The late morning sun is warm on my skin, the kind that should feel soft and comforting, but everything inside me is raw and humming. My pack lingers at my back, a wall of heat and muscle, their shadows stretching across the pale gravel drive of my father’s estate.
Dad doesn’t move at first. He just stands in front of us, the light catching in the strands of his silver-streaked hair, his mouth drawn in a tight line. The manicured lawn, the long driveway, the quiet that comes from being so far from the road—it all makes the moment feel too big, too real. There’s nowhere to hide.
Finally, he drags a hand down his face, letting out a slow, unsteady breath. “Take care of her,” he says to the men behind me, his gaze landing on Finn momentarily. “I’m trusting you with the only thing that ever really mattered.”
Landon rubs my shoulder. Graham dips his head in a solemn nod. Hunter’s gaze doesn’t waver. Carson tilts his mouth into a half-smile, the tension bleeding out of his stance. “She’s safe,” he says simply, with a thread of playful defiance. “Even from herself.”
Dad exhales a sound that’s almost a laugh, but it’s heavy with memory instead of humor. “Just like her mother,” he murmurs.
I blink against the sunlight, my throat tight. “I’ll call,” I promise, because it feels like the only bridge I can build right now.
He nods once, retreating into the shadow of the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame as if letting go costs him something. When the door closes softly behind him, the weight in my chest eases just enough for me to breathe again.
The world outside his house is bright and open, the kind of day that promises change. I feel Finn shift at my side, his fingers squeezing mine in quiet solidarity, and Landon exhales beside me.
“Let’s go,” Graham says quietly, his voice a steady anchor.
I glance one last time at the house, at the life I’ve outgrown but will never stop loving, and then at the men who are my home now. My family. My choice. A soft smile pulls at my lips as I step forward with them, the gravel crunching under our feet.
The sun warms my face, and hope blooms easy and certain in my chest.
Epilogue
Willow
Two months later
I can’t sit still.
There’s a hum under my skin, a restless energy that makes me flit from my nest to the living room and back again, arms full of blankets, spare pillows, and anything that smells of me—or them. My body is moving before I can even think, making the space right, softer, warmer, safer.
“Peaches…?” Carson leans against the doorway, one brow arched as he watches me strip the guest-room bed for another comforter. “You’ve been a whirlwind for like…forty minutes. You okay?”
“Fine,” I chirp, tossing the comforter over my shoulder and hurrying past him. “Just—this one’s softer. It needs to be in there.”
“In where?” he calls after me.
I ignore him, heading straight to my room. The nest is starting to take shape: a fortress of comfort, layers of our life woven together. One of Carson’s hoodies. Graham’s soft thermal shirt. Hunter’s blanket that still smells like his musk.A pillow Finn stole from the couch because he said it was “well-seasoned with cuddles.”
And right in the center,I tuck Landon’s Nationals jacket—the white one with our team logo and his name across the back. It still smells faintly like clean linen and victory, like the kiss he gave me after we won. I smooth my hand over the embroidery, feeling warm all over.
When I drop the new comforter in place, a little sigh escapes me. Better. Not perfect. But closer. Graham did a great job building me the nest, and now I am making it fully mine. Sure, I’ve stolen items of clothing over the last couple of months, but something is driving me to add more. I need all of them, and it thrums inside of me like a second heartbeat.
Finn appears next, camera hanging around his neck, head tilted as he studies the room. “You’re nesting,” he says with a knowing smile.
“I am not nesting,” I protest automatically, fluffing a pillow and tucking it under another blanket.
Finn hums like he doesn’t believe me, leaning in the doorway and letting his eyes travel over the new pile of blankets, hoodies, and pillows. “Uh-huh. And I’m not about to take three hundred photos of you the second your heat hits.”
Behind him, Hunter appears, carrying a laundry basket. He blinks at the room, then at me. “Oh. Oh.”
Carson snorts. “Oh?”
Hunter jerks his head toward the nest, his expression softening. “She’s getting ready.”
Carson’s teasing fades into something warmer, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, hell. That means it’s time, doesn’t it?”
Graham’s heavy footsteps approach, and he pauses at thedoorway, taking in the scene with that assessing, pack-leader gaze. His mouth curves slowly as he takes a step inside. “Instinct kicked in, huh?”
