By the industrial sink, Dixon was stirring a massive pitcher of lemonade,his freshly bleached hair catching the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. He stirred with vigor, nearly sloshing the pale yellow liquid out of its container. I heard Tray say ‘easy, Guy Ferrari’, a play on a famous Alpha chef’s name and the sports car. Dixon reached over and pinched his pack brother playfully.
Tray was sitting on the counter, legs kicking slowly, his tongue caught between his teeth as he drew little pictures on the smaller plastic cups with permanent markers. Dinosaurs, rockets, superheroes—each cup received its own unique decoration. Some even had personalized designs for specific children he'd already gotten to know. Tray’s playful nature had made him an instant favorite of the kids.
My Alphas knew I was settling in the mother and son, so they didn’t greet me with words. Just the smile from Mac, and quick glances when we’d arrived.
The little boy and his mother found the snack pantry without my help, thanks to the large sign mounted over it. I walked to the fridge and pulled out two of the premade, plastic-wrapped ham and cheeses along with two milk boxes. When I walked to the pantry’s doorway, the little boy was deciding between a circus box of animal crackers or a sleeve of chocolate chip cookies.
“Mom, I don’t know which I want.” He pouted.
“Only one, Trevor.” His mother knelt down, bringing them eye-to-eye. “I know it’s hard to choose, but I bet you can get the other next time.”
I was glad to hear her say that; it meant she was already feeling less unmoored. Maybe tomorrow she’d wake up feeling properly anchored here. Safe and secure enough to figure out her next step.
I closed the distance to them, and pitched my voice conspiratorially as I spoke. “If you want both, just this once, it’ll be our little secret.”
He beamed at me, and his mother stared at me gratefully.
“I’ll save this one for tomorrow, just in case.” He said it seriously, forehead crinkling as if saving one of the treats was going to take monumental willpower. It probably would for a small child.
“You don’t have to save one, Trever. I promise there’ll be more food tomorrow.” I reassured him.
He screwed up his mouth, considering. He didn’t want to wake up hungry and have nothing to eat.God, that sent a pang through my chest.
“You can trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.” I urged him to trust me.
At that, he nodded. “Then I’m going to eat this first,” he held up the animal crackers, “and this second.” He raised the cookies.
“Sounds like a good plan.” I mussed his hair, causing the ginger curls to get frizzier than they already were.
I gave the mother the milk boxes, then handed her the sandwiches. She gripped them tightly, but realized quickly that she was crushing the bread, and loosened her hold.
“Thank you,” she managed, trying not to cry again.
“You’re welcome.” I wrapped her in my arms, giving her a firm hug. When I let go, I could tell she needed to leave, needed to be somewhere she could get emotional without people watching. “Feel free to eat in your room, if you’re more comfortable there.”
“Okay,” was all she could say this time, taking her little boy’s hand and leading them back towards their new room. My old one.
I stood in the pantry, staring blankly into the kitchen and out the window near the breakfast nook with its giant table fit for ten. Sometimes, doing this was incredibly hard. Sometimes, seeing myself in these people hurt too much.
Outside the shelter, beyond the glass, Cat was still talking to reporters. They’d been arriving daily, all hoping for an exclusive interview with the charitable Fortune heir and her mates. I’d refused to let them inside for pictures. No one’s pain should become a photo op or PR stunt. Catalina would do what she did best anyways though—make sure Oblivion Haze were seen as the music industry’s golden boys. The band's involvement with the shelter had naturally attracted media attention. We couldn’t hide it.
When I stepped out of the pantry, Ryder caught my eye first, his amber gaze warming. He’d finished his task, and was leaning against the counter,his strong arms crossed over his chest. I went to him first, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing in his scent. His arms enfolded me immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. His need for me always took my breath away. He’d found a way to build my confidence, to get me on stage—a place I never thought I’d stand.
"I love you," I whispered against his chest. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love you too, Tessa."
Pulling from him, I moved to Mac, whose careful hands paused in their work as I approached. He studied me. His hazel eyes always saw through me. Maybe it was his nature, to pay attention to all the little details. He always knew what my silence meant. He always knew how to read me.
His hug was gentle—now that I carried our pack’s first pup, he handled me like a paper doll which might rip—and his piano hands splayed across my back with precise tenderness.
"You're changing lives," he murmured, his usual reserve softening. "Just like you changed ours."
“The way you all changed mine,” I added to his statement. “Thank you for being who you are Mac. I love you. I love every part of you.”
“And I love you, Tessa.” He murmured against my hair, face tilting down.
Dixon was next. Despite all our time together, he still tensed slightly when I approached out of the blue. It was like part of him still couldn’t believe I existed, like he was waiting for the dam to burst and his ferality to rush back inward. Then, like always, something in him quickly yielded and the edge of his worry receded. He carefully pulled me into his body. I wasn’t as soft as I used to be. I had real muscles these days. But even so, his hardness conformed to every soft part of me.
