Page 78 of Griffin

Inside Dad’s room, a few of the pack elders were gathered, sharing quiet stories of his younger days.

Their voices carried a mix of sorrow and reverence that made my throat tighten. When they noticed us, they finished their farewells and stepped aside, giving us space.

“Look at that, Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. “The whole pack came to see you off.”

Noah sniffled beside me, wiping his eyes with the handkerchief Michael handed him.

“Yeah, it was unexpected,” Noah muttered, his voice thick.

Michael stood quietly by my side, our fingers laced together. His steady presence grounded me in a way nothing else could.

A nurse entered the room, her expression soft but professional.

“Are you ready?” she asked gently.

I glanced at Noah. His red-rimmed eyes met mine, and for a moment, I wondered if he needed more time.

But then he nodded, a quiet strength in his expression I hadn’t seen in weeks.

“We’re ready,” I said, gripping Michael’s hand a little tighter.

As the nurse began the process, I leaned into my mate’s warmth, drawing on the bond we shared. No matter how much it hurt, I knew Noah and I would be okay.

As we stepped out of the hospital, the crisp evening air hit me.

The weight of finality lingered, but the sight of the pack still gathered outside helped ease the ache. Cooper stepped forward, clasping my shoulder again.

“You did good, Griffin. He’d be proud of you and Noah,” Cooper said.

I swallowed hard, managing a small smile.

“Thanks, Coop. And thank you all for being here. It means a lot,” I told him.

He nodded, his expression softening.

“You know how it is. When one of us goes, we send them off properly. Speaking of…” He glanced around at the gathered wolves. “We’ve got a remembrance gathering at the pack house tonight. Food, stories, the usual. Figured you’d want to be there.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah, we’ll be there. Thanks for organizing it.”

Cooper grinned, his way of easing the tension. “Of course.”

We all started heading toward the parking lot together.

I caught Michael glancing around, taking in the faces of the pack. He stayed close to my side, his fingers brushing mine.

“You okay?” I asked him.

He nodded, though his expression was still a bit reserved.

“Yeah. Just…a little nervous. It’s a lot of new faces,” he admitted.

I squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”

When we arrived at the pack house, the familiar buzz of pack life greeted us.

The sprawling log cabin-style home was already packed, the scent of food wafting through the open windows.

Wolves milled about, some sharing quiet conversations while others laughed, the weight of grief balanced by the need to celebrate Dad’s life.

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