"Thank you, Luca," she whispers, her voice finally losing that sharp edge of terror.
I stay with her until the panic fully recedes, talking about the garden and the way the kids are currently trying to extort cookies from Maceo. I tell her about the frogs Samuel is alwayslooking for, and how Rosalie probably has the kitchen staff in a state of high alert.
When she finally smiles, a small, fragile thing that doesn't quite reach her eyes but is a start, I feel a surge of something fierce and protective in my chest.
I stay in the sunroom for a few minutes after Maya leaves, letting the quiet settle back into the walls.
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I make it back to my office, Luther’s name lighting the screen. The first sound I hear when I answer is his low voice saying, “Hi, sweetheart,” and it pulls something in me tight enough that I have to lean against the sunroom doorway.
He asks if I’m alright like he already knows the shape of the answer. I give him a brief rundown, Luther going quiet as he listens, the silence edged with a growl he doesn’t let fully loose. I reassure him before he can offer to make a call. It wasn’t the driver. It was the past. Some days that’s worse, because there’s no one in front of you to blame.
“And you? How are you?” he asks, because Luther never stops at the first answer.
“I’m okay,” I admit.
The screen flashes before I can say anything else, shifting into a video call. I huff at him, but then his face fills the screen and the complaint dies somewhere in my throat. He’s in his office, not behind his desk but on the couch, dark hair slightly mussed and hazel-green eyes fixed on me with the kind of attention that always makes the world feel quieter.
Blake is curled in his lap like he got dragged there against his will and decided to pretend he hates it, round glasses crooked, one hand tucked possessively in Luther’s shirt. Seeing them loosens the hard knot under my ribs.
Blake lifts his head enough to look at the camera, immediately worried because he can never help himself when it comes to me.“How are you, Cupcake? I miss you. Our Alphas are bullying me.”
I snort. “You saw me this morning and I’m fine. Did you eat anything other than fries and the little sandwiches? What about the protein bar Maceo packed you?”
His face scrunches up just as Grayson speaks up offscreen. “He had two bites of a protein bar before an animation rig personally attacked him.”
Blake turns just enough to glare in his direction. “It was broken,” he mutters, as if that explains everything.
Luther’s hand settles over the back of Blake’s neck, thumb moving in a slow stroke that turns Blake’s glare into something softer despite his best effort. There’s a plate balanced on the couch beside them, sandwich and fruit and something with melted cheese that has Grayson’s fingerprints all over it. Blake reaches for a grape with the tragic dignity of a man being bullied by nutrition, then looks directly into the camera while he eats it, like I should be impressed.
I am, a little. Mostly because he did it.
His wedding ring catches the light from the office window when he lifts his hand, and something in my chest loosens at the sight of it. He never takes it off. Not to code, not to sleep, not to argue with cardiologists. I used to tease him about how the band was going to outlast his actual finger. He told me that was the point.
Grayson comes into frame behind the couch, his hair loose around his shoulders, eyes soft when they land on me. “How’s Ember House looking? The last time I was there, it had grown so much from that little sanctuary.”
I open my mouth to say something just as Blossom passes me, handing me a small box of her sweets. I almost tell her ‘no thank you’ but then she just glares at me. Whoever her pack ends up being, she’s definitely going to be the boss.
“Uh – right, it’s really good, Alpha. And Blossom keeps making sweets.” I hold them up as Grayson’s fingers drift absently through Blake’s curls. “There were some estimates that came in, though, and they’re costing a lot more than I had planned.” I sigh, hating how much I’m costing my family.
They keep telling me it’s okay. Blake keeps saying that this is something worth working toward but I still feel like we’re sinking all of Blake’s profits into my little dream.
The air changes even through the screen. Blake stills in Luther’s lap, the food forgotten in his hand, and I watch his mind catch on the numbers before his mouth even opens. His shoulders shift like he’s about to sit up, already reaching for budgets, cuts, transfers, whatever impossible fix he can pull together before anyone asks him to.
Luther catches him by the back of the neck, just enough to keep him where he is. “No, love. Listen before you start solving.”
Blake’s mouth tightens, but he stays in Luther’s lap. That alone tells me he’s tired, because Blake usually argues with his whole body before he argues with his words. “I need to see the estimate.”
“You will,” I tell him, leaning my shoulder into the sunroom doorway as the quiet of Ember House settles around me. “But not right this second. Blossom mentioned that Lorenzo is already looking at the books for the therapy wing, and I’m meeting with your finance team tomorrow. I just wanted you to know before it became another thing everyone was whispering around.”
Blake glares at the camera and then his look softens again. “Wilson’s Beta? God, I love him.”
“You don’t evenknowhim,” I laugh. We’ve gathered with Wilson’s pack three or four times over the years but aside from that, our schedules never match. Outside of business proposals and quick meetings, we haven’t been able to make it work.
Grayson clears his throat, dragging my attention to him. “The secure intake suites were always going to be expensive. We knew that when the plans changed.”
“I know,” I say, and I hate how small the words feel compared to the weight of the actual problem. “But getting calls from three counties over makes it feel different. We’re not expanding because it would be nice. We need those rooms. People are already asking for space we don’t have.”
Blake lowers the food to the plate beside him, his face shifting into that focused, distant look he gets when the company becomes less a place and more a map inside his head. “We can move money from the launch events if we need to. The big press dinner is decorative anyway, and the influencer boxes are ridiculous. Half of them will end up in the trash.”
