"That's what Marguerite was for me." I reached across the table, covering his hand with mine, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. "The only one who saw me instead of what I was supposed to be." I traced the scars on his knuckles with my fingertips, the old wounds and new calluses telling stories I wanted to learn. "It's rare. Finding people who let you be exactly what you are." I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
"It is." He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. "Harper and Remy... they're becoming that too. People who see." His pale eyes searched my face. "You most of all." He added, his voice rough.
"Because I'm broken too?" I asked, tilting my head as I studied him, not with self-pity, just curiosity.
"Because you're whole in ways that matter." He corrected, squeezing my hand. "The cracks just let the light through." He finished, something like a smile ghosting across his lips.
Before I could respond, Mae returned with two plates piled high—biscuits and gravy, eggs, bacon, hash browns, and something that looked like homemade preserves. She set them down with a pointed look at both of us.
"Eat." She commanded. "All of it. I'll be checking." She refilled our coffee and bustled away to tend to her other customers.
We ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need filling. Silas's foot found mine under the table—not playing, just touching, maintaining contact like he needed the reassurancethat I was still there. I pressed back, and watched something ease in his shoulders that I hadn't realized was tense.
"You're different here." I observed between bites, setting down my fork to watch him interact with Mae when she came by to refill our coffee again. "More relaxed. Like you don't have to hold yourself so tight." I took a bite of biscuit, groaning softly at how good it was, flaky and buttery and still warm from the oven.
"Safe space." He acknowledged, his pale eyes softening as he watched me enjoy the food. "Mae's is... neutral ground. No expectations. No performances." He pushed his hash browns around his plate. "The animals are like that too. They don't care what I was before. What I did. They just care about what I do now." He paused, his fork hovering over his plate. "You're like that." He added, almost too quiet to hear.
"Like an animal?" I raised an eyebrow, my lips twitching with the effort not to smile as I teased him.
"Like somewhere safe." He corrected, meeting my eyes with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Somewhere I can stop being a weapon and just... be." He set down his fork, reaching across the table to trace his fingers along my wrist. "I didn't know I was looking for that until I found it." He admitted.
I turned my hand over, letting him trace the lines of my palm, feeling the calluses on his fingertips, the careful deliberateness of every touch. "I spent so long building walls." I said softly. "After my parents. After losing Marguerite. I told myself I didn't need anyone. That needing was weakness." I curled my fingers around his. "Then three impossible Alphas showed up and started knocking those walls down, brick by brick." I laughed, shaking my head. "I should have been furious. Instead, I just... wasn't." I admitted.
"Why not?" He asked, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.
I considered the question, really thought about it. "Because you weren't trying to change me." I said finally. "Any of you. You just wanted in. Wanted to be close." I met his pale eyes. "Nobody ever wanted close before. They wanted what I could give them. What I could be for them." I shrugged one shoulder. "You three just wanted me." I finished quietly.
"All of you." He echoed my words from earlier, understanding dawning in his expression. "That's what you're going to tell us Thursday. That you want all of us." His voice was steady, but I could see the hope burning behind his careful mask.
"Is that okay?" I asked, suddenly vulnerable in a way I hadn't expected, my fingers tightening around his. "I know it's not... traditional. One Omega, three Alphas. People will talk. People will judge." I bit my lip, searching his pale eyes for any sign of hesitation. "I just can't choose. I won't choose. You're all..." I struggled for the right word, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Pack." He finished for me, simple and certain. "We're pack. Or we will be." He lifted our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I've never had a pack. Not really. The military was close, but there was always a mission. Always an objective. Always someone giving orders." He lowered our hands but didn't let go. "This feels different. Feels like belonging instead of following." He paused, his pale eyes holding mine. "I want that. More than I've wanted anything in a long time." He confessed.
Mae appeared then with the check, which Silas grabbed before I could reach for it. She looked between us with knowing eyes and something that might have been approval.
"You keep bringing her back, you hear?" She told Silas, pointing a finger at his chest. "I meant what I said last time—she's got spine. Don't mess this up." She winked at me. "And if any of those Alphas give you trouble, you come find Mae. I'll set them straight." She promised, pulling me into another brief hug.
"I'll hold you to that." I grinned at the older woman, squeezing her flour-dusted hand before sliding out of the booth as Silas left cash on the table—way more than the meal cost, I noticed. He walked me out with his hand on the small of my back again, and when we reached the truck, he surprised me by pressing me gently against the driver's door, caging me in with his arms.
"Thank you." He said quietly, his pale eyes soft in a way I'd never seen before. "For not flinching." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then finally my lips—soft and sweet and full of promise.
"Thank you for letting me in." I murmured against his mouth, my hands fisted in the front of his shirt. "I know it's not easy for you. Trusting. Letting people close." I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I don't take that lightly." I told him seriously.
He studied me for a long moment, those pale gray eyes seeing everything, cataloging every truth and half-truth and hidden fear. Then he nodded once, something settling in his expression like a decision being made.
"Thursday." He said, stepping back to open my door. "I'll be there." He promised.
"I know you will." I climbed into the truck, my heart full and aching in the best possible way, watching him round the front with that silent predator grace, and pressed my fingers to my still-tingling lips.
The drive home was quiet again, but different now—warmer, somehow. Full of possibility instead of questions. His hand found mine on the console, and he held it the whole way back, his thumb tracing patterns I was starting to recognize as his way of saying things he couldn't put into words. When he pulled up to my cabin, Gumbo was on the dock, watching with ancient, knowing eyes. Silas cut the engine and turned to face me.
"He approves." He said, nodding toward the gator. "I can tell." He added, something like satisfaction in his voice.
"How?" I asked, genuinely curious, glancing between Silas and the massive reptile sunning himself on the dock.
"He hasn't tried to eat me yet." Silas deadpanned, and it took me a full second to realize he was joking. When I laughed, something bright and surprised flickered across his face—like he wasn't used to making people laugh, like the sound was a gift he hadn't expected.
"You're funny." I said, still grinning, warmth blooming in my chest at this unexpected glimpse behind his walls. "Who knew?" I teased, reaching over to brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead.
