27. Lorcan

Chapter 27

Lorcan

-Abyss- Yungblud-

I sit in the therapy room with Grace, my heart pounding with nerves. The air feels thick with tension, and I can almost taste the apprehension on my tongue. Being blind, I rely solely on my other senses to navigate this complex world. Yet, in moments like these, I can’t help but feel acutely aware of my limitations.

As Grace speaks, her voice quivering with emotion, I strain to catch every nuance, every inflection. But without the ability to see her micro-expressions, I fear I may miss something crucial. It’s a constant battle against the unknown, a struggle to decipher the unspoken language of her heart.

We take turns attending these therapy sessions, each mate offering their support in their own way. Today, it’s my turn to be here for Grace, while Ethan waits patiently outside in the lobby. I can sense his presence, a reassuring tether in the storm of uncertainty.

The therapist’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, his question piercing the fragile bubble of my thoughts. “So, Lorcan,” he begins, his tone probing yet gentle, “tell me how it is to be brought in as the last mate?”

My chest tightens at the question, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. How do I even articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me? The weight of being the newcomer, the outsider, bears down on me like a heavy cloak. But amid the doubt and insecurity, there’s also a glimmer of hope, a flicker of determination to prove myself worthy of Grace’s love and trust.

Taken aback, I halt the gentle strokes on Grace’s back, my mind whirling with the therapist’s unexpected question. I reach out through the bond, summoning Ethan to our side. Grace may need him, and in my uncertainty, his presence is a comfort. With her expressions hidden from me, I feel lost, grasping for any clue to understand her inner turmoil.

The creak of the door signals Ethan’s entrance, followed by the familiar scent that fills the room, grounding me in his presence. Relief floods through me as I sense his arrival.

“You’re not scheduled to be here yet, Ethan,” the therapist interjects, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“I know,” Ethan responds, his tone dropping several octaves, commanding attention. “Lorcan asked for my assistance with Grace, considering his blindness.” His words leave no room for argument, his authority asserting itself effortlessly in the room.

“Everyone has been great,” I murmur, my accent thick, sensing Grace’s subtle movement beside me. Her presence is a comfort amidst the unfamiliar surroundings.

I gesture towards my milky white eyes, a constant reminder of the challenges I face daily. “It hasn’t been easy, all things considered,” I confess, the weight of my words palpable in the air.

Grace’s warmth beside me encourages me to continue. “I had resigned myself to the idea of being alone for the rest of my life, and strangely, I was content with it.” Memories of my past solitude linger in the recesses of my mind, a stark contrast to the companionship I now cherish.

“My brother and I ventured to America to reconnect with old friends in the Murphy pack. Little did I know that fate had other plans in store for me. After the party ended, that’s when I caught Grace’s scent,” I recall, a fond smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The memory of that moment floods my senses, igniting a warmth within me.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Grace’s hand finds its way to my beard, a gentle tug that sends shivers down my spine. Her scent envelops me, comforting and intoxicating all at once. She leans in to kiss me tenderly, a silent affirmation of our bond.

“How are you adjusting to everything, Grace?” The therapist’s voice cuts through the air, laced with a concern that feels like a weight pressing down on me. “Six mates is a lot for any female to handle. Especially one that can’t see to defend himself in times of trouble.”

His words strike a raw nerve, and I can feel the tension coil in my muscles, making my back stiffen involuntarily. Fear grips me tightly, like an icy hand clutching at my heart, as I wait anxiously for Grace’s response.

The room suddenly feels smaller, suffocating even, as the weight of the therapist’s words hangs heavily in the air. Every sound seems amplified, from the soft hum of the air conditioner to the faint rustle of papers on his desk. My senses are heightened, acutely aware of every detail, every shift in the atmosphere.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising panic. How will Grace answer? Will she reveal the struggle I’ve been trying so hard to hide? Or will she put on a brave face, masking the turmoil within?

The therapist’s question lingers, a silent challenge that demands a response. And as I hold my breath, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead, fearing the unknown more than ever before.

A low, menacing growl rumbles in Grace’s chest, its vibrations palpable in the air around us. My senses sharpen as I catch the familiar scent of Ethan drawing nearer, his presence suddenly closer than before. His hand lands lightly on my knee, a silent signal of reassurance before he positions himself between the therapist and Grace. It’s a subtle cue, but it speaks volumes - Grace is teetering on the edge of losing her temper.

“Lorcan’s mine,” Grace declares, her voice laced with a warning that brooks no argument. My heart pounds in my chest as I sense the raw intensity behind her words.

“I understand that,” the therapist responds calmly, his voice a soothing contrast to the tension in the room. He knows that Ethan’s presence is enough to keep Grace in check, to prevent the situation from escalating further. Yet, he presses on, unfazed by the underlying threat in Grace’s words. “Getting defensive isn’t answering my question.”

Grace’s growl rumbles low in her throat, vibrating against my skin, before she releases a frustrated huff. Her weight shifts, and I feel her lean her head heavily against my shoulder, seeking solace in our shared proximity. Her vulnerability tugs at my heart, making me want to protect her from the storm brewing inside her.

“He’s mine,” she declares, her voice a mixture of possessiveness and exasperation. “No, it’s not easy balancing all the personalities in the house.”

I close my eyes briefly, focusing on the sounds around me. The therapist’s inquiry hangs in the air, heavy with tension. I can almost hear the caution in his voice as he broaches the sensitive topic.

Grace’s touch is firm yet gentle as I hear her fingers glide over the rough stubble on Ethan’s head. I sense her other arm wrapping around mine, drawing us closer together in a protective embrace. The warmth of her skin against mine is a comforting reminder that we are in this together.

“What about his lack of vision?” the therapist persists, his tone carefully neutral. It’s a precarious line he walks, and I can’t help but feel a surge of warning prickling at the back of my mind. He’s flirting with danger, and I suspect he knows it.

“Careful, Doc...” Ethan’s voice is a quiet warning, a subtle undercurrent of tension. I sense his subtle shift beside me, his arm moving to intercept Grace’s advance, a silent barrier between her and me at our hip level. His body language speaks volumes, a silent plea for restraint as he physically holds Grace back from lunging at the therapist.

“Just because Lorcan can’t see doesn’t mean he can’t contribute to the family,” Grace murmurs, her warm breath tickling my ear as she nuzzles my shoulder. Her touch is comforting, a gentle reassurance amidst the uncertainty that lingers in the air. “He can see outlines and shadows, so he’s not completely blind,” she adds, her voice carrying a hint of defiance against the darkness that threatens to consume me. Her hand glides over Ethan’s stubble, the sound of the rough friction of her touch reaching me.

“Am I worried about him when I leave his side? Yes, I am,” Grace admits, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “Do I worry about someone hurting him? I do.” Her concern is palpable, a tangible weight that hangs in the air like a heavy fog. The depth of her love and protectiveness seeps into my soul, making my chest tighten with emotion.

“As for the other personalities in the house...” Grace’s laughter cuts through the tension, a brief respite from the somber mood that permeates the room. “Ethan and Nicolai have the same sweet temperament.” Her words are laced with sarcasm, a playful jab at the dichotomy of their personalities.

I whip my head around to look in Grace’s direction, surprise evident on my face, and Ethan chuckles softly in response. “She’s being sarcastic, Lor,” he explains, amusement in his voice. “We’re the resident assholes and wrecking crew.” His tone carries a hint of cockiness, but beneath the bravado lies an underlying honesty that resonates with me.

Grace lifts her head from my shoulder, and already I feel the absence of her warmth, a longing settling in my chest. “Griffin and Conrad handle the logistics,” she says, her voice soft yet firm, the sound of her hair brushing against her shoulders punctuating her words. The fleeting contact sends shivers down my spine, a bittersweet reminder of the intimacy we share.

I turn to her, her touch gentle as her hand cups my jaw, guiding my gaze to meet hers. My heart flutters erratically in my chest, her proximity electrifying. "Lorcan and Barrett," she continues, her words weaving a tapestry of comfort and reassurance, "they make this house a home."

Her laughter, soft and melodic, fills the air, easing the tension that had been coiling within me. “They protect not just the physical space, but my heart,” she says, her words soothing my soul, “and my emotions fiercely.”

The realization of my importance in her life washes over me, lifting the weight of perceived failure from my shoulders. In her eyes, my role is pivotal, vital even. And with each word she speaks, my heart grows lighter, buoyed by the love and affirmation she offers.

Ethan’s subtle squeeze on my knee offers a silent reassurance, a lifeline amidst the tumult of emotions swirling around us. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, the significance of Grace’s words for me. As the therapist redirects the conversation, focusing solely on Grace and her inner turmoil, I fixate on every word exchanged in the room.

Surprisingly, Ethan’s insights catch me off guard, unveiling aspects of our family dynamic that had remained obscured to me, hidden in the shadows of my blindness. His words, like sudden bursts of light, illuminate corners of our reality that I hadn’t even realized were dim.

By the end of the session, a sense of accomplishment washes over me, mingled with relief. It feels as though we’ve traversed miles of emotional terrain, forging pathways toward understanding and healing. No longer do I feel like a burdensome weight, an anchor dragging down those I love. Grace’s perspective has granted me a clearer sense of my role and worth within our family unit. Nine times out of ten, either Barrett or I have all the children sleeping on us over the course of the day.

Leaving the therapist’s office, a faint sense of relief washes over me, softening the edges of my anxiety. Ethan guides us down the hallway, his steps echoing against the sterile walls, leading us back to the car waiting in the parking garage.

As we settle into the car’s familiar embrace and pull out onto the road homeward bound, the sudden shrill ring of Ethan’s phone slices through the air, startling us all. His phone rarely rings, so the intrusion feels ominous, like a dark cloud looming over our newfound calm.

“What?” Ethan’s voice rumbles with barely concealed frustration as he answers Griffin’s call, the tension palpable in the confined space of the car.

“There’s been an attack on the Cruz pack lands. Several pack members have been found ripped to shreds,” Griffin’s words hit like a physical blow, and Grace’s sharp gasp mirrors the shock that reverberates through us all.

“Fuck, did you have me on speakerphone, jackass?” Griffin’s voice crackles with anger, the intensity sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, fuckwit, I did,” Ethan’s retort is laced with venom, his patience worn thin. “The therapist said not to hide anything from Grace anymore. Or are you selectively deaf?” The therapist’s advice to be transparent with Grace now seems like a fragile thread, ready to unravel at any moment.

“We’ll be there soon, Griffin,” I interject, my voice soft but firm, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension. Yet, deep down, I know this confrontation is just the beginning of what promises to be a tumultuous journey. In the long run, I fear that this unraveling thread may lead us down a path with no end in sight.