Page 62 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched.
"And I wanted to apologize. For freaking out. For crying. For making it a bigger deal than it was?—"
"Michelle," I interrupted gently. "You don't need to apologize for caring."
"But I made it awkward. I broke down instead of being professional?—"
"You were human," Ro said. "That's not something to apologize for."
"You were pack," Lucas added. "Taking care of your alpha. That's instinct, Michelle. It's not something you can control."
She looked between the three of us, and I watched her process that. The fact that we weren't judging her for caring, for showing emotion, for letting her walls down.
"I'm not used to this," she admitted. "Caring this much. Letting people see me care. It feels... vulnerable."
"It is vulnerable," I agreed. "But vulnerability isn't weakness. It's trust."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of trust."
"Then we'll wait until you are," Lucas said simply.
"You keep saying that. That you'll wait. Like you really mean it."
"We do mean it," Ro said. "However long it takes, Michelle. We're not going anywhere."
She nodded, something in her expression softening. "Thank you. For the patience and... everything."
"Thank you for the tea and the fussing," I countered. "It meant a lot."
Her cheeks flushed. "I wasn't fussing."
"You were absolutely fussing," Lucas said, grinning. "It was adorable."
"I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," we said in unison.
She laughed, genuine and unguarded, and the sound made my alpha purr with contentment.
This. This was what we were building. Not just pack bonds and fated mates, but friendship and trust and genuine connection.
Michelle left to "actually do some work," but she glanced back before closing the door. And in that glance, I saw possibility.
She was falling. Slowly, carefully, terrified every step of the way.
But she was falling.
And we'd be there to catch her.
However long it took.
EIGHT
Lucas
Day five in Cedar Falls, and I was starting to forget what my apartment looked like.
Not that I was complaining. The farmhouse had become more home in less than a week than my studio had been in two years. Probably because this house came with Michelle, still skittish, still fighting her instincts, but noticeably less likely to flee when one of us entered a room.
