Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)
Her Knotty List: Chapter 50

This is ironic.

I lived for silence. It was my solace, up here, alone.

At least it’s quiet, I used to think, staring at all the blankness.

Now, there’s not one empty corner in this living room. But the guys are quieter than they have been in the last couple of weeks.

And—fucking hell—I think I hate it.

It might not be so bad if I didn’t understand it so keenly. Because these guys aren’t the only ones in their own heads. I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes, trying to puzzle out how the fuck this will work in the long run.

Last night changed something.

And today? Having Emma’s new nest and her bedroom all arranged… sitting down to the magazine-worthy meal Zane made for all of us? Laughing and talking about Christmas, making plans for how we can all get gifts in town tomorrow without giving them away? The series of phone calls I made this afternoon?

Today changed everything.

I keep waiting for the panic. The sensation of a runaway steam engine careening off its tracks.

All I get is the serenity of soft snow, falling soundlessly outside. Almost like nature is going out of its way to show me just how peaceful this could be.

McKinley senses my contemplative mood, jumping up to settle with his head in my lap. I drop my hand to his silky ears, observing how each of the alphas in my living room move around one another.

Gunnar’s sitting in the middle of the floor, trying to assemble a light-up Christmas village for the mantle. He frowns at the painted houses, the ledge of his brow lowering by degrees as the moments tick past.

His mood makes sense. After spending half the day locked in my room—and our omega—with Zane, he came down and told me he wanted to talk.

Neither of us are great conversationalists, but he managed to tell me about his mom, and I listened, gathering the bottom line—he’s still in the worst, earliest parts of grief. And he doesn’t feel like he has a family of his own anymore.

By the time we all sat down to eat dinner, I had a better understanding of Gunnar than I did before. Greater respect for Zane, too, when he paused to check in with the hockey player and pulled him into a long hug.

Zane is unexpectedly patient, in general. I noticed it with Emma, of course, but also the way he works in the kitchen. He gives things the time they need to turn out however he wants them and doesn’t seem disturbed by it at all.

Even now, he kneels at the edge of the Christmas tree, trying to get the last, lowest layer of lights strung properly. When a branch keeps catching, he calmly unstrings it and tries again.

Micah gathers up discarded boxes and packaging, scanning the room, checking for ways he can help or small tasks to finish up. He ducks into the kitchen and returns with a measuring cup full of water for the freshly cut tree.

Zane sees him coming and shuffles aside, holding up the bottom branches for him. Gunnar watches for a long moment before smiling slightly. He crawls to the other side of the eight-foot pine now positioned between the fireplace and the window, reaching around the back to plug the lights in.

My throat tightens. Absolute certainty—as heavy as it is serene—sinks into my stomach.

“I think we need to talk.”

The guys all turn, looking at me and then each other. Zane swallows audibly, nodding. Gunnar’s expression turns intense, but his scent actually lightens. Micah claps his shoulder briefly and calmly agrees, “Yeah, okay.”

They all settle where they sit, and I lean forward, steepling my hands between my knees.

“Bonds.”

The word is hard to say, but only because my Alpha wants to growl it.

None of them are surprised. No one’s face so much as flinches. Which means we really have been on the same wavelength, each of us mulling this over while we worked.

Zane looks down at his hands, flexing them while he murmurs, “Without an established pack and a pack alpha, they’ll be individual, right?”

Micah sighs. “Right. I’ve been—I was thinking about getting a different apartment, down in Orlando. I could try to figure out a system where I work down there for half the year and come back up here for the other half. As long as Knox would be okay with me crashing here.”

Gunnar frowns. “So, you’d be coming to Florida for…”

“Your season,” Micah shrugs. “I figure that whatever gives Emma access to all of us as often as possible is probably for the best. If I can do seasonal work for two stations, I’ll be able to help her transition between being down there with you and being up here with Knox.”

Zane’s brows draw up, the expression hopeful. “I could—could I go in on the apartment with you, Micah? I can work from anywhere, and I don’t want to be away from Emma at all. Especially not if we’re bonded.”

Gunnar grunts. “Hell, me either. I wish I didn’t have to go back down there at all, but my suspension is up in three weeks. I really like my team, and I’m under contract for the next couple of years…”

He frowns at Micah, scratching the back of his head. “You guys don’t need to get a separate place there, though. My loft has three bedrooms.”

There’s a bitter, broken part of me that hears how easily all of this works without me. Just like the last time I tried to have a pack—it all seems so much easier if I’m not a factor. These younger alphas, all living in Gunnar’s bachelor pad…

What would they want me around for?

But Gunnar turns without hesitation. “What do you think, Knox?”

Zane half-smirks. “Yeah, Daddy, could you sleep on someone else’s couch for a change?”

My lungs unclench. Relieved, I chuckle before I can stop myself. “What if I buy my own bed?”

“Or we could just share one like we do here,” Gunnar mutters, rolling his eyes. When Zane shoots him a teasing look, he huffs, “What?! Is sleeping next to me so bad, Pretty Boy?”

Zane shakes his head slowly, looking oddly serious. “It’s not bad at all.”

Micah glances at them, then at me. “So… we’d pretty much keep the same arrangement we have up here, but we would all have individual bonds.”

The thought is maddening. Like an itch I can’t quite scratch. What’s the alternative, though?

Forming a pack? Letting these guys into my bond with Emma?

It kind of sounds like they’re going to be there anyway. As long as we go with this plan…

Heavy silence descends, each of us holding back the one thing left to say. It beats in the air—so tangible I wonder if I even need to speak the words.

But the guys all turn to me. Counting on me.

“What if”—I stop to clear my throat, ensuring none of my Alpha’s dominance influences the question—“we made a real pack?”

Gunnar’s brows crunch lower. “With like… a pack bond?”

His question dangles over us, rapidly sucking all the air out of the room.

Until a happy hum approaches from the back of the house.

Smiling ear-to-ear, Emma walks in with a pile of stockings slung over her left arm and my Santa hat balanced on top of her head. Ever oblivious and upbeat, our girl bounces right into the middle of our all-too serious conversation, only pausing long enough to set my hat on McKinley’s crown.

Her humming gets louder and peppier as she bustles to the mantle. I notice I’m not the only one who can’t keep the stupid grin off my face as we watch her wobble on her tiptoes, stretching to hang the felt stockings.

Lights from the tree catch on glitter letters scrawled over the fuzzy cuffs of the oversized socks. Leaning closer, I see that they each have a name on them. Our names, written in Emma’s bubbly handwriting.

My heart swells, cracking the crumbling remnants of its cage. It’s a painful, awe-inspiring feeling, unlike anything else. But I think I know three other people who might understand why I suddenly have to work to keep my eyes dry.

I turn back to the guys and replace their gazes just as glossy as mine. Slowly, they each look at one another, then me.

And I feel what no one says: Anything with this wondrous woman at the center? Would be the best thing to ever happen to any of us.