She glances around the kitchen, and her expression shifts.
“I think I could get used to this,” she murmurs.
“You better,” Carson says. “Because we’re already used to you.”
I don’t say anything—just refill her glass of water and set it beside her plate. My hand brushes hers as I place it down, and her fingers linger on mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She looks at me, and she doesn’t look away.
And in that moment—with dinner in front of us, her scent in the air, Carson close enough to kiss her shoulder, and Hunter watching her as though she’s the only star in the sky—I realize something:
We’re not just protecting her anymore. We’re building a home. One bite, one touch, one promise at a time. And I’ll wait for my bond as long as it takes.
Because I’m not here just to claim her.
I’m here to love her.
CHAPTER 62
Willow
It’s beena week since everything shifted.
A week of dinners shared around my tiny kitchen island, of Hunter pulling me into his lap like I’m something precious, of Carson bringing me little things that make me laugh—sparkly pens, a sticker that says Omega but make it chaos.
A week of Graham disappearing during the day with no explanation, returning late with tired eyes and a look as though he’s keeping a secret. That doesn’t bother me; whatever it is must be important. But he makes my body sing every single night.
The mark on my neck from Hunter makes our bond stronger the more time we are together. It’s to the point where I know when he’s close by. I want to offer the same to Carson and Graham, but fear is a bitch.
They’re my pack—even if it isn’t official.
No one’s said it out loud, but I can feel the shape of it forming in the space between all of us. The way they orbit me. The way I’ve started to lean into them without hesitation.
Even the way they argue feels different now—less about protocol, more about who gets to cook dinner or hold theremote or keep watch over me when I fall asleep in the nest of blankets we’ve started making permanent on the living room floor.
I haven’t asked about Graham’s house. I know they have one—he mentioned it once. I think part of me is afraid to ask. Afraid it means something too big. Too permanent.
At the rink, Landon watches me, attempting to piece together who I’ve become without him. Almost as if he’s still searching for the girl he remembers, and doesn’t quite recognize the woman standing in her place.
Sometimes he offers advice. Throws out a quiet joke. Keeps just enough distance to make sure I know he’s still there.
But I watch him too—when no one’s watching me.
And I’d be lying if I said he didn’t still twist something inside of me. The way he did that first day on his sister’s porch, when he smiled and the world slowed down just for us.
It was only a week.
One week.
But it wrecked me for months.
So when practice ends and the team starts to filter out, their laughter echoing toward the locker rooms, I skate toward him with all the words I’ve been carrying since I left him behind.
He looks up, surprised, his helmet tucked under his arm, auburn hair falling messily over his forehead.
“I need to say something,” I start.
He straightens slightly, bracing.
