We end up on the couch, Bayleigh tucked between Milton and me, Korbin on the other side of the coffee table. A movie plays with captions. The pizza boxes sit open on the table. The whole room smells like cheese, tomato, and the four of us tangled together.
Bayleigh laughs at one of Milton’s ridiculous commentary texts he shoves in her face. Korbin asks her a question about a show she likes, facing her so she can read his mouth. I watch the way she relaxes into the cushions—shoulders loose, head tipping against my shoulder, feet pressed under Milton’s thigh.
It’s not perfect. It’s not official. We’re not marked, not bound, no formal pack contracts signed.
But it feels real. It feels like the start of something solid and unshakeable.
After we eat, Milton grabs his keys.
“I’ll drive her home,” he says. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up, old man.”
He’s not wrong. The combination of physical exhaustion, emotional weight, and bone-deep contentment is hitting hard.
I walk them to the door. On the porch, Bayleigh turns back to me, mint and green tea curling around us in the cool air.
“Goodnight,” she says, lips forming it gradually.
I lean in and kiss her once more, soft, lingering, pouring everything I don’t yet know how to say into it.
“Goodnight, Omega,” I say when we break apart. “Text me when you’re home.”
She nods, eyes shining.
As she walks down the steps beside Milton, she looks back over her shoulder, just once, and mouths. “Mine.”
I stand there long after the car disappears down the street, heart pounding, scent rich with quiet, fierce joy.
Yeah.
I’m hers.
And I plan on spending every day from here on out proving it, to her, to her family, to anyone who dares to question it.
Because tonight, something shifted.
Bayleigh and I crossed a line.
And instead of feeling like a fracture, it feels like the foundation of a pack finally starting to settle into place.
38
Bayleigh
The night airhits me when I step onto the porch, cool enough that it should raise goosebumps, but it doesn’t. I’m too warm from the inside out, my body still on the high with everything Lincoln and I shared tonight.
And then there’s Milton. I can feel him next to me. The gentle brush of his shoulder against mine. His grapefruit scent mixing with mine and Lincoln's.
He reaches for my hand. His fingers thread through mine like it’s something he’s done before, even though he hasn’t. His palm is warm, steady, and I swear my heart actually stumbles at how natural it feels. I feel my perfume seep out stronger, but he doesn’t say anything.
He leads me down the steps, my legs a little unsteady, not from the walk but from the thought looping on repeat in my head. I lost my virginity tonight. With Lincoln. The man who looks at me like I’m his entire world.
When we reach the truck, he doesn’t just open the door; no, he goes a step further. Milton braces one arm on the frame, theother at my waist, guiding me up into the seat like I’m something precious he’s taking care of.
My eyes drop to him as he speaks. “You okay?”
I nod, and he flashes me a crooked grin as he shuts the door.
He jogs around the front of the truck and slides into the driver’s seat. He looks at me like he’s trying— and failing—- to hide how happy he is. To be here, in my presence. Next to me. Even in this car. Knowing I can make someone look like that is still so new. So hard to believe.
