Page 95 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
The question made me consider carefully. When had I known that traditional relationships would never be enough? When had I understood that I needed pack rather than just a mate?
“Consciously? Since the day I met you,” I said honestly. “But looking back, I think I always knew something was missing. I just didn’t know what it was until I found it.”
“Same,” Rhett said. “I thought I was just bad at relationships. Turns out I was looking for the wrong kind of relationship.”
“I knew something was off when I started caring more about your happiness than my own solitude,” Wes added. “When the idea of you being with anyone else made me want to fight for you instead of walking away.”
“And when did you know it would work?” she asked. “That the three of you could share without it destroying your friendships?”
That was a more complex question, and I could see both Rhett and Wes considering it seriously.
“The first time I saw Rhett help you with something and felt proud instead of jealous,” I said finally. “When I realized that your happiness was more important than my ego.”
“For me it was watching Elias take care of you after that heat flare,” Rhett said. “Seeing how gentle and competent he was, and feeling grateful instead of threatened.”
“Mine was simpler,” Wes admitted. “It was the moment I realized I genuinely liked you both as people. That even without Willa in the equation, I’d want you in my life.”
“Really?” she asked, something like wonder in her voice.
“Really,” he confirmed. “You brought us together, but what we built is bigger than just shared attraction to you. We’re friends. Brothers. Family.”
“Found family,” I added, because the distinction mattered. “The kind you choose instead of the kind you’re stuck with.”
“The best kind,” Rhett concluded.
As evening approached, we fell into what was already becoming our routine. Rhett cooked dinner with the focused attention he brought to everything important. I set the table and prepared evening supplements. Wes reviewed tomorrow’s weather and adjusted environmental controls for optimal comfort. Willa supervised from her perch at the kitchen island, offering opinions and asking questions and generally being the center around which we all orbited.
“I love this,” she said as we sat down to eat. “The way we all take care of each other. The way everyone contributes something different.”
“It’s sustainable,” I said with satisfaction. “Everyone giving from their strengths instead of forcing themselves into roles that don’t fit.”
“What happens when we disagree about something?” she asked. “When we want different things?”
“We talk it through,” Wes said simply. “We find compromises or we take turns getting our way. We remember that we’re on the same team.”
“What if someone feels left out or neglected?”
“Then they speak up,” Rhett said firmly. “And the rest of us adjust. No suffering in silence, no expecting people to read our minds.”
“What if I mess this up?” she asked quietly, the question carrying the weight of old fears.
“You won’t,” I said with absolute certainty. “But even if you did, even if any of us did, we’d figure it out together. That’s what families do.”
“Families forgive each other,” Wes added.
“Families choose each other every day,” Rhett concluded.
As we cleaned up dinner and prepared for our second night as a completely bonded pack, I found myself thinking about healing again. How it wasn’t just about fixing what was broken, but about building something strong enough to withstand whatever came next.
We’d all been broken in different ways before we found each other. Willa by abuse and trauma, Rhett by isolation and defensiveness, Wes by self-sufficiency that had become loneliness, me by the belief that caring for others was enough to fill the emptiness inside.
But now we were something new. Something whole and healthy and strong enough to support not just our own happiness, but the happiness of others who might need what we’d learned about love and trust and chosen family.
“Thank you,” Willa said as we settled into bed together, all four of us naturally finding our positions in the big bed that was finally big enough for our family.
“For what?” I asked, though I suspected I knew.
“For seeing something in me that I couldn’t see in myself,” she said softly. “For believing I was worth saving even when I didn’t.”
