“Then we’ll figure the rest out.”
He stands, signaling the end of the conversation, but not the care behind it.
As I reach for the door, he adds, almost casually,
“You don’t owe this team silence or smallness to keep the peace, you know.”
I turn back.
“Just honesty,” he says. “The rest is on them.”
I nod in understanding, and leave his office with my shoulders lighter than when I went in.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emery
Time doesn’t pass in clean lines anymore: it softens.
Days blur at the edges in the best possible way—morning coffee gone lukewarm on the counter because Connor distracted me with a dumb story about a missed penalty call, late evenings stretched across Beau’s couch with his arm heavy around my shoulders while a game murmurs on in the background, the Icebox becoming less a workplace and more a second home I actually look forward to entering.
Connor has been spending a lot more time at the house without ever formally announcing it. He just…appears; tosses his keys into the bowl by the door like it’s always been his spot and steals Beau’s hoodies when he forgets his jacket. He even eats cereal straight out of the box and leaves the spoon in the sink with a grin that saysyou love me anyway, and somehow, it works.
The bond between Beau and I stays steady, deepening quietly rather than flaring. It’s there when I wake up, when he leaves early to check on his mom, when his thoughts pull inward and his moods go heavy with responsibility and restraint. On thosedays, Connor fills the space without trying to replace anything; loud where Beau is quiet, playful where Beau is deliberate, grounding in his own way.
On the days I crave intensity—when my instincts want weight and heat and that low, controlling presence Beau carries so effortlessly—he’s there. Focused, attentive, and all-in.
I… don’t have to choose.
That still feels revolutionary.
At work, the team clocks it almost immediately. Not the details—not thehow—but the shift. The way Beau’s shoulders ease, the way Connor’s grin sharpens into something more assured, and the way I move through the space with my head up instead of braced.
They don’t pry. They tease, of course—chirps and looks and the occasional ‘don’t break the PT’tossed over a shoulder—but underneath it, there’s support, and respect.
The unspoken understanding that this pack, such as it is, is functioning.
The Icebox, however, is a lost cause.
There are moments where professionalism is technically maintained, but only just. Connor leaning too close while I tape his wrist, murmuring something low that makes my pulse jump. Beau watching from across the room, eyes dark and unreadable, the bond tightening just enough to remind me he feels it too.
Car rides turn into stolen glances and laughter that borders on giddy. Grocery runs become excuses to brush hands and crowd space. Evenings stretch long and loose, filled with inside jokes and shared looks that saythis is ours; and the thing that surprises me the most…
I’m having fun.
Real, uncomplicated fun.
I’d forgotten what that felt like: how light love could be when it wasn’t built on secrets or power imbalances or the constant fear of being replaced. There’s no deceit here, no waiting for the other shoe to drop, no quiet tallying of who owes whom what.
We're just choosing each other, again and again, without it feeling like a gamble.
Of course, my attention doesn’t stop at the two of them.
The other guys are… attentive. Flirty in that harmless, alpha-heavy way. A few have omegas of their own, and I’m careful not to blur lines where they don’t belong. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.
But Theo…
Well. Theo isdifferent.
