The moment I step outside, the cold hits me like a gentle slap, a welcome contrast to the feverish warmth still simmering under my skin. Fat, fluffy snowflakes are drifting down from a soft gray sky, coating everything in a layer of pristine white. The world looks clean and new and full of possibility, like a fresh page waiting to be written on.
New beginnings. It feels like a sign. The universe telling me that everything is exactly as it should be.
I lower my gaze from the sky, blinking snowflakes off my lashes, and that's when I see him.
Tank is leaning against his truck at the edge of the parking lot, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like something out of a winter romance movie. Snow is settling in his dark hair and on the shoulders of his jacket, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. His attention is entirely fixed on me.
"When did you get here?" I ask, my voice catching slightly as I approach.
"Just now," he says. His eyes narrow as he takes in my face--the tears I can feel threatening to spill, the way I'm probably looking shell-shocked and overwhelmed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say, and then immediately burst into tears.
Tank doesn't hesitate. He doesn't ask questions or demand explanations. He simply opens his arms and says, "Come here. You want a hug?"
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat, and walk straight into his embrace. His arms come around me like a fortress, solid and warm and infinitely safe. He smells like cedar and pine and home, and I bury my face against his chest and let myself fall apart.
The sobs come in waves--messy and inelegant and impossible to control. I'm crying for all of it: the phone call from my mother, the blessing I never expected to receive, the coffee shop opportunity that's finally becoming real, the pre-heat warmth building in my blood, the knowledge that tomorrow is Valentine's Day and I'm going to spend it with people who actually love me.
Tank holds me through all of it, one hand rubbing soothing circles on my back, the other cradling my head against his chest. He doesn't shush me or tell me to calm down. He just lets me cry, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
"Do I need to kill anyone?" he asks eventually, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest.
I laugh--a wet, hiccupy sound that's half-sob, half-genuine amusement. "No. Not yet." I pull back just enough to look up at him, knowing my face is probably a disaster of smeared mascara and red, puffy eyes. "These are happy tears. I promise."
His expression softens, though the protective wariness doesn't entirely leave his eyes. "Happy tears," he repeats, like he's confirming it for himself.
"My mother called," I explain, my voice still wobbly. "And she was... she was actually supportive? I think? She saw pictures of me in the paper and she said my eyes were shining and she told me to stay happy and that she'd talk to my father."Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "Tank, I think she gave me her blessing. My mother, who hired bounty hunters to drag me home. She's going to talk to my father about accepting my pack."
Tank studies my face for a long moment, processing this information. Then he pulls me back against his chest, wrapping me up tight in his arms.
"Let it out," he murmurs against my hair. "Let it all out. Cry as much as you need to, Sweetness. I've got you."
So I do. I stand there in the falling snow, wrapped in my Alpha's arms, and cry happy tears until there aren't any left. I cry for the scared girl who ran away in the middle of the night with nothing but hope and desperation. I cry for the woman I'm becoming, strong and loved and building a life she actually wants. I cry for the family I thought I'd lost and the blessing I never expected to receive. I cry for every lonely moment I spent wondering if anyone would ever truly want me, for every rejection that scarred my heart, for every time I convinced myself I wasn't worthy of love.
Tank holds me through all of it. He doesn't shift impatiently or check his phone or give any indication that he has somewhere else to be. He just stands there in the snow, letting it accumulate on his shoulders and in his hair, holding me like there's nowhere in the world he'd rather be than right here, right now, being my anchor in the storm of emotions I can't contain.
When I finally pull back, sniffling and probably looking like an absolute mess with mascara streaks down my cheeks and a red, blotchy face, Tank uses his thumb to wipe the tears away. His touch is impossibly gentle for someone with hands that could crush bone, hands that have probably done things I'll never know about in his military days.
"Better?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me even in the cold.
"Better," I confirm, managing a watery smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "I'm so grateful, Tank. For all of you. For this life. For everything you've given me. For the nest and the library and the way you make me feel like I actually matter."
"You do matter," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like he can't understand how I ever doubted it. "You matter more than you know. And you deserve every bit of this happiness. Every single bit. Now let's get you home before you catch a cold on top of everything else."
He guides me toward the truck, one arm still wrapped protectively around my shoulders, keeping me close against his warmth. He opens the passenger door and helps me up into the cab, his hands steady on my waist as I climb into the warm interior. The heater is already running--he must have turned it on before getting out, anticipating that I'd need the warmth--and I'm enveloped in comfort the moment I settle into the familiar leather seat.
Tank rounds the vehicle with quick, efficient movements and climbs in beside me, bringing a rush of cold air and snowflakes before the door closes behind him. He reaches over and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers on the center console like it's the most natural thing in the world.
As he pulls out of the parking lot, I lean my head against the window and watch the snow fall. The world is quiet and beautiful and full of promise, everything painted in soft whites and grays like a watercolor dream. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Tomorrow I'm going to sign papers that bring me one step closer to my coffee shop dream. Tomorrow I'm going to spend the day--and probably the next several days after that, given the heat building in my blood--with the pack that loves me.
And somewhere across the country, my mother is going to talk to my father. She's going to advocate for my happiness, for my right to choose my own life. After everything--the bountyhunters, the arranged matings, the years of disappointment--she saw pictures of me with shining eyes and decided that maybe, just maybe, she could let me go.
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of Tank's presence beside me, the rumble of the engine beneath us, the steady beat of a heart that's finally, after so long, at peace.
I could very well be an Omega on Valentine's Day…free to love who I truly wish to be with..
CHAPTER 38
