Page 95 of Knot Baked Out For This
We both turn to Rowan, who's staring into his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. The kitchen clock ticks loudly in the silence—another thing Rowan keeps meaning to fix. The refrigerator hums. Outside, one of the horses nickers.
"Row?" I prompt when the silence stretches too long.
Rowan's laugh is bitter as the coffee.
"You want my confession? Fine. I've wanted her for years."
The words land like a punch. I exchange glances with Luca, seeing my own surprise mirrored there.
"Years," Rowan repeats, still not looking at us. His scent has gone sharp with self-disgust. "Before she even married that asshole. We met at a farmers market—not here, over in Millbrook. She was selling these little hand pies that were so good I bought six just to keep talking to her. She laughed at everything, you know? Really laughed, not that polite shit. And her scent..." He shakes his head. "I was gone. Completely fucking gone."
"Why didn't you—" Luca starts.
"Because I'm a coward." Rowan's voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "She mentioned she was seeing someone, and I just... backed off. Told myself it wasn't meant to be. Then she married him, and I watched from the sidelines as that light in her started dimming. Watched her stop laughing. Stop coming to markets. Stop being Hazel." His hands clench around the mug hard enough that I worry it might shatter. "I left the city because staying hurt too much. Came back hoping... I don't know what I hoped. That maybe she'd be free? That I'd get a second chance I didn't deserve?"
"Row—" I start, but Rowan cuts me off with a sharp gesture.
"I didn't help her when she needed it. I saw the signs—we all did—and I did nothing. Just ran away like a fucking coward." He finally looks up, and his eyes are bright with something that might be tears if Rowan ever cried. "But I'm done running. She's here, she's free, and those assholes today proved she still needs protection. Support. Pack."
The word hangs in the air between us. Pack. Not just three Alphas interested in the same Omega, but pack. It's old-fashioned, some would say archaic, but my Alpha practically purrs at the rightness of it.
"She's been hurt with words," Rowan continues, his voice stronger now. "You heard what those fuckers said today. 'Damaged goods.' That's probably nothing compared to what Korrin told her. Made her feel like garbage, like she was lucky he wanted her at all."
"Bastard," I growl, and mean it. I only met Korrin once, at some town function years back, and instantly disliked him. Too smooth, too charming, with dead eyes that reminded me of a shark.
"So we prove Alphas aren't all bad," Rowan says firmly. "Actions, not just words. Show her we can love and cherish her properly."
"If she'll let us," Luca adds quietly. "She might not want any Alphas after what she's been through."
The possibility sits like lead in my stomach, but I force myself to nod. "Then we respect that. Her pace, always."
"Agreed." Rowan stands, pacing to the window that overlooks the back pasture. The setting sun paints his profile in gold and shadow. "But if we're doing this—if we're really considering pack courting—we need rules."
"Christ, you sound like Luca," I complain, but I'm already nodding. We need structure, boundaries. Without it, we'll end up competing, and that will only hurt Hazel in the end.
"He's right," Luca says, pulling out his phone and opening a notes app because of course he does. "First rule: her pace, always. No pushing, no pressing, no matter what our Alphas want."
"Second," Rowan turns from the window, "no competing. We court together, not against each other. Pack means pack."
I think about that, about sharing Hazel's attention, her affection. My Alpha should rebel at the thought, but instead, there's a strange sense of rightness. The three of us have beenfriends since elementary school. We've shared everything else—might as well share the most important thing too.
"Communication," I add. "No secrets about intentions, no sneaking around behind each other's backs. We're honest with each other and with her."
"What about..." Luca hesitates, then forges ahead. "What if she chooses some other pack?"
The question I've been dreading. I force myself to consider it objectively.
"Then we step back with grace," I say firmly. "No hard feelings, no broken friendships. We're brothers first, potential pack second, and we'll support her whether rejected or accepted."
"No questions, no pressure. We keep being her friends, her support system, whatever she needs us to be," Rowan emphasizes.
We all nod, the agreement settling over us like a pact. Then Rowan's mouth quirks in what might be a smile.
"And if she chooses all?"
The question hangs in the kitchen along with the scent of over-strong coffee and three Alphas trying to hope. My mind immediately goes to dangerous places—Hazel surrounded by the three of us, safe and cherished and thoroughly claimed—before I yank it back.
"Then we figure it out together," Luca says simply. "Pack means pack."
