I don’t know the exact moment I accepted that the bond between the four of us was real, something unbreakable and strong enough to withstand anything. But now that I have, it feels like having a ship in the storm of life—solid, unwavering, and making everything easier.
My smug confidence wavers for a second when a figure rushes toward us, all concern and streaked mascara. My mother. Crying. In public. Did the world end? Did my father keel over?I’m rooted in place, thrown off by the sight of her vulnerability, and that’s saying something.
Dean stops next to me, his muscles tensing as he takes half a step in front, like a shield. The low, warning growl that vibrates from him makes my lips twitch upward in an involuntary smile. Protective alpha mode engaged. And damn, if that isn’t the most satisfying thing to witness.
My mother stops a short distance away, her heels clicking to a halt on the marble floor, the echo hanging in the awkward silence between us. Her usually composed and polished face is soft, lined with very real, very raw concern, a look I’ve only ever seen a handful of times—each one carved into my memory like a rare collector’s piece. For a second, I almost don’t recognize her, and that disarms me more than anything else.
Her eyes are locked on me, wide with worry. “Chad,” she breathes out, the tremble in her voice genuine. “I heard what happened… with your friend, and the police, and what Jenny did, and everything else. Are you okay? I’ve been so worried.”
I blink, trying to piece this together. My mother. Worried. The concept rattles around in my mind like an ill-fitting puzzle piece. Motherly care has never exactly been her strong suit—her affection dolled out sparingly, like a luxury item on special occasions. Seeing it now feels both unfamiliar and oddly welcome, and I’m not sure how to react.
“Um… yeah.” My voice comes out hesitant, almost questioning, as if waiting for reality to snap back into place. “I’m… okay. Everything's fine.”
She takes a step forward, her gaze flicking briefly to Dean as his warning growl hangs in the air. The tension between them is palpable, but I quickly rest my hand on his bicep, a silent plea for calm, and step closer to her. My mother’s eyes never leave mine and, for a moment, the vulnerability in her expression cuts through me.
“This never would have happened if your father wasn’t such a bastard,” she says, her voice low but carrying a venom I rarely hear directed at him. The words hang there, sinking into my mind, and I’m stunned, frozen. She’s never talked about my father like that before—not openly, not in front of anyone, and certainly not with such raw disdain.
It’s like watching an immovable statue crack, revealing something soft and human underneath. I search her face, looking for some trace of sarcasm or hidden agenda, but all I find is weariness and a bitterness that seems... genuine.
“Wait,” I say, trying to keep up, my mouth dry. “Are you… blaming him?”
I can’t find the connection.
She meets my eyes, the mask she usually wears slipping even more. “He should have been there for you. Not kicking you out of our home,” she continues, her voice cracking slightly. “Instead, he acted like you were a burden. And I was… I wasn’t enough. I know that.”
My heart pounds in my chest, confusion and disbelief swirling together. This is more openness from her than I’ve ever gotten in a lifetime, and I can’t quite process it.
“I—” The words catch in my throat, and I falter, completely thrown off-balance. This isn’t a script I know how to follow.
She takes a shaky breath, her eyes shining with a vulnerability I’m not used to seeing. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” she says softly. “And if you let me, I want to try to be the kind of mother you need.”
A storm of conflicting emotions churns inside me. Part of me wants to scream that it’s too little, too late—that I needed this years ago when the hurt and disappointment were still fresh. But another part, the part that still aches for something as simple and impossible as having an actual mom, hesitates. Hope is fragile, but it’s there, stubbornly refusing to be extinguished.
I don’t know what this will look like or if we’ll ever truly fix the years of damage. But if she’s willing to try, then maybe I can be too. I’m tired of running, tired of feeling like I have to keep walls up between me and everyone who’s supposed to care.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word tentative but real. “We can try.”
Her face lights up, a genuine smile breaking through the remnants of her tears. She swipes at them hastily before suddenly launching herself at me, wrapping me in a hug. It's awkward and unexpected—her arms clutching me tightly, almost desperately—and for a moment, I just stand there, stunned. My mother has never been one for embraces, and certainly not for me.
"I love you, Chadwick," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't say that enough, if ever, but that will change."
Her words pierce right through my defenses, and something raw and unfamiliar cracks open in my chest. I lift my hands hesitantly, finally letting them rest on her back. The hug feels foreign, but maybe... maybe it doesn’t have to stay that way.
Dean steps back slightly, his presence still protective but less tense, as if sensing the delicate shift between us.
“I—” I try to find the right words, my throat tight. “I’d like that. For things to change.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes filled with hope. “I’m here, whatever you need. Just tell me, and we’ll figure it out.”
The disbelief lingers, but I can’t help the small, hesitant smile that touches my lips. Maybe this is a step toward something better. Maybe, for once, I can believe it.
CHAPTER 50
Mason
I’m practically whistlingas I leave the animal shelter, the kind of good mood that feels like sunshine beaming out of my chest. Everything just clicks today—work, life, the pack. Hell, even the dogs were behaving better than usual, tails wagging and tongues lolling like they could feel my happiness.
Sliding into my truck, I grab my phone and fire off a quick text to the group chat:
