Carson shifts toward me, serious now. “Because I couldn’t stop you without hurting you. And hurting you? That’s not an option.”
I inhale slowly. “You’re not afraid of what he might be to me?”
“I’m afraid of losing you,” he says easily. “That’s different. But that would hurt me, not you.”
God.
I want to kiss him again.
I want to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything: that I want all of them, that I’m scared of ruining it, that I don’t know how to handle the way Finn makes me feel.
But all I say is, “Thank you.”
He leans in and brushes his lips against my temple. “Anytime, peaches.”
Then he tugs me into his lap, arms wrapping around me. He grabs the remote, scrolling through one of the streaming services I use, flipping aimlessly. I melt into him, letting the weight of the day bleed off me.
It feels easy. Natural. Like this is someplace I was always meant to be.
And maybe it is.
There’s a kind of peace in this moment that feels unfamiliar. I’ve spent so long fighting this part of myself—pushing away any notion of softness or belonging. I built a life on speed, independence, walls. Told myself I didn’t want a pack. That I didn’t need one.
Except...I did. I do.
I think about Landon. The one alpha I let in. The one I chased. The one who made everything feel so hot and aliveand inevitability. I gave him my whole heart in a matter of days—and when it broke, I acted as if he was the only one to blame.
But he wasn’t.
I wanted him to save me without knowing how to save myself. I buried parts of me to keep the fantasy alive. Pretended we could outrun the things that didn’t fit.
We were reckless. And we burned out fast.
And maybe it wasn’t all his fault.
The ache is still there—but duller now. Faded at the edges.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to out-skate today. Not just the memories, not just the heat of his presence back in my life—but the truth underneath it.
Losing a scent match didn’t destroy me.
And that doesn’t make what we had any less real. It just means it wasn’t at the right time. We weren’t ready—not for the kind of love that lasts. But this—this slow, steady thing I’m building now—it might be.
It’s not about chasing or burning. It’s not about filling some missing piece. Or hoping someone else can fix the broken parts of me.
It’s about showing up. About staying, even when it gets hard. About forgiving—when they fuck up, or I do. Everything I should have done with Landon, if I’d known how.
And maybe…maybe it’s not too late.
I don’t know what that means yet. I don’t know if we’ll find a way forward or if we were only ever meant to collide and grow apart. But the door inside me—the one I slammed shut—it’s not locked anymore. Just cracked. Just enough to wonder.
I take a slow, measured breath and rest my head against Carson’s shoulder. His hand rubs lazy circles into my arm, grounding me.
And I don’t say anything else.
I don’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long time, there isn’t another shoe that’s going to drop, or something waiting around the corner to go wrong. I just feel…wanted. And maybe the future isn’t about choosing between what was and what could be.
