TWENTY-SEVEN

Xander

WHEN RANDALL MENTIONED the exact years and months, down to the day, since their escape from the lab, my heart came to a screeching stop. I know what it's like to count days. During that conversation, I made it appear as if I was done with it. Done counting the days since my father's last attempt at true physical abuse.

I wasn't.

I never stopped counting.

I never would stop counting. Not until he was dead.

When you've been abused for as long as I have—been abused by the same person day after day, week after week, month after month, year after fuckin' year—you never feel truly safe knowing they're still out there. When you're not in control of when the abuse will happen or how, focusing on it, waiting for it to happen, just turns you into a shaking mess of flesh. You're cowering in a corner flinching like you're about to get hit, even when they're not there to deliver the blow.

It got to the point that I'd almost be relieved when he'd find me, when he'd drag me into the garage. At least then I knew what was going to happen. The fear was becoming more damaging than his fists. I remember the exact day I came to that realization, and I've never told anyone. But Jax and his father played a big part in it. Jax couldn't heal me or protect me like my gran could, but he made sure to get my mind out of that garage. He forced me in his annoyingly relentless wolf-pup way to participate in life outside of the abuse.

One summer day when I was nine, almost a year after I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs from the first blow of my father's fist into my stomach, Mr. Benton, Jax, Ethan, and I had awoken early to hike to the top of Mount Washington. When Jax begged, pleaded, and pouted for me to go, I said no. I didn't see the point in pushing my body's limits when it was getting pushed in other ways at home. But Jax's father had reserved two beds for us at the AMC lodge next to the lake in clouds, so it was going to be an overnight. A night away from my father with no chance of him getting his hands on me. Mr. Benton had also managed to get my mother to agree to his outings. She had become more skittish and unwell over the years often resting in her bedroom most days.

I remember the feeling of the sun on my face when we crested the tree line on the Ammonoosuc Trail. It was like I was feeling it for the first time. Then the cool wind blew over my forearms as we hiked higher up, becoming more exposed to the elements. The contrast of the two. How I felt warm and cool at the same time. And I thought about how the sun and the air would always be there on the other side of that garage door, just waiting for me. If I could breathe the fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun, then I knew there was no way I was in that garage. There, I had nothing to fear.

After stowing our gear on our beds, a renewed sense of power kindled inside me, and I dragged them all out to climb to the top of the adjacent mountain, Mount Monroe, filling up the day with my freedom to choose what to do. I chose to show myself I was strong in body and mind and that no one would make me feel weak ever again. Not even my father. I would prove to myself and my wolf pup how strong I was.

I was on such a high. Some would say I was on cloud nine, but we were above the clouds. When we came back down to the Hut, I ran to the lake stripped off my hiking boots, socks, and shirt, and jumped in, having forgotten about the bruises that were mottled over my ribs and sides. Having forgotten about the abuse for the first time in almost a year. It might have been the first time I allowed anyone besides my gran and Cassandra to see my injuries, but it's not like Jax and Ethan didn't know. There was no way to hide my limping gait, cautious posture, sudden attachment to wearing a shirt, and aversion to swimming.

Regardless, when I emerged from under the water and turned around to dare my friends to jump into the frigid lake, the free smile on my face fell when I met their concerned and angry gazes. I might not have been under his paw, but his prints were all over me. Mr. Benton stood motionless and slacked-jawed, unable to mask his shock. I hastily scrambled to shore and went to throw my T-shirt back on. Ethan caught my arm before I did and said, "Don't hide from us, Xander." He turned to Jax who had stepped up beside him and then back to me. "Never from us."

And then I talked with my friends and Mr. Benton about what was happening, knowing that in a wolf pack there wasn't much they could do when my abuser was the alpha. They couldn't stop him, but they could intercept him, make it harder for him to get me alone, and Mr. Benton assured me there would always be a bed for me at their house.

Later that evening, we'd all changed into warmer clothes, and the three of us were outside watching the sunset behind the surrounding mountains, when Jax asked, "What can we do for you, X? What can we do to make what he's doing. . ." He paused and searched for the words. ". . .less, yea?"

As I sat there thinking about Jax's question, my eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun was a fiery ball of orange being swallowed up by the mountains, and the sky was painted an array of bright pinks to softer purples. I exhaled and answered, "Make times like this matter more, I guess." I didn't know what I meant, if I was being a smartass, or if because of what I was enduring I had become profoundly deep at a young age. I'm pretty sure I know which was the truth, but I'd like to think it was the latter.

I needed to find some comfort in the time and spaces in between the abuse. I had to make those days matter more because those were the days that counted.

So I counted those days.

It wasn't until my wolf and I were both strong enough, not just individually but in our connection, that we were able to best him one day, even with the forced half-bond. My father is a weak alpha. Correction, my father was a weak alpha. Weaker than I even realized. A weak alpha with a large ego. He couldn't bear the thought of me getting the better of him physically ever again. So he never tried. Threatened? Yes. But when I met those threats with an unblinking stare, he averted his gaze.

I still never stopped counting.

When O'Rourke showed up and told us the news of my father's passing, my count was the first thing to pop into my head. It's automatic. I know this means a ton more shit will be thrown at me, at us, but it's nothing compared to the counting.

Shutting the door, I turn around and mentally vow this will be the last day I count the days.

"Five years, seven months, and thirteen days," I state louder for my pack-mates to hear.

Billie's reaction is so intense it shoots through the bond like an electric shock to my soul. The abrupt hitch of her pulse and the sharp intake of air have my head instantly snapping up.

Wilhelmina's standing midway down the hallway, her bulging green eyes glimmering with the tears that are spilling over their lower lids. Her red face is mostly obscured by her hands. Mostly obscured because her hands cannot hide the crinkles at the corners of her eyes, the elevation of her cheekbones, or the curled-up edges of her mouth in a magnificent smile.

She understands. It's not that she guessed what I meant or that she remembered what Randall said and my response. It's not an academic knowledge without experience. It's true empathetic understanding.

She knows what it means to count the days in between.

My guts twists with the ugly truth that she knows my pain so intimately. I could focus on that, focus on how both of us have suffered, adding a few more twists to the already strained threads of tension in our relationship. Add to the dark cloud that's been hanging over us since Saturday.

Fortunately, my mate doesn't allow herself to think about the mutual trauma that lies at the core of this connection between us. Instead, Billie lets herself get swept up in the emotions of the moment. In the present not the past. She shakes her head and giggles hoarsely. "No more counting!" Then she sprints toward me, jumping into the air with absolute trust that I will catch her. And I always will.

She wraps her legs around my waist and joyfully bellows, "No more counting!" Over and over again. With each pump of her fist in the air, every gleeful word that passes through her lips, and the jarring rise of her hips in my arms, the tentative smile on my face grows until I'm laughing.

The sound of my laughter draws her attention to me. Smiling wide, her hands cup either side of my face, and she tattoos her happiness on my face with her lips, leaving behind the warmth of her kisses on my cheeks, forehead, temples, nose, chin, and lips.

"Say it, Xander!" she demands in a lighthearted voice. "Yell it out loud!" I hear the click of a camera in my head as I take a mental snapshot of her in this moment. Her green eyes, open and vulnerable, show her true empathy for what I endured. That open-mouthed, toothy smile is full of joy. Joy for me.

Throwing back my head I bellow, "NO MORE COUNTING!"

She's laughing with me, and I'm laughing with her. Fuck, when was the last time we laughed like this? We've got to remember to live and laugh and have fun, especially in the darkest times.

"We need to celebrate, like do something!" she squeals as I set her down on the floor.

"What did you do?" I ask her through panting breaths that feel unrestrained and fuller than they have in years.

Placing her hands on her hips, she cocks her head to the side and scrunches her nose up in a cute way. "Are you serious, Xander? I was like thirteen!"

My heart is racing, and the corners of my mouth are tingling from the stretch of the smile I refuse to let drop. Dammit, I want to keep this feeling. Shaking my head, I gust out, "I don't care! I want to hear it. What did you do?"

"All right" she drawls a titter, her cheeks pinkening. Stepping back, she spins her head around, taking in Jax's and Ethan's expressions, which have transformed from concerned and worried to amused and expectant. With a wave of her arm, Billie proclaims, "Well then, let's head out to the backyard and celebrate like a thirteen-year-old girl who doesn't have to count the days anymore!"

She scurries out of the hallway and across the great room, peeling off her clothing as she goes until she's in only her joggers and an O'Sullivan's muscle shirt. Yanking the door to the backyard open, she skips—yes, skips—her way across the back patio. The three of us eagerly follow her, caught up in the uplifting energetic wave that is our mate.

She tugs an elastic from her wrist and begins threading her fingers through her hair, pulling her locks up into a high ponytail. Jax stands beside her, clapping his hands and exclaiming, "I've always wanted to celebrate like a thirteen-year-old girl, yea!"

Ethan's lips tick up on one side. "I truly do not know how to feel about what you just said or even how to take it for that matter." I nod in agreement while laughing all the same.

Jax, Ethan, and I have all taken off our shirts and tossed them on the patio table. Ethan queries. "Is this going to require physical movement?"

Billie twirls around to look at him with raised brows. "Yup, it definitely will." Ethan gives her a sly smile and then proceeds to remove his jeans, surprising us all with boxer brief underneath.

"Let's make it grown-up," Jax suggests, already pushing his joggers down off his hips.

Billie's eyes swing to him, and she playfully scoffs. "Of course you want to make it grown-up." Pausing she turns toward me and cants her head to the side. "How about PG-13, undies only? That naked run through the field may have led to an epic finale, but my boobs didn't appreciate the lack of support."

"Boxers, bras, and panties" Ethan asserts. "Don't want those breasts of yours getting stretched out before their time."

Jaxson

We're all standing at the edge of our patio, staring out over the open field that is our backyard, in only our skivvies. Every single one of us smiling, and it feels like it's been forever since we have. Too many scary-ass, life-threatening events lately have been dragging us down and pulling us apart. With a future that seems just as stressful and demanding, we need to remember to live. We need to laugh. We need to have fun in between. And we need to do it together.

Looking around at my pack-mates and true-mate, I know I'll remember this moment not as the night Xander was finally freed from his father but as a lesson in disguise. No need to count the days. We'll just fully live them until the next challenge.

"Okay," Billie giggles, placing one hand on her hip, drawing my attention to her pink lace bra and matching panties. "Can't believe we're doing this, but this is what I did to celebrate." Raising her other arm out to her side, she points to the open field. "See the edge of the field where it's been left to grow wild? That's the end point. Cartwheels and roundoffs all the way there and back!" Then she's hurling herself off the edge of the stone retaining wall, pretending she's a skateboarder, bending her knees and bringing her feet up to the side, holding them with her hand in midair until landing on the ground below. She effortlessly springs right into a roundoff and then a cartwheel, squealing and laughing the entire time. To my surprise, Xander is right behind her doing a front flip off the wall. Show-off. Without wasting another second, I leap into the air after them, because I'll be damned if I let Ethan get out there before me.

After a few roundoffs, random jumps, and cartwheels, I feel lighter. And hell, it's kind of fun to just play and move and twist in the air.

"Nuh-uh!" I hear Billie pant-yell. "Ethan, you can't just run! You've gotta cartwheel or somethin'!"

I stop and turn to Ethan, who's already at the end of the lawn. "I can't," he argues in a stern voice, head high and hands on hips.

Billie ignores his austerity and laughs. "Then figure out what you can do or just do the best you can!"

Ethan growls under his breath, but I catch sight of the small smile on his face. Bringing his hands over his head and widening his stance he bends down and attempts a cartwheel. Those long legs of his that help him out in soccer and running are just extra weight he's got to control now, and it's not looking so pretty. Honestly, it's pretty damn ugly.

The sound of clapping and cheering spreads across the field. "There you go, E!" Billie yells out with encouragement. "Just have fun with it!" Then she's back to her own cartwheels and roundoffs.

"Just have fun with it," Ethan says softly to himself, and to my surprise he's not mocking her. No, he's taking her words to heart.

Xander's been adding in some backflips, and I haven't seen him do those since he was fifteen. "You still got it, X!" I call out to him, clapping my hands above my head before returning to my own backyard gymnastics.

I hear him chuckle a scoff. "'Course I do, Jax."

We all make it back to the patio, panting and shivering, but most importantly, smiling and laughing. "How was that for a celebration?" Billie chirps while hip-checking Xander.

He returns her hip check with a little more force, sending her stumbling into me. I immediately wrap my arm around her waist, while Xander laughs. "Honestly, pretty fucking freeing." He comes to stand in front of her, and I step around so her back is cuddled up against my chest, putting our mate directly between us. Ethan stands to the side and slings an arm around Xander's shoulders. The cool air around us begins to fog with our breath while our lips seem almost frozen in wide smiles.

Xander's eyes dance around her face, and he places his hands on either side of her neck, thumbs caressing the tender skin over her pulse points. Billie's head leans back farther on my chest, and her hands grip the sides of Xander's naked torso, both of them fully immersed in the other.

Moments like this are times I never thought about when we entered our relationship, and they're some of the best parts. You get to observe, not just the sexual interactions but the emotional interactions, the intimacy. I've noticed since we almost lost her on Saturday, since he had to heal gaping wounds on her neck in order to save her life, his hands tend to go there first now. Like he needs to touch her skin, feel her flesh to make sure it's fully intact and free of wounds. He bends down and gives her the briefest of kisses. It's soft, tender, and loving. Breaking away, he leans into Ethan's body and lifts his gaze to mine. Arching a brow he says, "Wanna get inside and"—he winks— "warm up?"

"Hell yeah!" I reply, squatting down and scooping our mate into my arms, with him and Ethan grabbing all our clothes and following behind.