"That's what I thought." But he doesn't sound angry. He sounds almost amused. "You're okay, though? Everything's good?"
"Everything's really good," I admit quietly, glancing at Wyatt who's watching me with that knowing smile. "Better than good, actually."
"Good. That's good, sis. You deserve to be happy." He pauses, then adds, "But if any of them hurt you, I'm staging a coup and taking you back. Just so we're clear."
"Crystal clear," I promise, smiling despite the threat. "I'll be home later today after the kids' nap. We can have dinner together if you want?"
"Sounds good. Love you."
"Love you too." I hang up and set my phone aside, turning my attention back to the streusel.
Hunter
Breakfast is chaos in the best possible way, the kind of controlled disaster that speaks of a family actually living instead of just surviving. I lean against the kitchen doorway with my coffee, watching the scene unfold like I'm observing something precious and fragile that might disappear if I look away.
Isaac is shoveling streusel coffee cake into his mouth with the single-minded focus of a four-year-old who's discovered something delicious. He's still messy, crumbs and bits of streusel scattered around his plate, but crucially, it's all contained to theplate instead of coating the table and floor and his clothes. Small victories. Amelia must have worked with him on that, teaching him to be more careful without making him feel bad about the mess.
Riley is sitting next to Silas, animated in a way I haven't seen in months, telling him some elaborate story about yesterday's adventure. Something about finding a caterpillar in the backyard and how Miss Amelia said it would turn into a butterfly someday and could they please keep it in a jar to watch. Silas is listening with genuine interest, asking questions and making comments that keep her talking, and I can see the pride on his face every time she uses a big word or explains something complicated.
Wyatt can't stop staring at Amelia. He's not even trying to hide it, his blue eyes tracking her movements as she refills Isaac's juice cup, wipes a smudge of streusel from Riley's cheek, checks that everyone has enough to eat. He's looking at her like she hung the moon and personally arranged the stars, like he can't quite believe she's real and in our kitchen and part of our morning routine.
I can't help it either. Can't stop watching the way she moves through our space with increasing confidence, no longer asking permission for every little thing. She knows where the cups are now, knows which drawer holds the silverware, knows that Isaac prefers his juice watered down and Riley likes her toast cut into triangles. She's learned the rhythms of this house, this family, and somehow made herself essential in the process.
She's radiant. That's the only word for it. The shadows that used to live under her eyes are gone, replaced by a glow that comes from actual rest and feeling safe. Her smile comes easier now, more genuine, reaching her eyes instead of just pulling at her lips. And when she laughs at something Isaac says, the sound fills the kitchen with warmth that's been missing for too long.
Wyatt cornered me the other day after the kids went to bed, blocking my path to my bedroom with his arms crossed and that determined expression that means he's not backing down. "You need to get your head out of your ass," he'd said bluntly. "Stop hovering around the edges waiting for permission. Tell Amelia your intentions. Take a step forward before Silas and I leave you behind."
He wasn't wrong. I've been watching from the sidelines, careful not to push too hard or too fast, giving her space to figure out what she wants without pressure from the head Alpha. But caution is starting to feel like cowardice, and watching Silas kiss her this morning in the kitchen while Wyatt held her, seeing the way she responded without hesitation, makes something in my chest pull tight with want.
I want that. Want her looking at me with those soft eyes, want her leaning into my touch instead of flinching away, want to be part of whatever they're building instead of standing on the outside looking in.
"I was thinking," I say into the comfortable chaos, and everyone looks up. "We could go to the park today. The courtyard one with the playground. It's nice out, and the kids could use some fresh air."
Isaac's reaction is immediate and enthusiastic. "Yes! Can we, Dad? Please?"
Riley is more measured but clearly interested. "The one with the big slide?"
"That's the one."
Amelia's expression shifts, something uncertain flickering across her face. The hiking incident, I realize. She's remembering getting lost with the kids, the panic attack that followed. I should have thought before suggesting it, should have realized she might not be ready.
"Just to the courtyard," I clarify quickly. "Where the playground is. It's fenced in, completely visible from the benches. Nobody's getting lost, I promise."
She bites her lip, considering, and I can see the internal debate playing out. The desire to give the kids something fun warring with her fear of something going wrong again. Finally, she nods slowly. "Okay. That sounds nice."
The kids cheer, already planning what they're going to play on first. We finish breakfast quickly after that, everyone energized by the prospect of an outing. Amelia helps the kids get ready while I clean up the kitchen, and within thirty minutes we're heading out the door.
The park is only a few blocks away, an easy walk through the quiet Saturday morning streets. Isaac runs ahead a few steps and then circles back, his energy already overflowing. Riley walks beside Amelia, holding her hand and chattering about the last time they came here, before everything changed.
I fall into step on Amelia's other side, close enough that our arms brush with every few steps. She glances up at me, something questioning in her brown eyes, and I make a decision. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach over and wrap my hand around hers.
Her fingers are small in mine, delicate but calloused from work. She looks down at our joined hands and then back up at me, surprise and something that might be pleasure crossing her face.
"I didn't actually think I would find someone," I say quietly, keeping my voice low enough that the kids won't overhear. "It didn't bother me. Evie was happy, Silas and Wyatt were happy, and I was just happy being in her life. Being the head Alpha, taking care of my sister and her mates, raising the kids. That felt like enough."
"And now?" Her voice is soft, cautious.
"Now I finally want something," I admit. "And I don't know how to take it. Don't know how to reach for what I want without being too much, too intense, too overwhelming. I see the way you still flinch around me sometimes, Amelia. The last thing I want is to terrify you."
