Page 97 of The Knotheads Next Door
"She's leaving tomorrow," Wells points out, ever practical even now. "That was the agreement. One month. God, maybe this was a mistake"
"Agreements can change," I counter. "Plans can change. People can change."
"Not everyone wants to," Jasper says quietly. "Not everyone can."
The defeated note in his voice makes my chest ache. I understand his fear—we all have our scars, our reasons for keeping people at a distance. Jasper, abandoned by his motherand then by Julia. Wells, controlled by his father's cautionary example. Me, with my own history of loss and grief.
But Rowan... Rowan isn't just anyone. She's the missing piece we didn't know we were looking for until she appeared. And now she's slipping away because we're all too afraid to reach for what we want.
"So that's it?" I ask, looking between them. "We just let her go? Pretend none of this happened?"
Neither of them answers, but their silence is answer enough.
The water shuts off in the bathroom, the sound punctuating the heavy silence between us. I wonder what Rowan is thinking behind that locked door. If she's crying, if she's planning her escape, if she's as confused and heartsick as I am.
I think of the past five days—not just the sex, though that was transcendent in ways I've never experienced before—but the quiet moments between. The way Jasper's gruff exterior softened when he held her. The tenderness in Wells's eyes when he thought no one was looking. The way the three of us moved around each other with newfound synchronicity, caring for her and each other with intuitive harmony.
Pack. That's what all we became, what we all are, whether we acknowledge it or not.
But pack requires courage. Requires trust. Requires being willing to risk rejection, to be vulnerable, to reach for connection instead of safety.
As I look at my packmates—at Jasper retreating behind his walls, at Wells armoring himself with practicality—I realize with sinking clarity that Rowan isn't the only one running. We all are, in our own ways.
And unless one of us finds the courage to stop, to turn around and fight for what we've found, we're going to lose the best thing that's ever happened to any of us.
The question is: who will be brave enough to take that first step?
Chapter 29
Rowan
Of course, my car breaks down now. Because the universe apparently hasn't been creative enough with its "let's ruin Rowan's life" storyline and decided to go with the classic "car dies dramatically at emotional turning point" trope.’
I glare at the smoke billowing from under my hood. The Tonda—which has faithfully survived three Heraford winters, a road trip to Florida with college roommates, and my impulsive move to Vineyard Groves—has finally given up the ghost. Just like my dignity and my heart.
"Perfect timing," I mutter, pulling off to the side of the road at the small park just outside town. "Really excellent work, universe. Five stars. Would recommend."
At least I made it out of their driveway before the automotive apocalypse. There's nothing quite like having your car break down in front of the three alphas you're trying to dramatically leave behind. I can just imagine it—me, sobbing over my smoking engine while they awkwardly offer to call a tow truck. No thanks.
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel, forcing back the tears that have been threatening since I overheard Wells's words.Maybe this was a mistake.Four simple words that confirmed my worst fears—that what happened during my heat was just biology, just obligation, just a mistake they're already regretting.
A tiny "mrrp" from the carrier in my passenger seat interrupts my spiral of self-pity. Gerald pokes his orange face through the bars, whiskers twitching with concern.
"I know, buddy," I sigh, unlatching the carrier. "This wasn't part of the plan."
Gerald immediately climbs into my lap, kneading my thighs with sharp little claws that somehow manage to hit exactly the same spot every time. His purr revs up like a miniature motorcycle, and he butts his head against my chin in what I choose to interpret as solidarity rather than a demand for treats.
"At least I've got you," I tell him, scratching behind his ears. "Even if I've managed to lose everything else. Again."
The truth is, I've gotten pretty good at losing things. My sense of identity when I found out about James. My job in Heraford. My apartment. My family, temporarily at least. And now, three alphas I never meant to fall for.
Because that's the really stupid part of all this—I knew better. I went into that house with firm boundaries and a clear exit strategy. Don't get attached. Don't get involved. Keep it strictly business.
Then Gerald happened. And Theo's gentle hands. And Jasper's reluctant protectiveness. And Wells's careful attention to detail. And suddenly I was living in a house full of alpha pheromones with my newly awakened omega biology screaming "POTENTIAL MATES" every time one of them so much as looked in my direction.
"And now we're homeless," I inform Gerald, who has the audacity to look completely unconcerned about our dire circumstances. "Again. With a car that's probably worth less than the cost to fix it."
My phone rings, the screen lighting up with "Pops" for the third time today. After weeks of ignoring his calls, the familiar name now sends a complicated mix of emotions through me—anger, longing, hurt, and a stubborn, childish desire to have him tell me everything will be okay.
