Page 118 of Pack Plus One

The elevator doors slide open to reveal Zoe’s apartment building lobby, and I immediately regret letting Jude pick our transportation method. His “let’s all cram into one Uber like a pack of desperate alphas” suggestion seemed efficient at the time, but now the mirrored walls of the lobby reflect four very different expressions of barely restrained determination back at me:

Jude is vibrating with nervous energy, clutching a bakery box that smells like warm blueberries and butter as if his life depends on it. He’s been stress-eating crumbs from the corners since we picked them up, leaving a trail of evidence down the front of his shirt.

Liam stands perfectly straight, holding a bouquet of sunflowers so bright they look radioactive under the harsh fluorescent lighting. He chose them specifically because “sunflowers are honest flowers, Caleb. They don’t pretend to be delicate.” Whatever that means.

Mason is silent and still as a statue, except for the muscle twitching in his jaw. He’s brought tea. A coffee cup filled with fresh Earl Grey, steeped exactly four minutes with a splash ofhoney. The gesture is so painfully thoughtful I can’t look directly at it.

And me? I’m one deep breath away from putting my fist through another wall. My fingers twitch at my sides, alpha energy radiating off me in waves potent enough that an omega mother waiting for the elevator clutches her child closer and presses herself against the far wall to avoid our path.

“Remember the plan,” Liam murmurs as we approach Zoe’s door, apartment 4C at the end of the hallway.

Jude snorts. “What plan? Caleb’s going to do something dramatically alpha, Leah’s going to pretend she’s not moved by it, and I’m going to say something inappropriate that somehow makes everything better.”

“That’s not a plan,” Mason points out. “That’s a prediction of disaster.”

“Same difference where we’re concerned,” Jude shrugs.

I silence them both with a look that has made business competitors back down and rival alphas reconsider their life choices. Neither of them appears particularly impressed.

“I just think we should have a more structured approach,” Liam continues, shifting the flowers to avoid crushing them. “Perhaps I should speak first, since I’m the most diplomatic?—”

“Bullshit,” Jude coughs into his fist.

“—and then we can each take turns explaining our perspective on the misunderstanding.”

“Or,” I growl, “we could stop debating strategy in her friend’s hallway and actually talk to her.”

Before any of them can respond, I step forward and raise my hand to knock. The door swings open before my knuckles make contact.

Leah’s petite beta friend, with a pixie cut and eyes that miss absolutely nothing, leans against the doorframe, sipping from a coffee mug with “Male Tears” printed on the side. Zoe. Herexpression is a masterful blend of amusement and skepticism. “Well, well,” she says, giving each of us a deliberate once-over. “The cavalry has arrived.”

The faint scent of whiskey-laced coffee wafts from her mug as she takes another sip, not bothering to hide her curiosity. “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost. Or arrested for stalking.”

Behind her, I catch a glimpse of Leah freezing mid-step, arms crossed tight over her chest like she’s physically holding herself together. She’s wearing borrowed clothes. A loose sweater that hangs off one shoulder and leggings that are slightly too short for her. And her hair is damp, like she’s just showered. The scent of distressed omega hits me like a punch to the gut—vanilla and cinnamon laced with something sharp and wounded.

My knees hit the hardwood before I consciously decide to move.

The collective inhale from my pack is almost comical. Jude’s bakery box slips slightly in his grip, crumbs cascading down his shirt front. Liam’s flowers rustle as his hands twitch. Mason goes preternaturally still, the tea in the coffee cup sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“We fucked up,” I say, the words scraping like gravel in my mouth. Alphas don’t apologize easily—it goes against every biological imperative encoded in our DNA—but for Leah, I’d cut out my own heart if she asked.

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating as her scent shifts from distress to something more complex—surprise, wariness, and beneath it all, a hint of hope so faint I nearly miss it.

“You’re not a project,” I continue, and my fingers curl into fists against my thighs to keep from reaching for her. “Not charity. Not an obligation.” Each word is an effort, but I force them out anyway. “You’re?—”

“—the reason we’ve collectively lost our minds,” Jude interrupts, shoving the bakery box forward like a peace offering.“We got your favorite muffins! The ones with the blueberries that make you do that little hum thing when you bite into them, which by the way is the sexiest sound I’ve ever?—”

Liam elbows him hard enough that Jude makes a soft “oof” sound. “What he means,” Liam says smoothly, “is that we’ve been very concerned.”

Leah’s gaze darts between us, her scent spiking with confusion and a trace of embarrassment. She takes a small step forward, then catches herself, arms tightening across her chest. “I heard you talking about me like I was some... obligation. Some abnormal omega you had to ‘accept’.”

“That’s not what we meant.” Mason speaks for the first time, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands as he holds out the cup of tea. “When I said we needed to accept who you are, I meant we needed to accept that you value your independence. That we shouldn’t try to change that about you.”

“We were honored,” I add, the words raw with sincerity. “Honored that you trusted us with your heat. Honored that you stayed afterward. Honored every time you let us close without running.”

A soft snort comes from the doorway. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” Zoe comments, but there’s less bite in her tone now.

Liam steps forward, offering the sunflowers. “These reminded me of you,” he says, his voice taking on that soft gentle tone that soothes. “Bright. Unapologetic. They turn to face the sun even on cloudy days.”

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