Chapter 24 #2
“Sable, I was wrong,” Nathan said, and through my sensitivity I felt his genuine remorse mixing with desperation. “I’ve spent five years regretting that decision. I came here to apologize. To ask for another chance.”
“Five years too late,” she said. “I spent five years rebuilding myself after you broke me. Five years proving I didn’t need an alpha to validate my worth. Five years learning that being too much for one person just meant I needed to find better people.”
“These three?” Nathan gestured at us dismissively. “They’ll realize the same thing I did. That you’re exhausting. That your independence is actually selfishness. That you’ll never prioritize pack over your career or your need to be in control.”
Through the bond, I felt Sable’s hurt spike. Felt her fighting against the voice in her head that said Nathan might be right. Felt her preparing to defend herself against accusations that cut close to old wounds.
“My career saves lives,” she said, her voice steady despite what I felt through the bond. “My independence means I contribute to the pack as an equal instead of a subordinate. And my need for control is actually competence that you couldn’t handle because it made you feel inadequate.”
“Sable, please,” Nathan said, and through my sensitivity I felt his desperation increasing. “Just talk to me. Give me ten minutes to explain.”
“No.” The word was flat, final. “You don’t get to show up after five years and demand my time.
You don’t get to tell me I’m too much and then decide you were wrong and expect me to care.
You don’t get anything from me except this message.
Leave Hollow Haven. Leave me alone. Leave us alone. And don’t come back.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Nathan said, his scent shifting to anger now that desperation wasn’t working.
“You think three alphas will be easier than one? You think having a pack means you can keep your independence? It doesn’t work that way.
Pack means submission. Pack means following the pack alpha’s lead.
And you’ve never been able to do either. ”
“Our pack works differently,” Dane said, his voice carrying absolute certainty. “We don’t have a pack alpha. We have four equals who make decisions together.”
“That’s not sustainable,” Nathan argued. “Someone has to lead. Someone has to make final calls. And she won’t follow anyone, which means your pack will fall apart the first time you face real crisis.”
“We’ve already faced crisis,” I said, thinking about the storm response, about the timber mill collapse, about every emergency we’d coordinated together. “We function better under pressure than most established packs. So your theory about her breaking us apart is already proven wrong.”
“Give it time,” Nathan said bitterly. “Give it a year when she’s fought you on every decision and refused to compromise and made it clear that her way is the only way. Then you’ll understand why I walked away.”
“You didn’t walk away,” Sable said, her voice going cold in a way that meant she was done with this conversation.
“You rejected me publicly. You humiliated me in front of everyone who mattered. You made sure I knew that my personality was wrong, my strength was wrong, my independence was wrong. You didn’t just leave.
You tried to destroy me on your way out. ”
Through my sensitivity, I felt Nathan flinch at the accuracy of her words. Felt his shame mixing with his anger.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly,” he said quietly. “You were supposed to see how wrong you were and change. You were supposed to come back to me and promise to change.”
I could feel the outrage flowing from Beau and Dane through our bond. Their disgust at his words, at his intentions.
“I don’t need to change. I built something better than what you were offering.
Found alphas who see my strength as an asset instead of a problem.
” She crossed her arms, the defensive posture I’d learned to recognize.
“So thank you, actually. Thank you for rejecting me. Because if you hadn’t, I never would have found them. ”
The silence that followed was heavy. Through my sensitivity, I felt Nathan processing, felt his disbelief that she wasn’t interested, felt his anger at being dismissed, felt his genuine hurt that she’d moved on.
“You’ll regret this,” he finally said.
“No,” Sable replied. “I won’t. The only thing I regret is wasting two years trying to make you happy. But I learned from that mistake. I don’t make myself smaller for anyone anymore.”
Nathan looked at each of us, probably cataloging our claiming bites, probably trying to understand how she’d found three alphas willing to accept what he’d called too difficult. Then he turned and walked away, his expensive shoes clicking against the linoleum floor with each retreating step.
We stayed silent until he was gone, until the stairwell door closed behind him, until his scent finally faded from the hallway.
Then Sable turned to look at us, and I felt her emotions through the bond like a tidal wave. Pride and fear and love and frustration all tangled together.
“I handled that,” she said quietly. “I didn’t need you three to rescue me.”
“We know,” I said, grinning despite the seriousness of the situation. “We just wanted him to know what he lost. And maybe wanted to see you tell him off. That was extremely satisfying to witness.”
Through my sensitivity, I felt her surprise at our response. She’d expected us to be overprotective, possessive, to say we’d been defending her because she needed defending.
Instead, we were giving her credit for handling herself while acknowledging we’d enjoyed watching her do it.
“You really weren’t going to fight him?” she asked. “All three of you showed up and you were just going to let me handle it?”
“We showed up because he’s a threat and pack protects each other,” Dane said. “But we stepped aside the moment you said to. Your fight. Your choice how to handle it.”
“We were backup,” Beau added. “Not primary response. There’s a difference.”
“I love you,” she said suddenly, fiercely, looking at each of us. “I love that you showed up. I love that you stepped aside. I love that you trusted me to handle myself. I love all of it.”
Through my sensitivity and through the bonds, I felt her overwhelming relief. Felt how much our response had meant to her. Felt how different this was from what Nathan would have done.
“We love you too,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “Even when you’re being difficult and challenging and refusing to submit. Especially then, actually. It’s kinda hot.”
She laughed against my chest, and through the bond I felt her walls crack a little more. Felt her trusting that maybe, just maybe, we really did want exactly what she was.
“He’s not going to give up,” Dane observed, his tactical mind already running scenarios. “He came all the way to Hollow Haven. He asked questions. He’s invested in this fantasy of winning you back.”
“Let him be invested,” Sable said, pulling back from my hug. “I’m not interested. And if he shows up again, I’ll handle it again. With backup if needed, but I’ll handle it.”
“Deal,” Beau agreed.
We walked back to her office together, the four of us moving as a unit.
Through my sensitivity, I could feel the emotions from people in nearby offices.
Curiosity, concern, approval. People had heard the confrontation.
Had heard Sable stand up for herself. Had heard three alphas supporting her without overriding her.
Small towns noticed everything. This would be gossip by tomorrow.
“Well,” I said as we reached her office door. “That was our excitement for the day. Anyone want to get lunch and pretend that didn’t just happen?”
“I have three more hours of coordination meetings,” Sable said, checking her schedule. “But dinner sounds good. Dane’s place?”
“Our place,” Dane corrected, and I felt her surprise through the bond. “We’ve been living there together for two weeks. It’s our place now, not just mine.”
“Our place,” she repeated, testing the words. “I like how that sounds.”
“Good,” I said, pulling out my phone to check my shift schedule. “Because I’m claiming the kitchen tonight. We’re having real food instead of whatever combination of protein and vegetables Dane considers adequate.”
“My food is adequate,” Dane protested.
“Your food is fuel,” I corrected. “My food is delicious. There’s a difference.”
Through the bonds, I felt everyone’s amusement. This was us. Bickering about dinner while processing the fact that Sable’s ex had shown up and tried to undermine everything we’d built.
“I need to get back to work,” Sable said, but she was smiling now instead of shaken. “Thank you. For showing up. For stepping aside. For trusting me.”
“Always,” Beau said simply.
We left her to her meetings and headed back to our respective jobs. But through the bonds, I could feel everyone processing what had happened. Feeling the same satisfaction I felt.
We’d protected our omega by trusting her to protect herself. We’d been backup instead of primary response. We’d proven that our pack worked differently than Nathan’s idea of pack.
And Sable had proven, once again, that she was exactly as strong as we’d always known she was.
That evening, I made pasta with actual seasoning while Beau set the table and Dane hovered in the doorway trying to offer suggestions that were really just attempts to control the cooking process.
Sable appeared from the bedroom where she’d been changing out of her coordinator clothes, wearing comfortable leggings and one of Beau’s oversized shirts that made her look smaller than usual.
“Smells good,” she said, moving into the kitchen to steal a piece of garlic bread.
“No sampling before dinner,” I said, swatting her hand away. “We’re civilized people who sit at tables.”
“We’re a pack that eats standing at the counter half the time,” she corrected, stealing the bread anyway. “Don’t pretend we’re fancy.”