"I check on Hope every day." His voice was soft, conversational, easy in a way that made my chest ache with longing. He glanced at me sideways, his green eyes warm in the morning light, his sandy hair ruffled by the breeze into artful disarray. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, hopeful and sweet. "If you ever want to come with me—to see her, to help—you're always welcome."
"I'd like that." My voice came out steadier than I expected, and I felt something shift in my chest—something that had been tight and guarded for so long beginning to ease, like a fist slowly unclenching. I squeezed his hand gently, marveling at the way it felt to choose this, to want this, to let myself have it. "I'd like that a lot."
Nolan's smile was like the sun coming out from behind clouds—slow and warm and blindingly beautiful, transforming his whole face. His green eyes crinkled at the corners, lighting up from within, and years seemed to fall away from him, leaving something young and hopeful in their wake.
"It's a date, then." His voice was light, almost teasing, but his eyes were serious, sincere, holding mine with quiet intensity. His fingers tightened around mine, a gentle squeeze that felt like a promise, like a vow. "Every morning, if you want. Just you and me and the animals."
A date. The word settled into my chest and took root, sending tendrils of warmth spreading through my veins, blooming into something I was too afraid to name. We were almost to the main house when Nolan slowed, then stopped, turning to face me fully. His green eyes searched my face, and I could see him gathering himself, working up to something, his throat moving as he swallowed.
"Aster." His voice was soft, careful, weighted with significance, his free hand rising to hover near my face—not quite touching, asking permission with the gesture even before he asked with words. His fingers trembled slightly in the air between us, close enough that I could feel their warmth. "I know this is all new. I know you're scared—hell, I'm scared too. But I want you to know..." He paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his cheeks flushing pink beneath his freckles in a way that made him look impossibly young and vulnerable. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you stayed. And whatever pace you need, whatever time you need—I'm not going anywhere."
I stared at him, at this gentle Alpha who looked at me like I was something precious rather than something broken, who held my hand like it was a privilege rather than a right, who spoke of patience and healing like they were sacred things rather than weaknesses.
"Why?" The word came out before I could stop it, small and uncertain, carrying the weight of thirteen years of never being enough. "Why me? You don't even know me."
"I'm learning." Nolan's voice was simple, sincere, his green eyes holding mine with quiet intensity that made it impossible to look away, impossible to hide. His hovering hand finally made contact, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with infinite tenderness that made my throat close up. The touch was brief, gentle, reverent—like I wassomething precious he was afraid of damaging. "And I like what I'm learning. So much."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stand there, frozen, as something cracked open inside me—something that had been locked away so long I'd forgotten it existed, something that ached with the pain of finally being seen.
"Nolan." My voice broke on his name, splintering around the edges, and I didn't know if I was warning him away or begging him closer or something in between.
"I know." His voice was barely a whisper, his hand falling away from my face to take my other hand, both of mine now cradled in both of his, held between us like something sacred. His thumbs traced matching paths across my knuckles, soothing and steady, anchoring me to the moment. "I know it's too soon. I know you're not ready. But I needed you to know—this isn't just... convenience, or proximity, or some Alpha thing." His green eyes burned with sincerity, bright and unwavering, pinning me in place with their intensity. "It's you. Just you."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek before I could stop it, hot and traitorous, tracking a path of warmth across my skin. Nolan's breath caught, his whole body stilling, and one of his hands released mine to rise toward my face again, hesitating in the air between us.
"Can I?" His voice was rough, pained, like my tears hurt him physically, like watching me cry caused him actual suffering.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, my throat too tight for words.
His thumb brushed across my cheek, catching the tear with infinite gentleness, wiping it away like it was something precious rather than something shameful. His hand lingered there, cupping my face, his palm warm against my skin, his fingers trembling slightly against my jaw.
"We should go inside." His voice was soft, reluctant, and I could see the effort it took him to step back, to give me space when every line of his body seemed to want to pull closer. His hand fell away from my face slowly, like it cost him something to break the contact, but he kept hold of my other hand, unwilling to let go entirely. "Kol's probably set something on fire by now."
I laughed—a wet, shaky sound, closer to a sob than real humor, but genuine nonetheless. The tension broke, easing into something softer, and I squeezed his hand in silent gratitude for the escape route, for letting me retreat without shame.
"Yeah." My voice was rough, but steadier than before. I wiped at my face with my free hand, embarrassed by the tears but unable to regret them, unable to wish this moment away. "We should."
We walked the rest of the way hand in hand, neither of us speaking, the morning spreading out around us in shades of gold and green, the mountains watching over us like ancient guardians. And when we reached the porch steps and finally, reluctantly let go, our fingers sliding apart, I felt the loss of his warmth like a physical thing—an ache in my palm, a hollow space where his hand had been.
Underneath the loss, there was something else. Something new and fragile and terrifying but I couldn't wait to see what it grew into.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASTER
Something was different.
I noticed it in small ways at first—things I could explain away, dismiss as coincidence or comfort or nothing at all. The way I found myself lingering in doorways where the Alphas had passed, breathing deeper than necessary. The way my hand would reach out to touch things they'd touched, trailing fingers over the back of a chair where Reid had sat, the coffee mug Sawyer had left on the counter.
The way I slept.
Three nights in the guest room now, and each night had been better than the last. No nightmares. No jolting awake at every sound. Just deep, dreamless sleep that left me feeling more rested than I had in years—maybe ever. I'd attributed it to exhaustion at first, to finally having a safe place to lay my head, but that wasn't quite right. It was more than safety.
It was the scent.
Their scents, woven into the sheets and the walls and the very air of the house. Whiskey and woodsmoke. Eucalyptusand honey. Sun-baked grass and wind. Orange blossoms and warmth. They surrounded me every moment I was inside, layered and intertwined, and somewhere along the way my body had decided that this—this combination, this specific blend—meant safe. Meant home.
I didn't know what to do with that.
