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Atticus
Wait, Griffin. We don’t want to overwhelm her. Let Orson see if she’s awake first, and, if not, you can go up.
Devoss
Ugh. It’s always the fucking bear.
“You’re overwhelmed,” Orson murmurs, and I put the phone down as it continues buzzing. I’ll make sure to chat with Voss about his feelings because I don’t want them thinking they’re less than Orson.
I needed him earlier because he’s the one I’ve hurt the most. Or at least, he’s the one I expect I’ve hurt the most.
That doesn’t make my bond with any of the others any less important, or their feelings any less valid.
“Not anymore,” I reply, shaking my head, but I’m not sure if that’s the truth. I’m exhausted. Like, truly exhausted. “Now I’m just tired.”
“You didn’t nap for long.” Orson grips my chin, examining my face as he moves it side to side. He frowns, and presses a soft kiss to my nose.
“I went down to start dinner once you released me from your grip,” he says in a teasing tone, “But I should’ve sent one of the others up to sit with you. I’m sorry I left you alone.”
“I’m fine, honest.” It’s not that kind of tired anyway. More sleep won’t fix what’s wrong with me.
My mind is broken, my body is drained, and I just haven’t got much fight left anymore. I reached rock bottom, I’m there, and I can’t get out of that.
Sleep isn’t going to fix that, even if sleep is the better alternative.
“Want to leave this for another day?” he asks softly. “Atticus will understand, and if not—”
I cut him off. “No. That’s not fair.”
“Fuck fair,” he says, giving me a stern look when I open my mouth to argue. “We care about you, little cub. If you need time—”
“No,” I say firmly. This is what we all need. This is what I need.
I might not want to talk about what happened, or how I’m feeling, but both my wolf and I will find solace in being surrounded by our pack. Their familiar scents, the bonds we share, and even the scents of love they give off in my presence will help soothe me more than alone time will.
I’ve been on my own for too long now. It’s done me no good.
My wolf is back now, whether I like it or not, and wolves are pack animals. Being around my pack—my pride—will help.
“Okay. May I help you get ready for dinner then?”
I nod slowly, a hint of confusion in my gaze at the formal tone, and it only deepens when he crosses the room and starts opening my dresser drawers. It’s very obvious he’s getting me clothes—well, now that he’s rifling through them in my dresser—and he pulls out a few different things. It’s kind of fascinating watching him do this, with how different it is than when I choose things for myself.
He seems to truly be considering what I should wear, smelling things and checking their texture, and it’s really sweet. Orson is the ultimate caregiver, and it’s strange because I’ve never really had that kind of person in my life.
Even my mum and dad—I know, so surprising, right?—were never like this. It’s nice.
No, it’s more than nice.
It’s exactly what I need.
Once he’s got the pyjamas, socks, and robe picked out, he comes back over to the bed and plops them down. There’s a pair of knickers there, but no bra, and he grabs a hairbrush from my vanity.
“Arms up,” he murmurs when I don’t move.
A tear drips down my cheek, and I pray to whoever is listening that I don’t break down again. Orson’s being so sweet, so caring, and I just can’t.
I don’t deserve this.
