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The phone falls to my lap, and I stare at the empty fireplace without seeing it. Everything feels too much right now and even though my dark living room is too exposed, I don’t want to go upstairs and wake up Nate and Dez. I know they would support me if I asked, but I can’t do that to them. Not today.

So, I wrap a blanket around my head in the world’s shittiest makeshift nest and let myself break down. I’m talking tears, quiet sobs. The works. Who knows how long I shiver and shake and cry before I feel him. A shift in the air, the comforting scent of my pack lead finally coming home.

Through the blanket he smells the same as always, but I don’t drink him down too deep, scared of what I’ll find. Since our chat, Connor’s tried to be around more. Dinner is a non-negotiable affair and breakfast usually is too. Now, even when he’s not around, he makes sure I know he’s here in the small trinkets that line the shelves in Nymph’s sewing room. Perfectly at place with Dez’s drawings and the blankets Nate stashes in the corner to make a little mini nest for me.

“Daph?”

I get one little whine out and Connor’s there, pulling the blanket off my face and kneeling at my feet. His hands warm mybare thighs before reaching up to thumb my tears away. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, I try to smile but it falls flat. “Hey. I didn’t know you were still coming over.”

“You said you wanted me here every night. I’m trying to honor that, even if it’s too damn late to do much sleeping at all.”

“Talk to me, Daph. I can’t stand knowing you’re upset. Did I do something wrong?” He presses a kiss to my temple, breath ragged. Under my hand, his heart’s racing.

My lip quivers. I don’t want to cry again, but I can’t help it. “It’s not you. A pipe burst at Nymph.”

There’s no room to fit both of us on the thrifted loveseat, so Connor pulls me to the floor and straight into his lap. Long arms wrap tighter around me and his chest vibrates harder. “I’m so sorry. Do they know what happened?”

“I didn’t ask.” Shock held my tongue and now I’m realizing there’s so much I need to do. Insurance to call and contractors to schedule. Plans to shift if the work will take too long. Oh god, what if I have to push the opening?

Connor pets my hair, pulling me firmly into his body. “Breathe, angel. Tell me what you’re thinking, and we’ll work through it together.”

This is what I need. My partner sitting with me, facing the problem as a unit. “Mark said I can’t come in for a few more hours. They’re drying the floor for me.”

“I have a meeting first thing, but I can head over after and make sure the pipe’s fixed.”

The offer’s so sweet, but he’s barely coming home most nights. No way does he have time to help with this. “I can just call a plumber.”

He nudges my face up, pinning me with those ice-blue eyes. “I won’t be upset if you do, but I’d like to help either fix the pipe for you or figure out what’s wrong so you can call the rightpeople. Nate’s father was a plumber, and he taught me a lot before he died. I promise I can do this.”

There it is again, that word.Promise.

Maybe other people don’t take it as seriously as me, but when you’ve had people lie to your face about everything under the sun, words matter.Vowsmatter. I’ve been so fucking clear with Connor that I can’t handle him breaking promises. That I need his support.

This is a chance for him to prove he’s as all-in as he says. A small promise made and kept to shore up the foundation of this wobbly ass relationship. I just have to accept it.

“Okay.”

His lips spread into a cheesy grin. “Really?”

I try not to laugh at how giddy he is to do some plumbing. “Yes, you can help.”

He kisses me until I have to pull back for air. “Thank you, angel.”

“It’s nothing.”

But we both know that’s not true. It’s asking for help and knowing that my alpha will do what he can to give it. It’s believing that we are more than the sum of our problems. That together, we can fix anything. It’s hope, and it’s as terrifying as it is exciting.

Maybe that’s what pushes me to ask, “Is everything okay at work?”

Connor sighs. “I don’t want to add to your day.”

“Tell me.” It’s practically a plea. This man is so hard to reach, and I hate feeling like I’m holding onto him with fingertips.

“Remember that annoying client I told you about?”

“Yeah.” The one that kept blowing up his phone.