Chapter 33
ELOWEN
Julian has been increasingly anxious about us meeting his family. I catch it in small things. The way he checks his phone more frequently. How he reorganizes his notes twice. The fact that he made a list of conversation topics in case there are awkward silences.
"Your mother is a social worker," Tyler points out on the way there. "She literally talks to people in crisis for a living. I doubt she'll let it get awkward."
"That's what worries me," Julian mutters. "She's very good at reading people."
"So she'll see that you're happy," I say. "That's not a bad thing."
"She'll also have something to say about me sending money home despite telling her I wasn't."
"Why?" I ask.
He shifts uncomfortably. "Pen's gymnastics fees are expensive. And Mom's been covering the mortgage alone since Dad left for Peru. It's just logical to help."
"Jules." Calder's tone is gentle but firm. "You don't have to save everyone."
Julian goes quiet, jaw tight. I know that expression, the one that means he's processing but not ready to concede.
"Your mom is going to love Elowen," Tyler says, shifting the topic with characteristic smoothness. "And Pen's going to want to adopt her as a sister immediately. Stop worrying."
"I'm not worrying."
"You've checked your phone six times in the last ten minutes."
Julian sets his phone face-down on the seat next to him. "I'm strategically planning."
"Sure. That."
Riverside is forty-five minutes from Elderwood, industrial and working-class in a way that contrasts sharply with both Millbrook's small-town charm and the Ashfords' rural wealth.
We pass factories and row houses, corner stores with hand-painted signs, a high school with a track field that's seen better days.
"There," Julian says, pointing to a side street.
The Cross home is modest but well-maintained—a small three-bedroom with vinyl siding and a neat front yard. Pen's gymnastics trophies are visible in the window, catching afternoon light.
An older sedan sits in the driveway, and a woman is already on the porch before we park.
Rebecca Cross has dark hair pulled into a practical ponytail and an expression that manages to be both tired and warmly alert. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, work shoes visible by the door.
"Julian." Her voice carries across the yard. "You're here."
There's relief in it, and love, and something else I can't quite name.
Julian's out of the car first, moving toward his mother with unusual speed. She hugs him tight, the kind of hug that says I worry about you and I'm so glad you're safe.
When they separate, Rebecca's gaze shifts to the rest of us.
"You must be Elowen." She steps forward, hand extended. "Rebecca Cross. And these are...?"
"Calder Ashford and Tyler Vale," Julian supplies. "My pack."
If Rebecca has any reaction to the phrasing, she doesn't show it. Just nods once, shakes hands with each of us in turn.
"Come in, please. I've got tea going and—Pen! They're here!"
The front door bursts open and a teenage girl bounds out—dark curly hair in a ponytail, athletic build, wearing a gymnastics warm-up jacket over leggings. Her energy is immediate and infectious.
"Finally!" Pen launches herself at Julian, who catches her with practiced ease. "I've been waiting forever. You said noon and it's 12:07, I counted—"
"Penelope. Breathe."
"I'm breathing. Hi!" She turns to us, eyes bright with curiosity. "I'm Pen. Elowen, Jules talks about you all the time, it's kind of annoying actually."
"Pen."
"What? It's true. You do." She grins at me. "I like your hair. And you're with all three of them? That's so cool."
"Inside," Rebecca says firmly, but her mouth twitches with amusement. "Let them breathe first, honey."
The interior of the house is exactly what Julian described, lived-in and loved.
The kitchen table is clearly command central, currently cleared of its usual papers.
Pen's backpack sits by the stairs, Rebecca's work bag on a hook by the door.
Photos line the walls, family pictures, Pen's competitions, Julian's academic achievements.
One photo catches my eye: a family of four, younger. Julian serious even as a child, Pen grinning gap-toothed, Rebecca and a tall alpha man with kind eyes.
"That's Dad," Pen says, following my gaze. "He's been in Peru for like eighteen months. Forever, basically."
"Pen," Rebecca says quietly.
"What? It's true. We miss him but he's doing important research or whatever."
The slight edge in her voice suggests more complicated feelings underneath.
Rebecca catches my eye, something apologetic in her expression. "Jameson's work is important to him. We support it."
The ‘even when it's hard’ goes unspoken but clear.
We settle around the kitchen table with tea and fresh cookies and Pen pulls out her phone. "Can I show you my routine? Nationals is in three weeks and I'm freaking out a little."
"Pen," Julian starts.
"What? She might want to see it!"
"I do," I assure her. "Show me."
She beams, pulling up a video. The routine is impressive, precise, powerful, the kind of discipline that comes from years of dedicated practice. When she sticks the landing, the relief on her face is palpable.
"That was beautiful," I say honestly.
"Really? Because my coach says my form on the dismount is still too loose and I keep overthinking the connection between—"
"You're doubting yourself," I observe gently. "The technique is there. You just need to trust it."
Pen blinks at me. "That's... exactly what my coach says."
"It's true for most things. Overthinking kills momentum."
"Says the omega dating my brother." She grins. "He overthinks breathing."
"I do not—"
"You literally made a pros and cons list about whether to get coffee yesterday," Tyler says.
"That was for academic purposes."
"It was coffee, Jules."
Rebecca watches this exchange with barely concealed amusement, then catches my eye. "How are you handling three alphas who all probably overthink in their own special ways?"
"Strategic patience," I reply. "And clearly stated boundaries."
Her smile widens. "I like you already."
Rebecca catches my eye, something soft in her expression. "Elowen, would you mind helping me with something outside? Won't take long."
I follow her through the back door into a small yard. The garden is modest but well-tended, herbs cut back for winter, tomato cages stacked against the fence, mulch spread over empty beds.
"I know it's not much," Rebecca says, settling on the back steps with two mugs of fresh tea. "But it helps me think. Process things."
I sit beside her, accepting the tea gratefully. The afternoon is chilly but not uncomfortable.
"Julian talks about you," Rebecca says after a moment. "A lot."
"He's mentioned you too."
"I'm sure." She wraps both hands around her mug. "He's always been intense. Even as a child. Always trying to solve things, fix things, help everyone."
"I've noticed."
"He sends money home." She says it quietly, not accusatory. "Even though I tell him not to. Even though we're managing fine."
"He worries."
"I know. That's the problem." Rebecca looks at me directly. "He's not responsible for us. For me and Pen. We're okay. He needs to build his own life without feeling guilty about it."
"I'll remind him of that."
"Will you?" Her smile is slight but genuine. "Because he doesn't listen to me. Might listen to his omega though."
We sit in comfortable silence, drinking tea while the garden rests around us.
"I work with broken families," Rebecca says eventually. "Child protection services. Every day I see what happens when people don't choose each other. When structure matters more than care."
"That must be hard."
"It is. But it also teaches me what to look for." She turns to face me fully. "This pack you're building, this is what you really want?"
"It’s everything I want, and more."
"And you're safe?"
"Completely."
She nods once. "Then that's what matters."
We're quiet again. The garden smells like earth and approaching winter.
"Julian told me about your family," Rebecca says gently. "That you lost your parents young. That you were raised by your grandmother."
I tense slightly.
"I'm not asking for details," she continues. "That's your business. But I want you to know something."
She sets down her mug, reaches over to take my hand.
"If you're Julian's pack, you're my daughter too. Not replacing anyone, just adding. You need something, you call me. You're family now."
"Thank you.” She is so like Julian, the resemblance is uncanny.
A few tears escape despite my best efforts. Rebecca pulls me into a hug, firm and motherly and exactly what some part of me has been missing for years.
"Come on," she says when we separate, both of us a little teary. "It's cold and I'm sure Pen has buried Julian in photo albums by now."
Inside, Pen has indeed produced multiple photo albums. Julian looks vaguely horrified, hovering around them as if trying to catch the worst pictures before Pen can show the other alphas.
"This is me, age four, completely covered in mud," Pen narrates cheerfully. "And this is Jules at his first science fair looking like the world's tiniest professor—"
"We're done with photos," Julian says firmly.
"We've barely started!"
Rebecca settles beside them, pointing to one image. "Oh, that's when you won the regional spelling bee aged seven."
"Mom. Please."
"You were so serious. Standing there in your little tie—"
"I was representing the school. Professional attire was appropriate."
"You were seven, baby."
I catch Julian's eye and mouth "adorable." He glares, but his mouth twitches.
The afternoon passes easily after that. Simple dinner at the kitchen table, everyone squeezed in, dishes being passed, conversation flowing. Pen talks about gymnastics, Rebecca asks about Elderwood, Julian relaxes incrementally as the evening progresses.
At one point, helping clear dishes, Rebecca touches my shoulder. "You fit here," she says quietly. "You all do."
We're pulling on coats when Pen hugs me tight. "Text me," she demands. "Like, actually text me. I'm going to have questions."
"I promise."
"And if I present omega and freak out—"
"Call me immediately."
She squeezes tighter. "You're my sister now. Okay?"
"Okay."
Rebecca's next, pulling me close. "Thank you for making my son happy." She pulls back, cups my face briefly. "Welcome to the family, daughter."
The word lands soft and solid at once.
She turns to Calder and Tyler. "Take care of them. And let them take care of you too."
"Yes ma'am," Tyler says, genuine and warm.
To Julian, privately by the door: "You don't have to save us, baby. We're okay. You're allowed to be happy."
He nods, throat working. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you too. Now go. Before Pen cries and makes it a whole thing."
"I'm not going to cry!" Pen calls from the living room.
"Sure you're not, honey."