Chapter 17 Cassian
CASSIAN
Three days.
That's how long Ben lasted in rehab before he checked himself out like he was canceling a gym membership instead of abandoning the only shot he had at getting clean.
I'm standing in Grandpa's living room, and I can't stop moving. Pacing. Adjusting my jacket. Cracking my knuckles. The kind of restless energy that comes from knowing you're about to have a conversation that's going to go badly and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Pine's sitting in Grandpa's old leather chair like he's holding court.
His dark eyes are fixed on the front door, waiting.
His scent is controlled, but I can feel the anger underneath it.
The kind of anger that doesn't explode—it just sits there, cold and heavy, until it crushes whatever it's aimed at.
Jett's by the fireplace, looking out the window at the mountains. His jaw is tight. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets. He's got that look on his face that means he's already played this conversation out in his head about fifty times and every version ended badly.
"He's going to lie," Jett says without turning around.
"Yep," I say, because what else is there to say?
Pine doesn't say anything. He just pulls out a manila folder from beside the chair and sets it on the coffee table. That folder is the end of Ben's scheme, the end of his access to Grandpa's money, and probably the end of whatever relationship we had left with our oldest brother.
The thing about being a firefighter is you learn to spot danger before it fully develops. Smoke before fire. Heat before flame. The little signs that tell you something's about to go very, very wrong.
Ben's car pulling into the driveway? That's smoke.
When he walks through the door, I can see it immediately.
He's cleaned himself up—new clothes, hair styled, trying to look like he's got his shit together.
But his pupils are dilated. His movements are too careful, too controlled.
And his scent has that chemical edge that's been there since The Sway.
"You're high right now," I say before he even gets all the way inside.
Ben stops. His jaw clenches. "I'm managing my recovery my own way."
"That's not what I asked."
"One bump this morning," he admits, like that's somehow better. "Just to get through the day. It's not a big deal."
I look at Pine and Jett. We all know what this means. He didn't just leave rehab early. He never stopped using.
"Sit down," Pine says, and his voice has that edge to it that means he's about three seconds away from doing something physical if Ben doesn't comply.
Ben sits on the couch across from Pine, but everything about his body language screams defensive. Arms crossed. Legs spread. That particular posture of someone who's decided he's the victim here and we're all the bad guys.
"So, what's this about?" Ben asks, trying to sound casual and failing. "You drag me out here to lecture me about leaving rehab? I'm a grown man. I make my own medical decisions."
"This isn't about rehab," Pine says, pushing the folder across the coffee table toward Ben. "This is about Grandpa's will."
I watch Ben's face change. The defensive anger shifts to something sharper. More focused. Grandpa's money has always been what this was really about, and we all know it.
"What about the will?" Ben's voice is careful now. Cautious.
"It's been rewritten," Pine says. "Completely. Grandpa met with his lawyer last week. The trust has been restructured. And you've been removed as a beneficiary."
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear the old house settling around us. Creaking floorboards. Wind against the windows. The sound of Ben's world collapsing.
"You can't do that," Ben says, but his voice cracks on the last word. "That's not—Grandpa wouldn't—"
"Grandpa did," Jett says, turning away from the window. "We explained everything to him. The fraud scheme with Penelope. Your addiction. The plan to challenge the will and take control of the estate. We showed him the proof, and he made his decision."
Ben grabs the folder with shaking hands.
I watch him read through the documents, watch the color drain from his face as he realizes we're not bluffing.
The new will is clear. Everything goes to Jett, Pine, and me.
Ben gets nothing unless he can prove one full year of sobriety, verified by medical professionals and family testimony.
One year. Not the three days he already quit on. One full year.
"This is bullshit," Ben says, slamming the folder back onto the table. "This is you three choosing some omega over your own brother. You're punishing me because I had the balls to call you out on fucking the wedding planner."
I feel something hot and sharp spike through my chest. Protective instinct mixed with anger mixed with something that wants to put my fist through Ben's face.
"Don't," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Don't talk about Sharon like that."
"Why not?" Ben stands up, and now he's the one pacing. His movements are jerky, aggressive. The cocaine in his system making him bolder than he should be. "You're all so obsessed with her that you're willing to destroy your own family. You're choosing her over me."
"We're choosing Grandpa over you," Pine says, and his voice is cold enough to freeze. "We're choosing to protect a man with dementia from being robbed by his own son. Sharon just happened to be the one who helped us see what you were really planning."
"She manipulated you," Ben insists, and I can hear the desperation creeping into his voice now. "She came to Pine Hollow and wormed her way into your lives and turned you all against me. Can't you see that?"
"No," Jett says, moving closer to Ben. Not threatening, but definitely not friendly. "What we see is a brother who's been lying to us for two years, and planned to marry someone he didn't love so he could steal from our grandfather. That's what we see."
Ben looks between the three of us like he's searching for an ally and finding none. "I'm your brother. That has to mean something."
"It does," I say, and I step forward until I'm close enough to Ben that I can see every detail of his deterioration from the dull color of his skin to his hollow eyes.
"It means we got you into rehab instead of calling the cops, and we're giving you a chance to get clean and come back to this family. But that chance comes with conditions."
"One year," Pine says, tapping the folder. "One full year of verified sobriety. Regular drug tests. Proof that you're working a program and staying clean. Do that, and we'll revisit the will."
"And if I don't?" Ben asks, his voice small now. Defeated.
"Then you don't," Jett says simply. "Then you stay wherever you end up, and we move on without you."
"You can't just cut me out," Ben says, but there's no fight left in his voice. Just resignation. "I'm family."
"Family protects each other," I say. "Family doesn't steal. Family doesn't lie. Family doesn't put an old man with dementia at risk just to fund a drug habit. You stopped being family the moment you decided Grandpa's money was worth more than his safety."
Ben's eyes are red now. Whether from tears or drugs or exhaustion, I can't tell. Maybe all three.
"What about Penelope?" he asks weakly. "Is she—did she—"
"Left town three days ago," Pine says, checking his phone like he's reading old messages. "Went back to Timber Ridge to take care of her grandmother. The one who's actually dying. Haven't heard from her since."
Ben nods slowly, like that's what he expected. Like he knew she'd abandon him the moment things got hard.
"And Sharon?" Ben asks, looking at me specifically. "Is she—are you—"
"None of your business," I say, but there's no heat in it. Just facts. "What happens between us and Sharon is between us and Sharon. You don't get a say in it. You don't get an opinion on it. You lost that right when you tried to use her to cover up your fraud scheme."
Ben stands there in Grandpa's living room, and I watch him realize that he's lost everything. His fiancée. His brothers' trust. His inheritance. His place in this family.
"I should go," he says quietly.
"Yeah," Jett says. "You should."
Pine stands up from the chair with the kind of controlled movement that suggests he's holding himself back from doing something violent.
"Leave Pine Hollow, Ben. Go somewhere and get clean.
Actually commit to it this time. Do the full ninety days.
Do six months. Do whatever it takes. And when you can prove you're serious about recovery, we'll talk about what comes next. "
"And if I can't?" Ben asks.
"Then at least you'll know you tried," I say. "And we'll know we gave you every chance."
Ben moves toward the door like he's walking through water. Slow. Uncertain. When he reaches it, he stops and looks back at us one more time.
"I hope you're happy," he says. "I hope she's worth it."
"She is," I say without hesitation. "But this isn't about her. This is about you making terrible choices and us finally deciding to stop enabling them."
Ben leaves without another word. I watch through the window as he gets in his car, sits there for a long moment with his hands on the steering wheel, and then drives away.
The three of us stand there in Grandpa's living room, and nobody says anything for a while. The weight of what just happened sits heavy in the air between us.
"That sucked," Jett finally says.
"Yep," I agree.
"But it was necessary," Pine adds, his voice steady. Certain.
I pull out my phone and start texting Sharon. She needs to know what happened, and that the wedding is officially canceled, that she doesn't have to worry about him showing up and causing problems anymore.
More importantly, she needs to know that none of this is her fault. That Ben made his own choices, and we made ours, and she was just the catalyst that helped us see clearly what our brother had become.
My phone buzzes with her response almost immediately: Are you okay?
I smile despite the heaviness in my chest. That's Sharon. Always thinking about other people first. Always worried about everyone except herself.
I will be, I text back. Coming to get you in twenty minutes. You can help me not think about this for a while.
Pizza? she responds.
And brownies, I confirm.
Deal.
I pocket my phone and look at my brothers. "I'm going to get Sharon and take her somewhere that isn't here. You two good?"
"We're good," Pine says. "Go take care of our omega."
Our omega.
That's what this whole mess with Ben has really shown us. That Sharon isn't just someone we're attracted to, but someone we want to claim, if she’ll let us. Ben was right about one thing. We did choose her over him.
We just chose right for once.
I grab my jacket and head for the door. Behind me, I hear Pine and Jett starting to clean up the folder, putting away the evidence of our oldest brother's downfall. Tomorrow we'll make sure Grandpa is settled and secure.
But tonight, I'm going to pick up Sharon, feed her pizza and brownies, and make sure she understands that she's not alone in this. That whatever happens next, we're in it together.
Because that's what pack does.
And whether she's ready to admit it or not, she's already ours.