Chapter 13 | Heather
Heather
B y mid-morning, I found myself perched on our slanted roof beside Bennett, passing him shingles with hands that had already acquired the ache of unfamiliar work.
The view from up here revealed the scope of the damage I'd been trying to ignore.
There were missing tiles, gaps where weather had gotten in, and patches where previous repairs had failed under the assault of too many seasons without proper maintenance.
Bennett worked with methodical precision, his movements sure as he positioned each shingle and secured it in place. Every few minutes, our hands would brush as I passed him materials, sending slight shocks of awareness up my arm that made it difficult to focus on the work at hand.
“Is this what you do for work?” I asked him.
He grinned, “no Heather, this is what we do for fun.” My brow furrowed. Now, was that sarcasm? I pursed my lips, and he laughed. “No, really, I work in finance, but we’ve been helping with repairs in the district since the earthquake.”
“Is that how you learned to do this?”
“What fix a roof?” I nodded, passing him another tile and biting my lower lip when our fingertips touched. “No, my father was a roofer, and I used to help him with the family business when I was a teen.”
He positioned the roof tile and then hammered it in.
“Did you ever want to carry on with building instead of finance?”
He shook his head. “I love numbers too much.” I smiled. “After I started in the finance industry, I dabbled in stocks and shares for a while, and well, now we have the ability to help others when they need it.”
As I listened and passed him another tile, warmth spread over my body, heat rising through my core. He was a literal knight in shining armor. How could I have been so lucky?
Watching him place and hammer in the next tile, I asked, “But what happened after the earthquake? Was your job still there?” I bit my lower lip. “I mean, was the building there?”
He smirked, then answered, “Yes, we were fortunate. Our home, Dante’s restaurant and Angus’s gaming company — they were all fine, just minor repairs. The company I worked at sadly lost a lot of its employees in the quake, so I took over and I’ve been running things ever since.”
“It sure sounds like you were one of the lucky ones.” I looked around at the devastation from our rooftop.
He sighed, but nodded. “If we’d known about the orphanage, we would have helped sooner Heather, we thought it had been abandoned.”
“No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m glad everything worked out for you, and I’m more than grateful for everything you’re doing for us. I can’t ever repay you.” I looked down at the slate tiles in my hands.
He smiled. “I don’t think you realize Heather, you’re ours now, and we protect our own. You can have anything you want, and we will travel the world to find it for you. You’re our pack Heather, you’re our home.”
I totally swooned in that moment. He was serious; they all were.
I had already guessed we were meant to be, their scents driving me crazy had told me everything and more.
But was I ready to hear it? I took a deep breath.
No, I wasn’t; I hadn’t been, but maybe this, them.
.. was everything I needed in my life right now, and more.
His peppermint scent was stronger up here, mixed with the clean smell of honest sweat and the faint ozone that preceded the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
Each time he leaned closer to show me the proper angle for positioning a shingle, or reached across me to retrieve a tool, I found myself breathing deeper than necessary.
“Where’s Cole?” I asked, realizing there were four of them before.
“He wanted to be here, but there has been an influx of, erm... patients in the morgue.”
“You mean dead people?” I asked, not wanting to mix words.
His lips curved upward, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes... it’s good to know we can talk straight with you,” his voice dropped. "It's refreshing to speak without... dancing around things."
I grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
We continued adding new tiles to the areas of the roof that needed fixing, chatting as we worked, getting to know one another and enjoying our time together.
"They're good kids," he blurted, his voice quiet enough that it wouldn't carry to the children working below. "You've done well with them."
The unexpected compliment hit me harder than it should have, probably because I'd grown so accustomed to criticism—from social workers who questioned my qualifications, from neighbors who thought I was taking on more than any single person could handle, from the voice in my head that constantly catalogued every way I might fail the children who depended on me.
"I love them," I said simply, because that was the only truth that mattered when everything else felt too complicated to explain.
"I can see that," Bennett replied, securing another shingle with practiced efficiency. "But love isn't always enough to keep people safe. Sometimes it takes resources, community, people willing to share the burden of making sure everyone has what they need."
His words bore a weight that had nothing to do with roofing materials and everything to do with the independence I'd been clinging to like armor against a world that had taught me to expect disappointment whenever I allowed myself to depend on others.
Below us, Dante had set up what appeared to be a small outdoor kitchen operation, serving what looked like a risotto to all the workers and children.
The portable stove was also producing rich, chocolate-scented steam that made my mouth water even from this distance.
The children had arranged themselves in a semicircle around him, their faces turned upward with the wonder of people witnessing magic.
"Real marshmallows," I heard Loubie Lou breathe, her voice carrying clearly in the crisp air. "Look, Bunny, they're floating!"
Manny had parked his truck at a safe distance from the cooking operation, but close enough that he could observe every step of the process while still maintaining his connection to his most precious possession.
Denson sat with his stones arranged in neat patterns around his feet, his attention split between their familiar comfort and the fascinating complexity of watching someone prepare food with obvious skill and infinite patience.
Even Susie had relaxed enough to take part, her defensive wariness replaced by genuine curiosity as she asked questions about technique and ingredients, that Dante answered with the thoroughness of someone who loved sharing knowledge about his craft.
"He's good with them," I observed, watching the way Dante adjusted his explanations for different ages and attention spans.
"He's good with everyone," Bennett said. "It's his gift... making people feel cared for."
Before I could respond, I noticed Cole had arrived.
He was approaching the group below, carrying what appeared to be a medical bag.
He moved with the quiet authority of someone accustomed to inserting himself into situations where his expertise might be needed, but doing so with enough subtlety that he wouldn't disrupt whatever positive dynamic was already in place.
I watched him crouch beside Dylan, who'd been coughing more than usual over the past few days—nothing serious, just the type of persistent cold that children seemed to pick up and pass around like shared toys.
Cole's examination was thorough but gentle, his dark clothing, and serious expression somehow projecting competence rather than threat.
From my perch on the roof, I could see the entire scene unfolding like something from a life I'd never dared imagine for us.
Children who felt safe enough to laugh and ask questions, adults who cared enough to check on minor health concerns, the smell of authentic food being prepared with attention to both nutrition and pleasure.
It was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, because it represented everything I wanted for them and everything I'd taught myself not to hope for.
The conflicted emotions playing across my face must have been obvious, because Bennett paused in his work to study my expression.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
Before I could plan an answer that wouldn't expose how desperately I wanted this scene to be permanent, the first fat raindrops fell, followed by a sudden downpour that turned morning work projects into mad scrambles for cover.
Bennett moved instinctively, his body coming between me and the worst of the weather as he tried to shield me from the rain that was already soaking through my work shirt.
Our faces came close together in the shelter he created, close enough that I could see the way water beaded on his dark hair, could smell the intensification of his peppermint scent as it mixed with rain and the earthy smell of storm-washed air.
I bit my lower lip without thinking, a nervous habit that seemed to draw his attention like a magnet. His eyes fixed on the small movement, and I watched him breathe in deeply, as if he were trying to memorize this moment when we were pressed together by necessity and circumstance.
"Come on," he said, his voice rougher than it had been moments before. "Let's get you inside until the rain eases."
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady, and followed him as we carefully climbed down from the slippery roof.
When I’d almost reached the bottom, Bennett picked me up off of the ladder and into his arms, allowing my body to slide down his until my feet were firmly on the floor.
I took a deep breath, feeling the heat from him absorb into me, swirling inside and promising explosions of sexual desire.
The children had already taken shelter on the covered front porch, their eager chatter mixing with the sound of rain against the old building's walls.
"I should check on my mother anyway," I managed as we reached the relative dryness of the porch.
Bennett nodded in understanding, then moved toward the makeshift hot chocolate station that Dante had relocated under the overhang. "Let me get you something warm first," he offered, accepting a plate of risotto and a steaming mug from Dante's hands.
Dante grinned when he saw me accept them, his marshmallow scent wrapping around me. "Nothing better than hot chocolate on a rainy day," he said, and there was something in his expression that suggested he was cataloguing this moment, storing it away like treasure.
I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest, and looked around at the scene that had somehow become my life.
The children huddled together on the porch, safe, dry and giggling about the sudden change in weather.
The volunteers continued to work in the rain, their commitment to our home undeterred by temporary discomfort.
The pack members who'd somehow inserted themselves into our daily routine with a seamless integration that felt both miraculous and inevitable.
For the first time in months, I allowed myself to acknowledge what I'd been too afraid to admit: I didn't want to face everything alone anymore.