Page 71 of Knot My Type

"Mine are not in the picture," Kael says, his voice carrying an edge that suggests painful history. "Haven't been for a long time. By choice—mine and theirs."

Rhys nods understanding. "Similar situation. My family and I have fundamental disagreements about how life should be lived. We're better off keeping our distance."

The admissions make my heart ache for them, for the losses and rejections that shaped them before we found each other. But they also explain something about the fierce loyalty they show each other, the way they've created their own family unit separate from blood relations.

"What about you?" Fen asks gently. "Your family?"

"Complicated," I say with a rueful laugh. "My parents are traditional. Conservative in ways that make conversations about my life choices challenging. I love them, and they love me, but we don't always understand each other."

"Will they accept us?" Rhys asks.

It's a fair question, and one I don't have a clear answer to. My parents struggled with my divorce, saw it as a failure on my part rather than an escape from an unhappy situation. The idea of explaining that I'm now in a relationship with three people simultaneously is enough to make my stomach churn with anxiety.

"I don't know," I admit. "They might surprise me. Or it might be difficult."

We'll figure it out when we get there," Kael says, echoing the theme of our entire conversation. "All of it. Whatever comes up, we'll handle it together."

The simple statement encapsulates everything I love about these men, everything that makes this relationship feel different from anything I've experienced before. They don't have all the answers, don't pretend that love conquers all or that our path forward will be easy. But they're committed to facing whatever challenges arise as a team, as a family, as partners in the truest sense of the word.

"I love you," I say suddenly, the words bursting out before I can second-guess them. "All of you. I love how you think, how you plan, how you make me feel like I belong here."

The smiles that greet this declaration are radiant, transforming all three faces with joy and satisfaction and something deeper that might be relief.

"We love you too," Fen says, speaking for all of them. "More than we probably know how to express."

"Good thing we have time to figure that out too," I say, settling deeper into the couch, into their warmth and presence and the steady certainty of belonging.

Outside, the evening is settling into full darkness, but the house is warm and bright and filled with the kind of contentment I never thought I'd find. We're building something here, something precious and complicated and absolutely worth fighting for.

And as we settle into comfortable silence, bodies intertwined and hearts open, I can feel the future stretching out ahead of us like a promise. Not perfect, not easy, but ours. Built on choice and commitment and the kind of love that creates family from nothing but hope and determination.

The conversation gradually shifts to lighter topics—plans for the weekend, ideas for improving the house, stories from their past that help me understand the men they were before they became the men I love. But underneath it all runs the steady current of certainty, the knowledge that we've made our choice and committed to making it work.

When we finally head upstairs, it's not with the desperate urgency of heat and biological imperative, but with the quiet satisfaction of people who have found their place in the world. We're building something lasting here, something that will weather whatever storms come our way.

And as I settle into sleep surrounded by the warmth and scent and steady breathing of my pack, I know with absolute certainty that I'm exactly where I belong.

ELIANA

SIX MONTHS LATER

Iwake to the sound of rain pattering against the bedroom windows and the warm weight of Fen's arm across my waist. The early morning light filtering through the curtains is gray and soft, the kind of light that makes you want to burrow deeper under the covers and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

But I have work to do today—good work, work that fills me with the same sense of purpose and satisfaction that my writing does. The final draft of my manuscript is due to my editor by five o'clock, and after that, I have three client proposals to finish for the security firm.

Our security firm. Even six months later, the possessive pronoun still sends a little thrill through me.

Mountain Peak Security Solutions has exceeded every expectation we had when we opened four months ago. What started as a cautious venture into entrepreneurship has become a thriving business with more clients than we can handle and a waiting list that grows longer every week. Turns out there's a real demand for the kind of personalized, thorough security consulting that the guys provide, especially when itcomes packaged with my client communications and marketing materials.

I've discovered I have a talent for translating technical security jargon into language that CEOs and business owners can understand and act upon. My background in storytelling serves me well when I'm crafting scenarios that help clients visualize potential risks and understand why certain precautions are necessary. It's satisfying work in a way I never expected—immediate, practical, genuinely helpful to people who need protection.

But first, the book.

I ease out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Fen, though his arm tightens reflexively around my waist before releasing me with a sleepy murmur of protest. Rhys and Kael are already gone—I can hear the distant sounds of breakfast preparation from downstairs, the low rumble of their voices mixing with the hiss of bacon in a pan and the gurgle of the coffee maker.

My office—and it really is mine now, completely transformed from spare room to writer's sanctuary—awaits at the end of the hall. Bookshelves line every wall, filled with everything from romance novels to security manuals to the growing collection of works by authors I've met through the small but vibrant writing community I've discovered in the nearby town. My desk sits positioned to catch the best of the morning light, surrounded by the tools of my trade: laptop, notebooks, reference books, and the small succulent garden that Fen installed when he noticed I needed something living and green to look at when the words weren't coming easily.

The manuscript waits on my screen, all 85,000 words of it, polished and revised and as perfect as I can make it. Finding Pack—the story that started as a way to process my own journey and became something larger, something that speaks to anyonewho has ever felt displaced or uncertain about where they belong.

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