"Good call." I push off from the counter.
As we walk toward the front door, I take one last look around. At the fresh paint and new floors and all the careful work that went into making this place whole again.
They fixed everything the flood represented. The chaos. The fear. The feeling that I was drowning and no one was coming to save me.
Four alphas showed up with tools and time and refused to let me drown.
And I'm starting to think maybe that's what love looks like.
Pedro holds the door open for me. "You ready?"
I step out onto the porch, into the November chill. "Yeah. Let's go home."
The word feels right. Home. Not the pack house.
Just home.
31
JESSICA
Three days. That's how long it's been since the article dropped, and Callum's face appeared on every news site from here to Seattle, looking sympathetic and heartbroken, spinning his narrative about the "mentally unstable omega" who broke his heart.
The Negrorios Pack have been trying to manage the fallout.
Sergio on the phone with lawyers.
Nacho documenting everything.
Pedro fielding angry calls from patients who don't want to be seen by a doctor who "harbors runaways."
Carlos losing the Brennan commission because Mrs. Brennan's sister plays bridge with Callum's mother. They're losing things because of me. Tangible things. Money and reputation and peace. And I'm losing my mind in their guest room, scrolling through comments that confirm every terrible thing I've ever thought about myself.
The comments section is a war zone, and I'm losing.
I'm curled in the window seat of the guest room, knees pulled to my chest, phone clutched in hands that won't stop trembling. Late afternoon sun streams through the glass, warming my back, completely at odds with the ice spreading through my chest.Outside, a cardinal lands on the oak branch near the window. It tilts its red head at me like it's judging my life choices.
Fair enough, little bird. I'm judging them too.
Desperate omega trash. Couldn't lock down one man so she spread her legs for four.
My stomach lurches. I press my palm flat against my abdomen, willing the nausea down.
Classic homewrecker behavior. Those poor men don't know what hit them.
The cardinal flies away. Smart bird. Knows when to retreat.
I knew her in college. She was always off. Weird energy. No wonder she snapped.
I don't remember anyone from college posting about me. But then again, I don't remember much about college except the gnawing loneliness and the way Callum's attention felt like sunlight after years of grey.
My thumb keeps scrolling. I should stop. Pedro told me to stop six hours ago, his green eyes sharp with concern as he physically removed the phone from my hands. Carlos hid it in the flour canister, which would have been clever if I hadn't watched him do it through the kitchen window. Nacho changed the wifi password and only relented when I promised, hand over heart, that I wouldn't torture myself with social media.
I lied. I'm a liar. Add it to the list of my character flaws, right between "mentally unstable" and "seduces friends' exes."
The guest room feels different today. Smaller. The sage green walls that seemed soothing last week now press in like they're trying to suffocate me. My nest dominates the bed, that ridiculous pile of stolen hoodies and borrowed blankets that seemed so comforting before my face ended up on every gossip site from here to Seattle.
What kind of grown woman builds a nest out of other people's laundry?
