Silence.
Theo doesn't reply. Doesn't deny it. Doesn't confirm it. Just that telling silence that means he's absolutely already planning to do exactly that.
Grayson and I both groan in unison.
"We're officially fucked if you're gonna start stalking her," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"It's not a bad addiction," Theo says, completely unrepentant.
Grayson's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "You're correct that it's an addiction. But they're called addictions because they end up being bad for you. And you have a track record of manifesting all the fucking bad that we normally have to save you from."
Like that time Theo became obsessed with a case he was working and didn't sleep for four days straight. Or when he fixated on a target and nearly got himself killed because he refused to back down. Or literally any situation where Theo decides something matters and throws all common sense out the window.
Theo half-shrugs—I can see the movement in the rearview mirror.
"Whatever."
I sigh, pinching my nose harder, looking away from the disaster in the backseat to focus on the road ahead. The darkness is complete out here—no streetlights, no houses, just the truck's headlights cutting through the night and illuminating the dirt road that leads to our property.
We're approaching home. I can tell by the familiar landmarks—the old oak tree that marks the property line, the fence post that Grayson keeps meaning to fix but never does, the slight curve in the road that means we're about two minutes out.
Now that Christmas is here and winter is approaching fast—really approaching, with the first real snow expected next week according to the weather forecasts—the ranch life will slow down considerably. Cattle don't need as much attention in winter when they're not calving or being moved between pastures. The fields are dormant, waiting for spring to wake them up again. The horses still need care but not the constant oversight summer requires.
And Grayson can focus more on his writing—the romance novels he publishes under a pen name that he thinks we don'tknow about but absolutely do. We've both read them, actually. They're good. Really good. The man understands emotions and relationships in a way most Alphas don't, which probably explains why he's the pack peacemaker.
This house will be our main base for the winter months. Three Alphas learning how to actually live together instead of just existing in proximity.
And Theo—miracle of miracles—isn't taking any assignments this winter. First time in three years he's turned down work. First time he's committed to actually being present and stationary for an entire season instead of disappearing for weeks at a time on some classified mission he can't talk about until months later when the details are declassified and even then only in vague terms.
Which means this will be the first winter we're all together as a pack. The first Christmas we'll actually celebrate together without someone missing, without makeshift video calls from overseas, without the constant undercurrent of worry about whether everyone will make it home safe.
Which is honestly a miracle. I never thought we'd get here—three Alphas managing to form a functional pack without killing each other over territory disputes or hierarchy bullshit. Without the constant territorial pissing matches that usually happen when you put too many Alphas in one space without an Omega to mediate. We've made it work through sheer stubbornness and genuine affection for each other, but it's not always easy.
The problem is, we don't actually know how to celebrate Christmas. Not really. Not properly.
For Alphas, the holidays are like every other day with slightly more inconvenience. Just more sweets showing up at the mechanic shop from grateful customers who think a tin of cookies makes up for paying their bills late. Horrible amateurcarol singers going door-to-door asking for donations to causes you've never heard of. Small-town gossip reaching absolute fever pitch about who's dating who and who bought what for whom and who showed up to whose party. Mistletoe being hung everywhere out of commercial convenience more than any genuine romance.
If we had an Omega, though... that could change everything. Omegas are the ones who make holidays feel like holidays instead of just inconvenient calendar dates. Who bake cookies that actually taste good instead of the store-bought shit people give as obligatory gifts. Who decorate with intention and joy instead of just throwing up whatever's left at the hardware store. Who create traditions that feel meaningful. Who turn a house into a home and a season into something magical instead of just cold and annoying.
If we had Reverie?—
Stop. Don't go there, Nash. You don't even know her beyond one elevator conversation and watching Theo claim her in a bar. One encounter where she smiled at you and smelled like heaven doesn't make her yours. Doesn't give you the right to fantasize about Christmas mornings with her in your kitchen making hot chocolate.
"Tell me one good reason why I should reach out to her," Theo mutters from the backseat.
Oh. Oh, I have a reason. A really good fucking reason that's been sitting in my chest like a live grenade since I left that office building hours ago.
I sigh, the sound heavy with the weight of what I'm about to admit. "Well, I kind of just signed us up to be her pack. For the holidays."
Grayson gasps—actually gasps like a scandalized grandmother—and the truck lurches slightly as he hits thebrakes harder than necessary, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the dirt road.
He twists in his seat to stare at me, horror written across his usually calm features. "What? What do you mean?"
Here we go. Time to explain the impulsive decision I made in a corporate office while trying not to think about how good Reverie smelled in that elevator.
I take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts into something coherent despite the alcohol making everything feel slightly fuzzy and disconnected. "I went into the city for an assignment. Quick work, easy money. Legal consultation for Evergreen Media Collective—you know, that influencer management company that's been blowing up in the social media space?"
Grayson nods slowly, his writer brain probably already spinning this into some kind of narrative. Theo has gone suspiciously quiet in the back, but I know he's listening now. Actually listening instead of pretending to ignore us while planning whatever stalker shit he's going to pull.
