“Yield,” Mitch repeats, adding a little pressure to Garrett’s limb.
He doesn’t want to break Garrett’s arm, but looking at Mitch’s cold, detached demeanor, I know he will if it means all this bullshit ends here. He has better things to do than deal with nonsensical challenges every day of the week. The victory needs to be emphatic.
Garrett struggles, but Mitch has leverage now, which he reminds him of by pushing his arm even higher. After a long moment, and some pained grunts, Garrett’s hand slaps the ground. “Fine. Fuck. I yield.”
Mitch releases him immediately, stepping back, barely winded.
Garrett struggles to his feet, supported by his crew, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.
“Get out of here,” Mitch says. “And this nonsense better be done, or you’re out.”
As Garrett’s group helps him limp away, a slow clap begins around the circle. People swarm Mitch with congratulations, but I see the look in his eyes. Victory without joy. Duty fulfilled, but nothing more.
His heart really isn’t in it.
The impromptu celebration continues around the BBQ. Someone produces beer, and others add more food to the grill. Cubs dare each other to get closer to where the fight happened, already turning it into legend.
I find Mitch sitting apart from the others, checking his phone. His expression softens at whatever he’s reading, a genuine smile crossing his face for the first time all evening.
“Mom?” I ask, settling beside him.
He nods, tilting the screen so I can see. It’s a photo of a young she-bear, looking healthy and safe, waving goodbye from the lakeshore. One of their residents at the sanctuary.
“She left the island today,” Mitch says quietly.
I look at my brother, noticing the way his entire demeanor changes when he talks about the sanctuary. The way his shoulders relax, his voice warms. This is what he’s meant to do. Not lead through strength but heal through compassion.
And I’m keeping him from it. Mitch has been sacrificing his dreams for the clan. For me.
But no more.
I stand, the movement drawing attention. Conversations quiet as people turn to look. The fire crackles in the sudden silence.
“I have something to say.” My voice carries across the gathered crowd, growing stronger with each word. “Mitch has led this clan with honour. He’s protected us, guided us, and shown us what we could become beyond my father’s legacy.”
Mitch looks up at me, unsure what I’m going to say next.
“But he’s been asked to take on another leadership role, one that will benefit the women in this clan, and others, greatly.” I look into his eyes. “And he’s kindly agreed.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod, understanding. Others look confused. Mainly the men.
“Which is why, effective immediately, if you’ll have me, I’m taking my role as Alpha of Black River Clan. The one my father worked so hard to ensure I never stepped into.” The words feel strange in my mouth, but right. “Mitch has given enough. It’s time he follows his own path.”
The silence stretches for a heartbeat until Marcus claps, slow and deliberate. Others join in, the sound building until it’s thunderous. Cubs whoop and holler. Someone raises a beer in salute.
But I see Mitch’s face, the profound relief mixed with gratitude. He stands, crossing to me, and pulls me into a brief, hard, back-thumping man hug.
“About fucking time,” he mutters.
When we part, I address the clan again. “Anyone who wants to challenge me is welcome to.”
Heads swivel, checking to see if anyone is brave or stupid enough to step forward.
Nobody moves.
That kicks the celebration up another notch. People press forward to offer congratulations, to pledge support, and to share their hopes for what comes next.
I try to focus, to be present for this moment that I’ve avoided for so long. Rubbing my shoulder, I draw on our connection, using it to ground me.
