Page 52 of Stuck with my Pack
Tyler is the first to speak. “She’s going to be okay, Ethan.”
I don’t answer right away. My jaw clenches as I stare into the fire. “She has to be.” The words come out rough, raw. “I never stopped loving her, you know.” My throat tightens, but I forcethe words out. “Even when she left. It’s like she took a piece of me with her.”
Tyler watches me, his usual easy confidence replaced with something quieter. “Then why the hell does it feel like you’re pushing her away all the time?”
My head snaps up, and for a second, I want to argue. I want to tell him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. But the way he looks at me—the way heseesme—makes the words die in my throat.
He shifts, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, man. I know what it’s like to lose everything. To feel like you’re not enough. My mom left when I was a kid. My dad…” His laugh is bitter, hollow. “He wasn’t exactly Father of the Year. One night, he nearly beat me to death, then ran off before the cops could get to him. I was still a kid, and suddenly, I had to figure out how to survive on my own.”
I clench my jaw, the words hitting me hard. Tyler never talks about this. He never lets people see beneath the surface.
“And you rebuilt yourself,” I say, my voice quieter now.
Tyler nods. “I had to. But Sophie? She makes me want to be better—not just for her, but formetoo.”
I glance at Brodie, still curled protectively around Sophie, his face unreadable. When he finally looks up, his grip on her tightens. “We’re all here for her,” he says, his voice steady. “But we have to figure out how to be here for each other too.”
The words settle in my chest like a slow-burning ember. They aren’t wrong. We’ve been circling around something bigger than any of us. Fighting for her. Fighting the years betweeneach other.
I let out a slow breath. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit, the words scraping against my throat. “But I’ll try.”
Tyler smirks, the usual cockiness slipping back into his expression, but his voice is softer. “That’s all we can do, man.”
A soft sound pulls our attention, but it’s just the wind rattling the windows. Sophie doesn’t stir. Doesn’t react.
Brodie lets out a breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She’s strong. She’s going to make it.”
I watch the fire, my hands fisting at my sides.She has to.
The room is heavy with unspoken things, with everything we’ve been too stubborn or too afraid to say. The fire crackles, the storm rages, and something shifts between the three of us.
We’re not just fighting for her.
We’re fighting forus.
And softly, quietly in my heart, I let myself believe we might actually have a chance.
23
SOPHIE
Warmth. It surrounds me, wrapping around my body like a cocoon, shielding me from the lingering chill that clings stubbornly to the edges of my awareness. The contrast is startling—heat pressing against my skin while the memory of the cold lingers like a ghost in my bones.
It’s different from before, no longer an unbearable fire crawling beneath my skin, no longer a suffocating, all-consuming ache demanding relief. This warmth is soothing, steady, the kind that makes me want to sink deeper into it and never leave.
My limbs feel heavy, as though weighed down by exhaustion rather than fever, my muscles sluggish and weak. The world around me feels muted, distant, like I’m floating in the space between wakefulness and sleep, but something feels…different.
There’s no more restless buzzing in my veins, no more maddening pulse of need thrumming between my thighs, twisting my thoughts into something primal and raw. The haze of my heat is gone. Just…gone.
The realization trickles in slowly, my sluggish mind struggling to catch up. I should still be burning up, shouldn’t I? Lost in that overwhelming cycle of want, of unbearable craving.But the fire that had once consumed me has dwindled to embers, replaced by something softer—exhaustion, soreness, but no desperate hunger clawing at my insides.
My head pulses with a dull, rhythmic ache, a deep throb behind my eyes that makes me wince. A soft groan escapes me before I can stop it, my body protesting as I shift slightly beneath the weight of heavy blankets.
The movement sends a ripple of awareness through me, the comforting press of something firm and solid against my back making my breath hitch.
Brodie.
The realization sends a fresh wave of warmth through me, this one not entirely from the fire. His presence is unmistakable—the steady rise and fall of his bare chest against my back, the solid, grounding weight of his arm draped protectively over my waist.
