Page 107 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“By you doing that thing with your jaw. The clenching thing. When you’re thinking too hard about something.”

“I’ll try to think less.”

“That would be helpful.”

“I could also try to have a less distracting jaw.”

“Don’t you dare. I’ve invested significant emotional energy in that jaw.”

He laughs, and I feel it through the bond. Five months of this, waking up next to him, feeling his emotions flicker through our connection, arguing about absolutely everything and nothing, and I still catch myself checking the passenger seat before I panic.

Five months and I still look over to make sure it’s not empty, I think. It never is anymore.

His hand finds mine on the gear shift. Through the bond, I feel his understanding, and his quiet promise that it never will be empty again.

The graveyard is quiet in spring.

The trees are budding, pale green against gray bark. The grass between the headstones has gone soft with new growth. Wildflowers are starting to push through in scattered patches, purple and yellow and white, exactly the colors Mom loved best.

I brought more, gathered from the meadow behind Orion’s house this morning. He held the basket while I picked, not rushing me, not asking questions. Just being there.

Their graves are side by side, simple and clean. Dad’s name, Mom’s name, dates, and the words Beloved parents, together forever.

I kneel in the spring grass and arrange the wildflowers carefully. Mom was particular about arrangements. About a lot of things, actually.

“Hi,” I say, and my voice only cracks a little.

Silence. But it doesn’t feel empty anymore.

“Sorry it’s been a while. Things got… complicated.” I glance back at Orion, who’s standing at a respectful distance. “Really complicated, actually. Do you want the whole story?”

No answer. But I imagine them leaning in, Dad with his reading glasses pushed up on his forehead, Mom with her particular expression of amused curiosity.

“Okay. So. I was driving here, actually, the day I crashed. The anniversary. I finally got brave enough to try, and then… a car crossed the center line. Or maybe I did. I honestly don’t remember. But I woke up in the hospital, and there was this man.”

I can almost hear Mom’s sharp intake of breath. Can almost see Dad’s eyebrows climbing.

“Very tall. Very attractive. Suspiciously helpful. He was there because I’d accidentally written his phone number on my emergency contact form instead of Millie’s, and instead of saying ‘wrong number,’ he just… showed up.”

I pause. Take a breath.

“He kept showing up. Brought me groceries… organized by category, which you would have loved, Dad. Alphabetized my bookstore. Laminated my anxiety checklists. Made me feel safe in ways I hadn’t felt since…”

My voice breaks.

“Since you died.”

Orion moves closer but doesn’t touch me. Through the bond, I feel his support, steady, patient, asking nothing.

“The complicated part is that he’s a werewolf. Lycan. He gets very specific about the distinction; it’s adorable and annoying. He’s also three hundred years old. And apparently I’m his cosmic soulmate, which he knew the whole time and didn’t tell me because he was afraid I’d feel trapped.” I laugh, a little wet. “We had a fight about that. A big one. But we worked through it.”

I arrange another flower. Then another.

“He’s good, Mom. Dad. He takes care of me. Not in a smothering way… in a showing-up way. He makes me feel brave.” My throat tightens. “He makes me feel like maybe I can do hard things after all. Like driving here. Like talking to you.”