The conversation flows as easily as the wine, moving from funny construction stories to increasingly personal tales about our respective disasters and dreams. By the time dinner is ready, I'm warm and relaxed and filled with the kind of contentment that comes from good food, good wine, and the company of people who genuinely seem to enjoy being around each other.
"I think," I say slowly, setting down my wine glass as we finish cleaning up the dinner dishes, "that we should all go to bed together tonight."
I watch as all three of them go very still. Griff's hands freeze on the dish towel. Logan's breathing changes. Xavier's scent spikes with something that might be hope or might be hunger.
"Are you sure?" Logan asks quietly, his storm-gray eyes searching my face for any sign of doubt.
"I'm sure that I've spent years wondering if I could ever be part of a pack. Thinking it wouldn’t be possible for someone like me, until now,” I say, my voice carrying more confidence than I actually feel. "And I'm sure that if we're going to build something together, we might as well start with the most important part."
"Which is?" Griff asks, though his voice suggests he already knows the answer.
"Us," I say simply. "All of us, together, the way we were always supposed to be." I pause, glancing between them with a rueful smile. "Besides, I have shit loads to do for this wedding, and you guys have even more work ahead of you with turning a condemned ski resort into a functional venue in time. We should probably enjoy this while we can."
When I finally drift off to sleep sometime after midnight, surrounded by the warmth of three alpha bodies and the scent of satisfied contentment, my last conscious thought is that tomorrow is going to bring impossible venue deadlines and construction nightmares and enough stress to power a small city.
But tonight, for the first time in eight years, I'm exactly where I want to be.
Thank you, universe, for turning what should have been a venue crisis into the best decision I've made in years.
23
LOGAN
The front door slams with enough force to rattle the picture frames in the hallway, and I can hear Savannah's heels clicking against the hardwood with sharp, agitated steps. Her scent reaches me before she appears in the living room doorway - vanilla bourbon tinged with exhaustion and frustration, carrying an edge that makes my alpha instincts prickle with concern.
I'm sitting on the leather couch in our living room, case files spread across the coffee table, the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. The house feels too quiet without Griff's heavy footsteps or Xavier's classical music drifting from upstairs.
"Where's everyone?" Savannah asks as she steps into view, dropping her purse by the door.
Her usually perfect hair is slightly mussed, and she kicks off her black heels like they've personally offended her, leaving them scattered on the Persian rug.
"Xavier's at the hospital pulling a double shift," I say, setting down the brief I'd been reviewing to give her my full attention. "And Griff's upstairs sleeping off whatever crawled up his ass today."
"He's not the only one." She runs both hands through her hair, messing it up further, then moves to the windows overlooking our back yard.
We won’t be interrupted with wedding planning, it’ll be just her and I with eight years of unfinished business stretching between us.
"Want to tell me about it?" I ask, shifting the files to one side and patting the couch cushion beside me.
She considers the offer, those brown eyes studying my face like she's trying to determine whether I'm asking out of genuine concern or just making conversation. Whatever she sees there must satisfy her, because she moves away from the window, crossing the room with deliberate steps.
Her curves move beautifully beneath the soft blue dress that hugs her full figure. She's always been gorgeous - lush and soft in all the right places, the kind of woman who makes a man want to worship every inch of her body.
"Emma's been calling every hour with wedding emergencies that aren't emergencies," Savannah says, settling onto the opposite end of the couch with a heavy sigh. She tucks her legs under her, the movement causing her dress to ride up slightly, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs.
I watch her massage her temples with her fingertips, a gesture I remember from our college days when she'd get overwhelmed with coursework. "What else?"
"The florist double-booked the church and acted like it was our fault when we pointed it out. And Dax..." She trails off, shaking her head as she reaches for one of the throw pillows and hugs it against her chest.
"What about him?"
"Dax decided today was the perfect time to have second thoughts about the whole wedding." Her voice takes on a bitter edge as she continues. "Called Emma in tears saying maybethey're rushing things, and should postpone until next year. Because of this crazy guest list and he's worried about finances. We all are. Apart from Emma."
The protective anger that flares in my chest surprises me with its intensity. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, close enough to catch the way her scent shifts with her emotional state. "What else?"
"What makes you think there's more?"
"Because I know you." I shift closer on the couch, close enough that my knee almost brushes hers. "You don't get this wound up over other people's drama unless there's something personal eating at you too."
