"How long?" I ask, though I'm not entirely sure I want to know the answer.
"Weather service is saying at least twelve hours. Maybe longer if the storm stalls over us."
I close my eyes and try to find some reserve of strength I haven't tapped yet. When I open them, Xavier and Logan have joined our crisis management huddle, and all three of them are looking at me with expressions that somehow manage to be both concerned and completely confident that I'll figure out how to fix this.
"What do you need?" Xavier asks simply, and the straightforward question in the middle of all this chaos is exactly what I need to hear.
"Solutions," I say, my brain already spinning through possibilities. "Food, heat, sleeping arrangements for fifty-plus people, and a way to keep everyone from panicking and turning this into Lord of the Flies with better outfits."
"Food we can handle," Logan says, his construction manager's mind already working through logistics. "Catering brought enough for the reception plus extras, and there are emergency supplies in the basement. Heat's going to be trickier, but there are fireplaces in three of the rooms."
"I can coordinate sleeping arrangements," Griff adds. "There are guest rooms upstairs, and we can make the common areas work for everyone else with enough creativity."
"And I can handle crowd management," Xavier says. "Keep people informed, address concerns, make sure nobody does anything spectacularly stupid."
I look between the three of them, these alphas who stepped up without being asked, who are offering solutions instead of complaints, who are treating this disaster like a problem to be solved rather than a catastrophe to panic about.
Looking at them now, framed by the windows where the blizzard rages, surrounded by the venue they built and the wedding they saved from disaster, I realize something important.
Maybe some things are worth fighting for.
"Okay," I say, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders as I look at these three impossible men who keep showing up when I need them most. "Let's save Emma's wedding and keep everyone from freezing to death or descending into chaos. How hard could it be?"
The universe, apparently, takes that as a personal challenge.
So here I am again, Universe. You let the boys handle the morning crises perfectly, gave me one moment to breathe, then dropped a blizzard on us like a cosmic plot twist. But these three alphas just proved they can handle the impossible. So bring it on. We're ready for whatever you throw at us next.
Thirty minutes into what's officially being called "The Great Christmas Eve Blizzard Incident," and I'm already questioning every life choice that led me to this moment.
I'm standing in the main hall of the venue we somehow built in a week, watching about fifty wedding guests slowly realize they're trapped in what's becoming a winter survival scenario. Two hundred out of a planned thousand. Typical pack punctuality. Emma had invited every pack within a three-state radius, and naturally, half of them decided to show up "fashionably late" right into the teeth of a blizzard. The other three hundred just didn't bother showing up at all. Because apparently RSVP'ing "yes" to a wedding doesn't actually mean you'll attend if there's the slightest inconvenience involved.
Unreliable bastards.
Logan's disappeared into the basement to assess heating options with the enthusiasm of someone who thinks manual labor can solve weather emergencies. Xavier's organizing guest lists like this is a military operation rather than a wedding gone sideways. And Savannah's somewhere being Savannah, probably trying to coordinate seventeen different disasters simultaneously while having what might be a controlled panic attack.
Which leaves me dealing with the immediate human chaos.
"Griffin!" Beverly Hartwell from the matchmaking committee waves me over with the urgency of someone flagging down a life raft. "We need to discuss sleeping arrangements. There are unmated individuals who might benefit from strategic room assignments during this crisis situation."
Strategic room assignments. Because apparently even a blizzard is just another opportunity for romantic warfare.
"Beverly," I grunt, trying to keep my voice level, "right now I'm more concerned with keeping everyone alive than I am with your matchmaking schemes."
"But think of the possibilities!" She clutches her clipboard like it contains state secrets. "Forced proximity, heightened emotions, the natural bonding that occurs during survival situations..."
I walk away before I say something that'll get me uninvited from future Pine Hollow social events. Not that I'd mind being uninvited, but Logan would probably have opinions about my diplomatic skills.
That's when Harold flags me down, his usually calm demeanor replaced by something approaching panic.
"Griffin, I need to get home," he says, wringing his hands like a nervous omega. "My wife is expecting me for dinner, and if I'm late because of weather, she's going to think I'm using the storm as an excuse to avoid her mother's visit."
I look out the window at what can only be described as nature having a complete psychological breakdown. The snow's coming down so hard it looks like someone's shaking the world's most aggressive snow globe.
"Harold," I say carefully, "the roads are closed. As in, the county has physically blocked them with equipment. You're not driving anywhere until this stops."
"But my wife..."
I'm not sure why he came to the wedding without her, but who am I to question relationships.
