Years of independence, four failed relationships, and one thriving business, all packed up and ready to merge with five hockey players who have somehow convinced me that the girl who never belonged anywhere always belonged with them.
"That the last one?" Dmitri's voice rumbles from the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the morning light. He's wearing a gray henley that stretches across his chest in ways that should be illegal before noon.
"Yeah." I stand, brushing dust from my jeans. "Just my crafting supplies. The fragile stuff."
He nods, moving into the room with that particular grace he somehow possesses despite being a giant wall of muscle. "I'll take this while you lock up."
I nod, grateful for the chance to say goodbye to this place that was my home for so long. Now, my home isn't four walls and a collection of furniture. It's a pack.
The house looks strange without my things. Bigger. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. The kitchen where I taught myself to cook after Mark left, because ordering takeout for one felt too pathetic. The living room window where I used to sit with my morning coffee, watching the world wake up and telling myself I was content with solitude.
I wasn't lying to myself, exactly. Iwascontent. But contentment and happiness aren't the same thing, and I didn't realize the difference until five ridiculously attractive hockey players crashed into my life and showed me what I was missing.
"You good?" Aidan appears beside me, because apparently I've been standing in my empty living room having an existential crisis for longer than I thought. He's got a smudge of dust on his nose and his Grizzlies T-shirt is damp with sweat from hauling boxes.
"Just saying goodbye," I tell him, reaching up to wipe the dust away. His skin is warm under my thumb.
"Having second thoughts?" There's vulnerability in his green eyes that makes my heart squeeze. For all his confidence on the ice, Aidan still sometimes looks at me like I might disappear.
"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "No second thoughts. Just... acknowledging the moment, you know?"
He relaxes, that sunshine smile breaking across his face. "Good. Because Zayn already reorganized his entire closet to make room for your clothes when you stay in his room, and you know how he feels about his wardrobe organization system."
I laugh, the sound bouncing off the empty walls. "He didn't have to do that. I have a whole room, and the nesting space."
"Yeah, well." Aidan shrugs, but his grin turns mischievous. "He may have gotten into a competition with Jax about whocould make more space for you. There was a spreadsheet involved. Color coded."
"Oh my god." I press my hand to my mouth, caught between horror and delight. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Dmitri has photos." He takes my hand, tugging me toward the door. "Come on. Let's get out of here before you start overthinking."
He knows me too well already. I let him lead me out, pausing only to drop my keys in the letterbox like I arranged with the agent. The click of metal on metal sounds final. No going back now. Not that I want to.
Outside, the moving truck idles at the curb, already mostly empty. Jax supervises the last of the unloading, directing Zayn and Darren with the kind of efficiency that makes him such an effective captain. My guys are all in various states of dishevelment, hair mussed and clothes dusty from the morning's work.
My guys. The thought still sometimes catches me off guard, how easily I've started thinking of them as mine. How naturally they've woven themselves into the fabric of my life.
The unloading process goes just as smoothly, with a lot more goofing around, as if the guys are all relieved to have me officially in the mansion. As if I'd change my mind when I'm wearing their marks. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that alphas are all instinct, and I really don't mind. Not when those instincts are always geared toward making sure I feel safe and cherished.
"Where does this one go?" Aidan holds up a box labeled "WINTER CLOTHES" in my handwriting.
"Guest room closet," I call out. "Top shelf, if there's room."
He hefts the box easily, muscles flexing under his fitted T-shirt.
"I know exactly where this one goes," Zayn says in a mischievous tone that always means trouble.
Before I can process the words, he's setting the box in his hands down and stalking toward me with intent in those dark eyes. I yelp as he scoops me into his arms and sets me on the counter. My back hits the kitchen cabinet as he cages me in, hands braced on either side of my hips.
"Zayn," I breathe, but it's not a protest. Can't be, not when he's looking at me like I'm something precious and edible all at once.
"Been wanting to do this all morning," he murmurs against my lips. "Watching you in those jeans, bending over boxes, driving me fucking crazy."
His mouth finds mine before I can respond, the kiss deep and claiming. I taste coffee and cinnamon on his tongue, feel the controlled hunger in the way his hands grip my waist. My fingers find his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands, and he groans into my mouth.
"Get a room," Darren calls out, but there's amusement in his voice. "Oh wait, you have five now."
Zayn pulls back just enough to smirk. "Jealous, Brick?"
