Page 145 of Knot Like Other Girls

Our mountain hideaway is remote for a reason—not just for security, but because we've all had enough of crowds and noise and the constant vigilance required in urban environments. Here, among the trees and the quiet, we can almost pretend we're normal. Almost.

As we near the SUV, Cole steps ahead to open the door for Bella. She smiles up at him—a private smile that speaks volumes—and his scarred face softens in response. It's a subtle change, one that most people would miss entirely, but I've known Cole for years. I've seen him at his worst. Rage-filled and destructive, self-loathing and brutal. The tender way he looks at Bella now is a transformation I never thought possible.

"Shotgun!" Troy calls, making a dash for the front passenger seat.

"Tactical positions," I remind him, my voice firm. "Liam takes shotgun."

Troy sighs dramatically but complies, opening the back door with a resigned flourish. "Fine, but I'm controlling the music."

"Absolutely not," Savva says, sliding in beside him. "I refuse to listen to your eclectic playlists that jump from death metal to K-pop without warning."

"It's called having range. Not everyone gets off to chacky-kosky."

"Tchaikovsky," Savva corrects him dryly.

Their bickering continues as Cole helps Bella into the middle row before climbing in beside her. I circle around to the driver's side, taking a moment to scan our surroundings from habit. Themountain is quiet, the lake a mirror reflecting the cloudy sky. Our sanctuary, hidden away from the world.

When I slide into the driver's seat, I catch a glimpse of Bella in the rearview mirror. She's settled comfortably between Cole and the door, grinning as she listens to Troy and Savva's ongoing music debate.

Whatever comes next, she's worth it.

Worth everything.

CHAPTER 41

BELLA

The SUV hits a pothole, jolting me against Cole's shoulder. He doesn't flinch this time. Progress.

"Fifteen minutes out," Roman announces from the driver's seat, his deep voice carrying through the vehicle.

I press my forehead against the cool window glass, watching as dense forest gradually gives way to scattered houses. My body feels off-kilter, like I'm wearing someone else's skin—the early stages of heat making everything heightened and slightly disorienting. The suppressants have dulled the edge, but there's still an underlying current of awareness pulsing through me, especially when I'm surrounded by five compatible alphas in an enclosed space.

"You doing okay?" Cole asks quietly from my right, his low voice pitched just for me.

I turn to face him, finding him studying me with that intensity that makes my stomach flip. "Yeah. Everything just feels a bit intense."

He nods once, understanding without needing further explanation. That's been the most surprising thing about the Vanguard Pack—how quickly they've learned to read me, to understand what I need sometimes before I know myself.

"Diner first," Liam says from the front passenger seat, turning to glance back at me. "Get some food into you before the shopping. Heat burns calories like a motherfucker."

"Such a delicate way with words," Savva mutters, but I catch his amused expression.

"What? It's true," Liam defends himself. "Bella needs protein and carbs. Lots of them. And their breakfast platters could feed a small army."

The SUV takes a turn onto what seems to be the main road into Sweetwater, and I sit up straighter, taking in the town that will be our home, at least temporarily.

It's exactly how Roman described it. Picturesque, like something from a tourist postcard or a Hallmark movie. Main Street curves gently along the edge of a small lake, the water reflecting the overcast sky. The buildings are a charming mix of Victorian and early twentieth century architecture, with colorful awnings over shop windows and hanging flower baskets buzzing with honeybees. Despite the cloudy day, there's a cozy warmth to the place that makes me feel instantly welcomed.

"Wow," I breathe, pressing closer to the window. "It's beautiful."

"Wait till you see it on a clear day," Roman says, and I catch his smile in the rearview mirror. "The mountain reflection on the lake is something else."

I smile at him. "It's perfect as it is."

Roman guides the SUV through the main part of town, moving slowly as pedestrians cross the street unhurriedly. There's an easy pace to life here, none of the frenetic energy of Los Angeles. People actually stop to chat on the sidewalks. Window displays look thoughtfully curated rather than mass-produced. The few cars parked along the street are mostly older models, well-maintained but not flashy.

"There it is," Troy announces, pointing ahead. "Mabel's. Best breakfast on the West Coast."

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