Bastien was in a pack with Rafe and Cal?
That explains so much and yet raises a thousand new questions.
"But things started going south," Etienne continues. "I do not know the full details. It is not my story to tell, and honestly, none of them have ever given me the complete picture. But it got to the point where they were just incompatible. The fighting, the tension, the inability to function as a unit. It was toxic."
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck.
"And when it came time to enter high school, they needed a complete pack to continue any form of competitive sports. Three members minimum. Without Bastien, Rafe and Cal were just two Alphas with no structure."
I gawk at him as the pieces start falling into place.
"So... that is when you came in?"
He smirks slightly, but his eyes carry a sadness that makes my heart ache.
"The replacement, essentially."
The word lands heavy in the small space between us.
Replacement. He thinks of himself as a replacement. Not a new member. Not an addition. A substitute for the brother who failed.
"It made sense at the time," he continues, his tone carefully neutral. "I was the same age as Rafe and Cal. I wanted to pursue hockey among other activities since I did not really know what I liked or wanted to be yet. And it meant I could stay connected to Rafe and Cal, which my parents encouraged because pack stability is everything in our world."
He thinks for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the window. The morning light catches the angles of his face, illuminating the constellation of freckles across his cheeks.
"I also like to write stories," he admits quietly, almost shyly. "Romance mostly, if I am being honest. And some darker stuff. Fiction that lets me explore emotions I do not always know how to express out loud."
My heart does a stupid little flip.
Romance. He writes romance. This beautiful, tattooed, hockey-playing Alpha writes romance stories in his spare time.
The universe is testing me. That is the only explanation.
"To strengthen my craft, there are classes and courses I had to take," he continues. "Creative writing, literature analysis, storytelling workshops. But again, access to all of that is basedon pack status. Without a recognized pack, you cannot enroll in elective programs at most academies. You are limited to the basics."
He shrugs, but the casualness is forced.
"So joining Rafe and Cal's pack seemed beneficial. I get to do the hockey madness that makes me all manly and Alpha-like." He says this with a dry sarcasm that makes me snort. "But I also get to write in the shadows and explore where that can lead me. Best of both worlds, theoretically."
I nod slowly, hearing the unspoken layers beneath every word.
"But?"
He smiles then, and his eyes soften as they peer into mine. That look. That gentle, searching, soul-deep look that makes me feel like he can see straight through every wall I have ever built.
"But I am always being compared to him," he says. "Especially by Rafe. I do not think he has really let go of the whole situation with Bastien. And because Rafe is deemed the leader, the captain, it falls on him as to why the pack fell apart. Why Bastien became what he is. It is like spiraling publicly while trying to act like everything is fine, when it is not. When nothing has been fine for a very long time."
I am quiet for a moment, letting his words settle around me.
Rafe is carrying the weight of Bastien's failure. Etienne is living in the shadow of a brother he replaced. Cal is hiding a past full of poverty and struggle. And all three of them are pretending to be fine when none of them are.
We are all just damaged people pretending we have it together, are we not?
"That is kind of like my predicament now," I say quietly. "Six weeks is so little time to find a pack and learn about them. Grow a relationship or actually have fun getting to know people. But I do not have a choice in the matter, which is the most frighteningpart. My mother has already made the decisions. All I can do is stall."
Etienne reaches over and lightly taps my nose with his index finger.
I pout, scrunching my face at the unexpected contact.
