Chapter 12
DON’T FLINCH
TYRELL
It took three days of asking to get Marcus to leave the house.
The first time I brought it up, he looked at me as if I had suggested abandoning the compound. The second time, he gave a noncommittal maybe. The third time, Sage told him calmly, “Go spend time with your brothers before you start pacing holes into my floor.”
He was kissing her forehead and heading out the door before she finished the sentence.
Thursday night found the four of us at the bowling alley for the first time in months. Just us. No meetings. No patrol rotations. No emergencies pulling anyone away halfway through the night.
Marcus climbed out of the truck before I even parked. Two weeks trapped in his private quarters, with newborn schedules and protective instincts running on overdrive, had left him wound tight. He needed air, noise, and movement more than he knew.
“Lane four,” Darius said as soon as we walked in. Of course, he had already spotted it.
Carter had forgotten his bowling shoes and stood near the counter, holding a pair of rental shoes with visible disgust. “I need everyone to understand,” he announced, “that I’m being forced to wear these against my will.”
“Bowl,” Marcus said.
The first couple of rounds felt easy. Familiar.
Marcus bowled the way he did everything else — with control and deliberation.
Darius was steady. Precise. Quietly competitive.
Carter bowled as if the pins had personally offended him.
I bowled fine enough, but my head wasn’t really there.
“Room for two more?” Everett asked, walking over as Nathan followed.
Marcus laughed. “The women kick y’all out?”
“Happily,” Nathan said.
We added them in, ordered wings and beer, and started another game.
Halfway through the third frame, Darius sat down beside me.
“You’ve been off since the babies were born. What’s up?”
Straight to it.
“I’m good,” I said.
He got up, threw a strike, then came back and sat again like he had all night.
“That sounded believable to you?” he looked at Marcus.
“Talk,” Marcus demanded.
I looked down the lane for a second before answering.
"I've been thinking about it since the triplets were born.
" I leaned back in my chair. "Seeing Marcus and Sage with a completed bond made something clear.
" I looked at him. "I've been patient with Destiny because she's worth it.
But patience isn't the same as accepting half of someone forever.
I'm her mate. I'm all in. At some point, I need her to decide whether she's willing to meet me there. "
Nobody interrupted, and that was the thing about my brothers. They knew when silence was part of the conversation.
“I want all of it,” I admitted. “The bond. Kids. A future that feels whole rather than half-built.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
Carter’s expression shifted first.
“You know what I think?” he said. “I think Destiny learned to survive way too young, and now survival is so ingrained that she doesn’t know how to put it down.” He shrugged. “That kind of fear doesn’t always look emotional, Ty. Sometimes it just looks like distance.”
I stayed quiet.
“She always comes back to you,” he continued.
“Every time. I’ve seen it. She looks for you before anyone else in the room.
She centers on you without even realizing it.
” He pointed at me. “That’s not a woman trying to keep you out.
That’s a woman losing the fight against herself a little more every day. ”
His words settled somewhere deep.
Marcus smiled, just enough to remind me he'd been exactly where I was. "You know what Sage needed from me?" he asked. "Nothing fancy. Nothing dramatic. She needed proof that I was still there every time she turned around." He shrugged. "Keep being that man. The rest will come."
Darius watched me for a moment before speaking.
"I've been observing the two of you for almost a year.
" He folded his arms. "The data hasn't changed.
Destiny loves you. That's never been the variable.
" His gaze stayed steady. "The variable is trust. She spent twenty years believing survival meant depending on no one.
You're asking her to rewrite twenty years of conditioning in twelve months.
" He paused. "She's stubborn, not fragile.
There's a difference. Stubborn people don't need rescuing.
They need consistency. Keep giving her evidence, and eventually her mind won't be able to argue with it. "
Everett finally spoke then.
"Son." He rested both hands on the table.
"That girl has survived things no child ever should. Every instinct she has was earned.” His eyes held mine.
"Patience was the right choice. It gave her room to breathe.
But don't mistake patience for silence." He smiled softly.
"There comes a day when a good man has to tell the woman he loves that he needs something, too.
Ice doesn't melt because someone wishes it would.
It melts because it finally trusts the warmth won't leave. Be that warmth. She'll meet you there."
The table went quiet again.
Then Everett glanced toward the dance floor and sighed. “And for the love of the Moon Goddess, don’t make a bad decision tonight.”
I followed his gaze.
Jelisa stood near the bar with her friends. Beautiful as always. Watching me just enough to make sure I noticed.
Marcus saw it too. “Your little warrior will kill you,” he said dryly.
“Yeah, she stays armed and dangerous,” Nathan muttered.
I stood before I could think too hard about it.
“Give me a minute.”
Marcus nodded once.
I crossed the alley.
Jelisa held my gaze the entire way over. Three years ago this conversation probably would’ve gone differently. We both knew that.
“Ty,” she said softly.
“Hey.” I stopped a comfortable distance away. “You got a minute?”
Her friends immediately found somewhere else to look.
We moved toward the quieter side of the room near the arcade machines.
I didn’t drag it out.
"I owe you a real conversation," I said. “I love her completely. That’s my mate, and there’s nothing left to say about how I feel about her. I need you to hear that directly from me.”
Jelisa looked down briefly before meeting my eyes again.
“I know,” she said. “It’s how you are. One of the things I loved most about you.”
I stayed quiet and let her have the space.
“You used to talk to me about your future all the time,” she said after a moment. “Kids. Family. The kind of home you wanted.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “I memorized every version of it.”
"Jelisa."
"I know what you're going to say."
"Then let me say it," I said, gentle and certain.
"You deserved better clarity from me back then,” I said honestly.
“Because those conversations were always about my mate.
You were the person I was walking with, and I was not careful enough to maintain that distinction.
I am sorry for that. But I need you to understand — I was not describing you.
I was describing a life I could see clearly even before I had found the person it belonged to. "
Something shifted behind her eyes.
“She isn’t soft, Ty.” Not cruel, just honest.
I smiled slightly. “No. She isn’t.” My voice stayed calm. “She’s stronger than anybody I’ve ever met. And every soft thing she gives me means more because she chooses it.”
Jelisa swallowed hard.
“I still love you,” she admitted. “And until you’re fully bonded…” She shrugged faintly. “I’m not ready to let go of hope yet.”
“I hear you,” I said gently. “But that doesn’t change where I stand.”
She nodded once, not dramatically. Just hurt in the quiet way mature hurt usually is.
“I hope you find your person someday,” I told her. “The real one. Someone built specifically for you.”
For a second, she looked like she might say something else.
Instead, she just nodded again, and I walked back to my brothers.
***
DARIUS
I heard Stacey before I turned around.
Stacey’s footsteps had a light, unhurried rhythm, reflecting her confidence and her sense of where she was headed.
I learned that sound over two years, in various places: hallways, my kitchen before dawn, outside my door on Tuesdays, with containers in her hands and her calm demeanor, pretending she had “just made extra.”
Which was technically true but never the whole truth.
Carter looked first. Marcus too.
I didn’t.
Not right away.
By the time I finally turned around, Stacey was walking toward the lane, carrying a foil container in both hands. Her eyes met mine. Yellow top. Of course.
I complimented that shirt over a year ago, without much thought. Stacey remembered small details most people forget within minutes—favorite foods, tone shifts, who skipped meals under stress, and who needed quiet rather than advice.
She noticed people carefully and loved them through usefulness, so it looked almost unintentional. That was Stacey.
A beautiful, sensual, green-eyed Omega with warm, almond-colored skin and short hair that framed her face perfectly. She stood 5’4 with a small frame. Soft curves. Gentle presence.
She was a genuinely good woman—not performatively kind or strategic, but naturally good. The compound felt warmer after she left. Kitchens stayed fuller, and people ate better. Spaces softened around her without effort.
And for too long, I had benefited from that softness, even though I knew I could not give her what she was waiting for.
That was the part I had to take responsibility for.
Over a year ago, Gran warned us that our mates were coming. She said our wolves and elemental abilities were only partially awake without them — not romance, not mythology, but design. Architecture. A Wind wolf was not built to run at full capacity until the bond completed what nature started.
I understood her clearly, and that same night, she told us. I ended things with Stacey. Hell, I tried to.
She took it quietly. Gracefully. No scenes. No guilt. No anger.
Then she showed up the next week with food, and I let her in.