I gave him a look but couldn’t help smiling. Bryce zipped up the duffel and pulled on his sneakers, then hesitated by the door. He eyed his wolf plush, sitting high on his pillow, then the duffel, then the plush again. The internal debate played out on his face. embarrassment versus comfort. In the end, he jammed it deep into the bag and tried to play it off like he was just checking the zipper.
When we got to the truck, the sky was already darkening into the early night. Zaden threw Bryce’s bag into the bed, then helped him climb into the backseat, which still smelled faintly of French fries from after yesterday's baseball game. I squeezed in next to Bryce, and Zaden drove.
The house wasn’t far, just across pack land on the far edges of our reach. Two stories of painted brick, wind chimes, and a front yard thick with the toys and detritus of a three-kid household. The porch light burned bright, and the scent of grilled meat drifted down the walk.
"Can I ring the bell?" Bryce asked, already half out of the door before we’d even parked.
"Go for it," I said, but he was gone.
Zaden caught my hand as we walked up the driveway. His grip was rough and warm, a silent offer to soak up whatever nerves I’d brought with me. "He’s fine," he whispered.
"I know," I said. "But if anything goes wrong?—"
"We’ll be here in five minutes flat," he said.
The door swung open, and Bryce’s friend Ethan barreled out, followed by a dog, then two more kids. The inside of the housewas loud with running feet, the television barking out scores from a baseball game, and a mom's "shoes off in the foyer!" warning that didn’t slow any of them.
The dad, a man built like a linebacker but dressed in an apron and plaid slippers, emerged with a spatula in hand. His beard was flecked with gray and barbecue sauce. The mom, sharp-eyed and quick with a smile, shook my hand before ushering us inside.
"We’re so glad he could make it," she said, giving Zaden a pointed look. The subtext, "We know who you are, and we know why you’re worried", came through loud and clear. "He’s already got a spot picked out for his sleeping bag."
Zaden set the duffel in the corner, then crouched to Bryce’s level. "Last check. You got your phone?"
Bryce patted his pocket, like a reflex. "Charged," he said.
I knelt, brushing the hair from his brow. "You remember what we said, about headaches, or feeling off?"
He nodded, face already flushing at the public reminder. "I’ll tell an adult. Or I’ll text you. Or Zaden. Or Nathan. Or anyone."
Ethan's mom, Veronica, cut in, "We’ve got a lightning-witch cousin. Believe me, we know the drill." She smiled, then put a hand on my arm, her grip unexpectedly strong. "He’s got friends here. He’ll be okay."
Ethan tugged Bryce's sleeve, and the two vanished into the kitchen, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. I watched the hallway for a beat too long, waiting for the inevitable call for help, but none came.
Ethan's dad, Jack, led Zaden out back, muttering something about a new grill and the "inferior gas models." I could hear them one-upping each other with stories of sports injuries, then shifter injuries, then the kind of pack stories that weren’t for the PTA.
The mom poured me a seltzer and gestured toward the breakfast nook, where the boys were setting up a card game. "They’ve been planning this all week. My middle son's been counting down the days."
I sat, letting the comfort of an ordinary kitchen, sticky counters, school calendars, and fridge magnets shaped like baseball gloves, soothe the last of my panic. "We just want him to have a normal weekend," I said.
"Nobody here is normal," she said, keeping her tone light. "The only thing that matters is that he has a good time."
The mate bond pulsed as Zaden came up behind me, sliding a big hand over my shoulder. "Ready to go?" he asked, not rushing, just offering an exit.
I stood, giving Veronica a grateful look. "Call or text, anytime."
She waved me off. "I have your number starred, bolded, and on speed dial. Go enjoy your night."
We made it as far as the car before I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Zaden took my hand. "You didn’t have to tell him everything," I said, eyes still on the porch, where Bryce’s head appeared briefly at the window, then vanished again. I'd heard Zaden filling the dad in on as much as he could.
"He’s their kid tonight," Zaden said. "They should know what’s up."
I leaned into him, letting his heat settle my bones. "We made it a week," I said. "No explosions, no broken glass. He even finished his math homework early."
Zaden grinned, his teeth flashing in the dusk. "That’s because you’re a menace with a lesson plan. I’d have flunked out by Wednesday."
I elbowed him, but he pulled me closer. We stood there, in the glow of the streetlights, feeling for all the world like parents with nothing to fear.
