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So perfect and sweet. I love them so much already.
We could have had that.
But we won’t.
I won’t.
Vee:
I found out today I have RDM.
My body is fighting against me because of you assholes.
So thanks for that, along with the shattered heart.
On and on, they go, until she’s talking about more recent events, about the death of her grandmother and how she’s dreading coming back, worried she might run into one of us. The two most recent texts have me leaping out of my chair, ignoring the surprised noises of the men sitting at the conference table with me.
I honestly don’t give a shit that I’m in a meeting with stakeholders at the bank. Don’t give a shit that Maxim Werth is glaring at me across the expanse of polished wood. I just tighten my grip on my phone and mutter something about an emergency I need to handle.
It is an emergency.
I need to get to my fucking girl.
Vee:
I miss you so fucking much.
You’re an ache in my chest that won’t go away.
Vee:
We need to talk.
My heart thunders in my chest as I race through the building, too anxious to wait for the elevator, so I take the stairs three at a time. We need to talk. Those four words have the power to tear my world down, or build it into something beautiful.
I don’t know how we manage it, but all five of us pull up outside Vee’s little bungalow at the same time. Davis and Asher arrive together in Asher’s black Lexus. Ford pulls up in his truck, Jackson is in his SUV, and I arrive in my sensible hybrid.
In moments the quiet street is overfull with cars and alpharomones, all eager to see our girl. To actually talk with her about this, about us. We’ve been waiting for a week, biding our time, knowing that eventually she’d cave and reach out to us.
I make it to the door first, jabbing my finger so hard against the doorbell button it hurts. Ford is right on my heels, his fist raising to pound on the door when it doesn’t swing open immediately. My three other pack members crowd up behind us, making the open space feel small.
Ford lifts his hand again when the faint sound of footsteps reaches me, slow and gentle on the hardwood floors. I see her shadow move behind the frosted glass on the top half of the door. I can tell she pauses on the other side, with her hand on the knob. Taking a deep breath maybe. Before she flicks the lock and pulls the door open.
She looks… beautiful. So achingly beautiful it almost hurts. She’s dressed in black jeans and a black shirt. Her blond hair twisted into two French braids, her dark roots fully on display. It’s obvious she dressed with strength in mind, like she needed a little extra armor to face us.
It makes my heart ache, knowing that is the case, but I can’t blame her. We fucked up the first time we tried to do this, all brawn, like we could make her listen by the sheer force of our will, and instead we ended up blaming her, attacking her for leaving when we all know we can’t blame her for that.
This time it’s going to be different. I’ll make sure of it.
Vee eyes all of us warily, eyes sliding to the cars parked at the front of the house. “You all drove separately?”
“Not all,” Davis says, trying to push between Ford and me to get to her. My elbow jabs him, keeping him back. I wish we’d taken the time to talk about how we’re going to play this conversation. But not one of us wanted to keep the distance, to waste any more time when it comes to her.
She’s ours, belongs with us, and we’re ready to prove it to her.
She nibbles her lower lip before she pushes the door open and steps back into the open space, inviting us in silently.
I step into the house, watching her ass in those tight black jeans as she heads to the kitchen, until Ford steps in front of me. I yank my eyes from the sway of her hips and look around, taking in the space that we provided for Sylvie.
