Her sobs soften into hiccups, her breath stuttering against my chest as she clings to all of us at once.
When Beau finally speaks, his voice is steady, his hand smoothing circles over her hip. “Tomorrow, we go to Hazel and Vine. We register as a pack. Officially. Our scents are on file. Our bond is recognized.”
Her head jerks up, her green eyes wide. “You’re sure?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life,” I tell her. “This is it, Wren. We’re not going anywhere.”
Simon kisses the crown of her head. “And you don’t have to carry a single bit of this alone.”
Beau leans down, his forehead pressed to hers. “We’re yours. Forever. Nothing changes that.”
The words break something inside her. She whispers it back, almost to herself, as if trying to believe. “Forever.”
“Forever,” I echo.
When her tears spill again, this time they aren’t just fear. They’re relief. They’re love.
They’re the beginning of everything we didn’t even know we wanted until now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Wren
When I wake,I’m wrapped in them. My whole body is cocooned in warmth and heat, Levi’s chest pressed to my back, Simon’s arm draped over my waist, Beau’s leg thrown carelessly across mine like he refused to let me out of reach even in sleep.
Their scents cling to me, to the sheets, to the walls themselves—cedar, cinnamon, peppermint, and that smoky undertone that is uniquely them when they are together.
It feels like I could breathe it in forever and never need another thing.
I lie there for a moment, listening to their breathing, uneven but deep, feeling the weight of their bodies anchoring me. I should want to stay, but the morning creeps in through the curtains, soft gray light telling me I have to move eventually.
Carefully, I ease out of bed, untangling myself from their limbs, pressing a soft kiss to each of them before slipping on one of Levi’s shirts that hangs halfway down my thighs.
Downstairs, the café feels different. Quieter. The chairs are stacked against the wall while Ryker and Jude finish the last of the repairs, but the place hums with possibility, as if it knows it will open again soon.
Pancake is waiting in the kitchen, tail wagging, brown eyes full of expectation.
“I know, baby,” I murmur, scooping his food into the bowl and watching as he dives in, snorting happily.
I lean against the counter, my phone in my hand, and for a long moment, I stare at it. Then I press call.
“Wren?” My mother’s voice comes through, soft and tired.
“Mom. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
She lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half sigh. “No, sweetheart. I haven’t slept yet.”
My stomach knots. “Why?”
There’s a pause. Then her voice lowers, like she doesn’t want anyone else on that boat to hear. “Your father… he’s found himself another distraction. A woman on the cruise. He’s rarely in our room anymore, barely sees me at all.”
I squeeze the phone tighter, my throat burning. “Mom.”
“It’s all right,” she says softly, as though she’s comforting me instead of herself. “It’s not like I didn’t see it coming.”
“You deserve better,” I whisper fiercely.
“I know.” The way she says it shatters me. Then she clears her throat and asks gently, “But why are you calling so early? Has something happened? Or…” her voice lifts, almost amused, “have you finally decided to tell me about your pack?”
