Maybe it’s about finding space for both.
I take a slow, measured breath.
The apartment smells like rosemary and simmering beef broth. I’m pretty sure Graham was meant to be a chef, not a bodyguard. He’s spent over an hour on the roast, and that’s not counting the prep he did before we even left for practice.
He’s at the stove now, sleeves rolled, carefully ladling a spoonful into a small bowl to taste-test the seasoning. His brow is furrowed in concentration, as if the balance of garlic and lemon is the most important mission of his life.
It’s…adorable, honestly.
Hunter is at the table now, his knee bouncing as he scrolls through his phone, but his eyes shift to me every few seconds. Watching. Present. His words from earlier echo in my head.
You don’t have to hold it together around us. Not with me.
The sincerity in his voice, the quiet steadiness—he wasn’t offering pity. He was offering trust. Safety. Maybe even something deeper.
And I’m trying.
I really am.
But I’m not just unraveling one thread—I’m trying to untangle a whole web.A scent match. A pack I never asked for but somehow ended up needing. A stalker.
The thought makes my gaze wander. My eyes drift to the wide window just off the living room, and before I evenrealize I’m moving, I slip from Carson’s lap and cross to it. I stand at the glass, my fingers grazing the edge of the sill.
Finn’s there.
Across the street. Standing in the window of that apartment he rented solely to watch me.
He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile.
But he sees me. And I see him.
The distance between us is weighted—charged. Full of things unsaid and moments unfelt and tension that refuses to loosen. I feel movement behind me and glance over my shoulder.
Graham.
He approached on silent feet, the towel slung over his shoulder, his eyes on me. His attention shifts to Finn across the street and then back to me.
I expect him to look angry. To shut the blinds. To come up behind me and pull me away. Tell me I’m being stupid for watching someone I shouldn’t want.
But he doesn’t.
He holds my gaze for a beat, then nods once, barely there. Almost imperceptible.
When I turn back to the window, Finn is still watching. And even from this far away, I swear I see it, the twitch of a smile. A slow nod. He saw Graham’s nod.
Saw that I wasn’t pulled away.
And somehow, that means something.
It’s not permission. It’s not a decision made. But it’s a start.
And my heart stutters in my chest because I know now—I’m not the only one letting Finn stay in this story—in my story.
My new pack sees it too.
I should be sleeping.
The make-shift nest is warm—soft blankets layered around me like a cocoon, the lingering scent of Graham’s cooking still hanging in the air. One of the guys is softly snoring behind me. Carson, probably. He’s warm and curls close. Hunter is nearby, too. I can feel his presence even without touching. He’s protective even in sleep.
