideration in it.
"What?" I ask, swaying slightly on my feet.
"Nothing," he says after a moment, but his thumb makes another pass over my knuckles before he turns the handle. "Just... welcome home, Willa."
The words sink into my bones, settling next to all the other impossible things I'm beginning to believe might be true. Home. The concept feels foreign and perfect on my tongue, even if I don't say it out loud.
One day, when I'm brave enough to claim it.
The door swings open, and I have to blink several times because what I'm seeing doesn't compute with the simple bedroom I left this morning.
Soft fairy lights crisscross the ceiling like captured stars, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that makes the space feel like something out of a dream. My exhaustion evaporates in the face of pure shock, my mouth falling open as I try to process the transformation.
The room glows with warmth that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with care.
Where my simple bed used to be, there's now a massive cushioned area that takes up half the floor space, piled high with pillows and blankets in soft creams and pale blues.
Fresh flowers—wildflowers from the meadow behind the barn—fill mason jars on every surface, their sweet scent mixing with something else, something that makes my omega instincts purr with contentment.
Plush toys peek out from between pillows, and is that—y es, that's definitely a stuffed bear wearing a tiny cowboy hat.
A baby's squeal cuts through my stupor, high and delighted, and my eyes fly to the source.
Austin stands near the window, Luna bouncing in his arms with her chubby hands reaching toward me like I'm her favorite toy come to life. She's in a onesie covered in little moons and stars, her mismatched eyes bright with excitement despite the late hour.
The sight of her, safe and happy and reaching for me, makes something crack open in my chest.
"There she is," Austin says, his smile soft and knowing as Luna continues her happy babbling. "Someone refused to sleep until you got home. I think you've been officially claimed, Willa."
My gaze sweeps the room, taking in details my overwhelmed brain initially missed.
River sits cross-legged on the floor near the cushioned area, his old acoustic guitar resting across his lap.
His fingers are still poised over the strings like he was mid-song when we walked in.
He offers me one of those gentle smiles that makes me feel seen in ways that should be uncomfortable but aren't.
"Hey, sunshine," he says, voice warm as honey. "Was just practicing that lullaby Luna likes. The one about the horses."
Movement in the corner catches my eye, and I have to bite back a laugh.