Because today, the real world starts creeping back in.
I need to go back to work. There’s one more tour stop before the season is over, and another intern has been covering forme, but I can’t leave him hanging forever. I still have all the responsibilities with APBRA, even if my life has been turned completely upside down.
And then there’s the pack house. I need to formally move in. Everything’s been in limbo since I came back to Muddy Creek. My stuff is still at the old house. I heard Caleb was due home too, and that’s a whole other can of worms.
How do I tell him I’m bonded? That it happened fast, and it’s to his best friend? Poor Charlie—on second thought, I’m not sure I want to be there for that conversation.
Bonded Omega. The words still feel foreign in my head. Like they belong to someone else. Someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who isn’t still figuring out how to breathe around the constant awareness of three Alphas in her consciousness.
I’m still giddy with it, if I’m honest. Still catching myself smiling for no reason. Still getting distracted by the bond tugging at me, reminding me they’re close, they’re safe, they’re mine. It’s overwhelming and perfect and terrifying all at once.
And then there’s the lawyer meeting.
My stomach clenches at the thought. I have to formally meet with the attorney about the charges against Felton. I have to give my statement, go through everything that happened, and relive it all for the court case looming like a storm cloud on the horizon.
The anxiety still sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe. But then the steady pulse of my pack sending comfort and safety through the bond makes my breath hitch…
You can do this, I tell myself, scooping another forkful of bedding.You’re not alone anymore. You have a pack. You have people who believe you.
Because I’m here. Home. With my pack. With my?—
“Willa?”
The voice stops me cold.
I know that voice. Would know it anywhere, even after six years of silence. Even across an ocean of years and distance and all the things we never said to each other.
I turn slowly, pitchfork still in hand, and there he is.
Caleb.
My brother stands in the barn entrance, backlit by late afternoon sun, and for a second we just stare at each other.
He looks the same—same dark hair that curls when it gets too long, same sharp jawline, same intense brown eyes that are as quick to anger as they are to laughter. But he’s broader now. More settled into himself. The boy I left behind has become a man.
The last time I saw him, he was leaving for college. The winter before it all went to shit.
“Caleb?” His name comes out as a whispered question.
He takes a step forward, and I see it then—the way his throat works, the shine in his eyes that he’s trying to blink away. “Hey, kid.”
The nickname breaks something in me.
The pitchfork clatters to the ground as I launch myself at him, crossing the distance in three running steps. He catches me easily, his arms coming around me tight and sure, and I’m crying before I realize it. Sobbing into his shoulder like I’m twelve years old again and he’s patching up my scraped knees after I fell off a horse.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, unable to close off the well of love and heartbreak that is currently trying to drown me. “I’m so sorry. I should have called. Should have texted. Should have?—"
“Shh.” His hand cups the back of my head, and his scent—familiar and safe and home—wraps around me like the childhood blanket I used to carry everywhere. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
We stand like that for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. He’s trembling slightly, or maybe that’s me. Maybe it’s both of us, finally letting ourselves feel all the years we lost.
When I finally pull back, my face is wet, and his shirt is soaked through. I laugh, swiping at my eyes.
“You’re back,” I say stupidly. “When did you get in?”
“Got in about an hour ago.” He studies my face, taking in every detail like he’s trying to memorize me. Then I see the exact moment he catches the scent. The way his nostrils flare, his eyes going wide with recognition. “As soon as I found out you were back, I knew I had to come home.”
My stomach drops. “Caleb?—”
