"Then get used to it." His voice is gentle but firm. "Because this is what pack does, Jessica. We take care of our own."
"But I'm not officially pack. We haven't bonded. I'm just someone who showed up and crashed your lives."
"You've been ours since the moment you showed up in that wedding dress." He takes my hand, squeezes it once. "We just didn't know it yet."
I turn away before he can see the tears starting. Focus on the window instead. New glass. New frame. Even the sill has been replaced.
They thought of everything.
"The bathroom?" I manage to ask.
"Completely redone. New tub, new tile, new everything. Carlos went a little overboard on the fixtures. I tried to stop him but..." Pedro trails off. "You can see for yourself."
I walk down the hallway on autopilot. Push open the bathroom door.
And stop.
It's beautiful.
Not just fixed. Transformed. The old pink tile is gone, replaced with soft grey subway tiles. The ancient tub has been replaced with a modern soaking tub. New vanity. New mirror. New lighting that actually illuminates the space instead of casting everything in dingy yellow.
"He said your mom deserved something nice when she got back from Mexico," Pedro says from the doorway. "That you both did."
That's when I lose it.
The tears come fast and ugly. My shoulders shake. My nose runs. I sink down onto the closed toilet seat and sob into my hands like a child.
Pedro doesn't try to stop me. Doesn't tell me it's okay or that I shouldn't cry. He just crouches in front of me and waits.
"I don't deserve this," I finally manage between sobs. "Any of this. I ran away from my wedding and invaded your lives and caused nothing but problems."
"You deserve everything." His hands find my wet face, tilting it up so I have to meet his eyes. "You deserve people who fix your house without being asked. Who stand beside you when things get hard. Who love you exactly as you are."
"I'm a mess."
"You're perfect."
"Pedro, that's not..."
"I'm not asking you to believe it yet." His thumbs brush away my tears. "Just don't argue with me about it."
I laugh. It comes out watery and broken but it's real.
"Come on." He stands and offers his hand. "Let me show you what Carlos did to the kitchen. You're either going to love it or kill him. Maybe both."
I take his hand and let him pull me up.
The tour continues. Every room touched by the flood has been restored. Improved. Made better than it was before. The basement is dry, the water heater new, Dad's tools carefully cleaned and reorganized on the repaired workbench.
By the time we're standing in the kitchen, complete with new countertops and a backsplash that Carlos definitely didn'tneed to install, I'm exhausted from crying and overwhelmed by gratitude.
"Thank you." I lean against the new counter. "Tell Carlos and Sergio and Nacho thank you. This is..." I gesture helplessly. "I don't have words."
"You don't need words." Pedro leans beside me. "Just accept it."
We stand there in comfortable silence. In my mother's house that isn't quite my mother's house anymore. In this space that four alphas rebuilt because they could. Because they wanted to. Because somewhere along the way, I became theirs.
"We should head back," Pedro says eventually. "Carlos is making dinner and I don't trust him not to set something on fire."
