“This is absurd,” he says, raising his voice to carry down the corridor. “I’ve devoted years to education. My record is impeccable.”
“Not anymore.” Nathaniel crosses his arms over his chest. “The board has the recording. They’ve heard the threats you made toward our niece.”
At the mention of Quinn, Mrs. Peterson’s hand drops to the student who stands closest. Bethany with her strawberry-blond hair, and one of Quinn’s friends. The simple gesture speaks volumes about the instinctive protection of a teacher for her student, the exact opposite of what Carson did with his power.
“You don’t understand the context,” Carson says, taking on a reasonable, lecturing tone that makes me shudder with its familiarity. “Working with Omega staff requires certain… accommodations for their emotional nature. Mr. Hollis has misunderstood our professional interactions.”
I feel my jaw tighten, but before I can speak, Mr. Finnegan lets out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s not what you said in the recording. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Carson’s eyes dart around the growing crowd. More teachers have emerged from classrooms, drawn by the commotion or perhaps summoned by text messages flying between staff. Students whisper behind cupped hands, phones recording what might become the most discussed event in Pinecrest Academy history.
“Omegas are prone to emotional distortion,” Carson continues, desperation creeping into his professional facade. “Their perception of events often reflects their biological needs rather than objective reality. Mr. Hollis has been under considerable stress, which explains this unfortunate misinterpretation of my mentorship.”
Chloe’s head cocks to the side, her rose-quartz gaze guileless. “So you’re saying youdidn’tstalk our nanny from Westbrook and try to force him into an unwanted courtship,again, by threatening our pup’s safety?”
Whispers rise up and down the hall.
I see the moment Carson realizes it’s really over. Not because of the investigation or the recording or even the Wright Pack standing at my back, but because the silent witnesses lining the hallway have collectively withdrawn the one thing he needs. Their belief in his version of reality.
He straightens his jacket with a sharp tug and glares at the crowd with disdain. “I’ll be addressing these fabrications through proper channels.”
Then he turns, footsteps echoing on the tile as he heads for the exit. The crowd parts around him, not with the old deference, but with the wary distance people give something foul they no longer intend to touch.
When Carson disappears through the double doors at the end of the hall, Chloe turns to Mrs. Peterson’s class. “I believe we’re here for a party! Who wants cupcakes?”
Her deflection breaks the tension, and the crowd disperses.
Mrs. Peterson takes the cue and claps her hands, directing her students down the hall to the movie room.
Quinn stands at the back, Sprinkles at her side. Her wide brown eyes lock on me, her bottom lip trembling until Nathaniel swoops forward to gather her in his arms and follow the rest of her class.
Only Blake remains, and he turns to me.
“I owe you an apology,” he says without preamble. “I should have seen what was happening. I should have asked more questions when you brought up Carson’s suggestion for you to be more active at school. I assumed you would speak up if things were bad. It was my mistake. I put the responsibility on you instead of creating an environment where you felt safe enough to come forward.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s my fault?—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Whatever backlash follows, you won’t face it alone again. You’re pack, Leif. We should have made that clear sooner. If you’re open to it, we want to make it formal so you have the Wright Pack protection legally registered. No one will ever be able to force your hand again.”
A lump forms in my throat. Never in my life would I have dared to hope for such a generous offer. It’s not the same as it would have been to join Emily’s pack, where romantic feelings were involved. But there is safety in numbers, and if the past few months have proved anything, it’s that I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
One side of Blake’s mouth quirks. “It’s what pack does. And it’s time we get you settled at Misty Pines. Your cabin is ready for you to move in. Come home with us.”
My breath catches. “I’d like that.”
“That’s settled, then.” Blake gestures to where his bondmates disappeared. “Let’s go collect the others. Kyle’s waiting at the docks for us to return.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders, and I turn to walk at his side.
The cabin door swings open on well-oiled hinges, releasing a rush of air filled with fresh-cut pine and new paint.
I stand in the doorway, one hand still on the brass knob, taking in what will be my home.
The Wright Pack had gone back to my hotel room with me to collect my belongings, then stayed by my side on the boat ride to the island.
The landscape had changed since my last visit to Misty Pines, with the construction equipment moved to the commercial side of Phase Two, away from the sleeping spaces.