34. Elliot

"I'll text you later about hosting movie night. Jacob and I are excited to show it off." Mateo claps his hand on my back, and I brace myself at the contact, but my alpha remains silent.

"I think next Saturday night works," I say, making good on my promise. I invited their pack over for a BBQ movie night.

It's getting easier to let people in the more I do it. I figure it won't hurt to have friends. I know their pack hikes and camps a lot. I'm hoping we can work up to that.

"I still can't get over the fact that you smell like camping out under the stars now." He leans in, taking a deep sniff.

I growl. I can take some touching. However, nobody but my pack is getting close enough to scent me.

"Noted." Mateo laughs, waving me off before he walks toward the locker room.

I turn a corner and see Sadie waiting for me at the front desk of Pumped, a camera slung around her neck. I wave to the security guys as I go to her.

She looks tired, but incredibly happy. Over the weekend, we lazed around, recovering from her heat, but then it was back to work. Everyone has been dragging ass for the last few days, trying to make it to the weekend. We need another solid two days in bed to rest, then we'll be fine.

"How did it go?" I ask, roping her into a hug.

"I was worried for nothing. I got all the shots I needed before that thunderstorm and worked on editing them in the library during the rain."

I kiss her exposed shoulder where my mark lives, my stomach swooping from her arousal in the bond.

My coworker Tate whistles from somewhere behind us. I hold her closer, flicking him off over my shoulder.

"He's harmless," I murmur. She's mine and I'm not letting her go until I kiss her hello. My lips slant over hers, waiting until she opens for me. She tastes like coffee today, mixed with her sweetness, and I savor it before backing away. "You ready to see Graham's garden?"

She pulls on the strap of her camera. "I'm planning to take lots of pictures."

I chat with her about the opening of Graham's newest garden in the town square, grabbing my keys from behind the counter. I put my hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of Pumped and toward the town center.

Outside, a small crowd has gathered, and we spot our pack standing off to the side. We shuffle toward them, waiting for the dedication ceremony to begin.

Graham's speaking with the mayor and Jacob, the sheriff. When we get to our pack, Doc kisses Sadie hello, then Hunter whisks her away, pulling her between him and Logan. Doc reaches to me for a kiss, brushing his lips over mine and settling against me, his head on my shoulder.

"Word of the day is tired. I got it in five. Can you believe that?" He groans. "But I finished handing off everything for the summer."

I kiss the top of his head, sighing into his scent and letting it ease the soreness in my body. He tells me about his day while we wait, and we all cheer for Graham when he and the mayor cut the ribbon. I smile at his proud expression and give Doc's middle a squeeze.

I take in the vines creeping along the tower and the bright color of the arches Graham has created. "He's an artist."

"He is," Doc says, voice full of affection.

Sadie grabs my hand, tugging me toward the garden entrance. "Come on, Bear."

Graham's cheeks heat all through the tour, a rare sight for him, but I can tell he's proud of what he's created.

A dark head of hair above the others draws my attention, my neck snapping to catch a glimpse of the man. At first glance, he's the spitting image of my father. My heart rate kicks up, tripping and then galloping too fast. I blink and realize that can't be him. My father is at least fifty now, not thirty. I study the man and force myself to see that he doesn't look anything like my father. I blink away the confusion, shaking it off, and turn back to my pack.

Sadie hugs my middle, her purr quiet between us. I didn't say anything, but she felt my tension in the bond, and I appreciate the extra comfort. What a weird head trip that was.

Graham looks at everyone gathered and says, "I love this place and how y'all supported me, but my ass is tired. Let's go home."

We forgo our dinner plans in town, opting to celebrate Sadie's first shoot and Graham's garden with ice cream sundaes on the porch after eating leftovers. It's an evening of after-work dishes and putting away laundry.

After our usual chores, everyone heads to the nest early. We listen to Logan read a chapter from the book we've been working through and get ready for bed. It's simple, everyday shit. But it's profound in its ordinariness.

The smoke burnsmy eyes and the heat searing my legs makes it feel as if I'm being dragged through hell on the tail of the devil. I thrash, trying desperately to grab hold of something, anything to make the raging fire stop. Bono's voice calls from behind me, but I can't make it out over the screaming pain. I squeeze tighter, try harder to block it out. But the pain keeps pulling me further down into the smoke and ash.

The scene switches. From the raging inferno, my father's face appears, large and looming, blood running down his head in unholy rivers of red. His hands, bruised purple and shiny with swelling, wrap around my throat. I try to kick him off, but the memory of pain in my legs eviscerates my mind. I grope blindly, wishing for death, wishing something would cut the tether. My vision becomes gritty dark ash, the smoke suffocating my lungs.

Eternity passes, my limbs locked in horror.

And then a faint wisp of sunshine floats in on a floral breeze. "El, baby. Let go. You're safe."

I breathe it in. Search for the soft light amid all the darkness. It's lazy naps with the windows carrying in spring rain. It's the taste of homemade cooking and the feel of sunshine on my face when the sky is open, and breathing comes easy.

It takes another eternity for my muscles to unlock, for me to be able to recognize which version of my life I'm coming back to. But when I do, I'm horrified. It's my worst nightmare come to life. I've attacked in my sleep. I'm a monster.

I struggle from Doc and Graham's hold, tangled in the sheets, my body shaking. I stumble, trip, recover, banging into the door on my way out. The tangled blanket slithers up my legs, and I stumble into the hallway, busting my forehead into a framed picture hanging on the wall. The piercing shatter rings in my ears and my forehead burns. Blood drips into my eyes but I ignore it.

My pack calls for me, their voices strangled with fear, and my gut turns over in shame.

With unsteady feet, I make it downstairs and out through the back door. It's barely morning, the world covered in a thick grey. I'm down the steps and to the gate, my feet frantic. My breath saws out of me, the image of Tristan trapped beneath me etched behind my lids.

Everything inside my body screams at me to keep running. My brain hurls intrusive thoughts in rapid fire.

This is what you knew would happen, you pathetic piece of shit. Your pack is not safe, not with you. You're broken. You're too damaged for them. You were always going to fuck this up. Leave. Run and never come back. Save them before it's too late.

The insults continue, loud shouting in my father's voice, my voice. At some point, they became the same.

It takes every ounce of my restraint to not open the gate. I grip the slats, let the wood dig into my skin. I want to rip it apart, to smash something until I'm not the only thing broken. But I don't. Because that voice will not be mine.

Sadie loves me. My pack loves me. I can come back from this.

I breathe for five, hold it for five, and push the air from my lungs, chanting the mantra. I use everything I've learned, chuck all the tools at it, hoping that festering, clawing thing can be snuffed out.

I count what I see.

One. Blooming peonies.

Red.

Two. The stone path leading from the garden.

Graham.

Three. The drying herbs hanging from our kitchen window.

Doc.

Four. The orange light by the garage.

Hunter.

Five. The graphically phallic mushroom wind chime dangling from a tree in the front.

Logan.

I feel Sadie's bond pulsing. It's that steady softness of her purr that means love and worry and come home.

I don't make it to another feeling because a single sound brings me right back. "El."

I loosen my grip on the wood and look over my shoulder. It's the Tristian from the haunting memory of this morning, hair disheveled and chest bare. The skin on his biceps is an angry red and scratched raw, the evidence of my terror marking him like a brand.

"Walking out that gate will hurt more." His voice shakes and he steps closer. Then another. His trembling hand reaches out. "I held on. It was my choice, and I'll never regret it."

Up close, this version of Tristian looks nothing like the nightmare I saw when waking. His eyes are filled with hurt, but it isn't accusing, nor angry, nor any of the other things I expect to see. His hand clings to my shoulder, and I close my eyes, letting the feel of his warm skin sink in and curl around me.

"I'm sorry," I say over and over, wishing the words could ever be enough. "I'm so fucking sorry, Doc. I?—"

His steady voice cuts in, soft but strong, and full of so much compassion that it causes my eyes to well. "It was a night terror. We're all exhausted after her heat. It's okay, El. You're safe. She's safe. You don't have to run. I'm not afraid. Everyone in the pack is safe." His body weight is added to that singular touch, and he turns me in his arms. "When it started, Hunter and Lo grabbed Sadie and they stayed in the corner while Graham and I kept you from hurting yourself. Everyone is shaken up, but we're not afraid of you, El. They all wanted to come, but I asked them to let me go because I wanted you to see I'm okay."

With his words, I feel all of it, refusing to swallow this down too and let it become another thing that wakes me in the night. At first, while he holds me, it's only the bad shit, my mind trained in the art of making war. My body tightens, the weight of it burying me alive. I feel the sorrow and shame of scaring them and the stabbing horror of touching the pack I love without gentleness. Mixed in is the pain of my memories, the loss of my first pack, and the hurt of a boy who grew up wrong.

But the longer he holds me, the more the good stuff seeps in. I focus on the overwhelming love in Sadie's bond and in Tristan's words. Gratitude trickles in for my pack. They knew what to do. They kept our omega safe. They held me through the worst of who I am, and everyone came out on the other side.

I sigh into Tristan's shoulder, clinging to his lean form. The weight on my chest is removed and I can breathe. With it, I give him the words. "I'm not going, Doc. I was never going to go. I don't want to walk away."

He tugs on my nape, pulls my chin to force my eyes to his, then holds my face between his hands. He doesn't make a sound, yet he says the most important things.

I've lived with Tristian for years and never before recently thought about the feel of his lips on mine or the silhouette of his body as it moved in the darkness. But right now, I wonder how I could be near him and not want to have his hands on my body. Even from the beginning, his touch and his scent meant safety. I wanted to be around him. I learned to cook because that's where he was. So much of my life was shrouded in darkness then, but in Doc's kitchen, it's impossible not to relax. There, in all those endless hours of learning how to bake bread and cookies and plan a meal, he taught me what love and safety looked like.

And he's teaching me again.

The truth of that hits me all at once, a wrecking ball that shakes my foundation and bursts me wide open. The way Doc's looking at me is the way he looks at Sadie after he's just woken up, right before he says, "Morning, love." It's the same expression he gives Graham when they're reunited at the end of the day. Or in a thousand looks that all spell I love you.

I've seen this look from him countless times, but I didn't understand it. I didn't know what the tenderness in his eyes or the gentleness in his touch meant. But I see him clearly now. His messy blond hair hangs into crystal-blue eyes that are soft and full of such longing. The ghost of his fingers traces my cheek.

This man loves me. Has loved me. Is in love with me.

Of course, I realized it was love. But I didn't know what kind.

I think back to all those times his scent, his presence, brought me comfort. Even on my worst days like today. On bad days that turned to silence. And on the days when I ran. The good days too. Because they were there. There were so many more than I ever could count before. But I see them now. For years, this beautiful, patient man has loved me. He's been there, loving me in any way I would let him.

Because Doc, he's my mate.

I clear my throat, those unshed tears threatening to spill, but I don't stop them. I give him more words. The ones he deserves. They're raw and gritty, but they flow freely. "I've loved you a long time, Doc. It wasn't mate love, not yet, but it was how I learned what love looked like. And it's how I knew not to walk out that gate. You were my path home. I'm so grateful you were patient, but I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long."

Doc's breath is shaky. He leans in and brushes my lips, whispering against them, "I would have waited for you forever, mate."

That word sings in my soul.

"I believe you. I love you. I'm in love with you." Those words ring with truth.

I know in my soul that this man would do anything for me. All those years, he was patient. He never rushed me. He never asked anything for his love. He gave it unconditionally. I'd never known before him what it was like, but I can feel the freedom and forgiveness and wholeness in it now.

It's because of Doc that I was able to open my heart to Sadie, to find my way to loving this pack, and to find my way back to him. To live through this night and believe we will be okay. And I want to be able to return it in kind, to give back all the love this man has shown me.

"Will you give me your bite, Doc? I want to come home."