Page 34

Chapter

Twenty-Four

LEXIE

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing every detail of my appearance for the third time in fifteen minutes.

The woman looking back at me seems like a stranger.

She has the same reddish-brown waves, same freckles scattered across her nose, same warm brown eyes, but there's something different about her tonight.

A nervous energy that makes her fingers fidget with the hem of her emerald sweater, a vulnerability in the way she keeps biting her lower lip.

"It's just an apology dinner," I tell my reflection. "Not a firing squad."

My reflection doesn't look convinced.

The doorbell rings, sending a jolt through my system. Darren is punctual, as always since that first date. I take one last look at myself, smooth down my jeans, and grab my purse from the counter.

You can still back out , a small voice whispers in my head. Text him. Say you're sick. Say your apartment flooded and you're up to your ears in soaked wool. Say anything.

But I won't. Because despite everything, despite the disaster at The Terrace, despite my history with packs, despite all the warning bells clanging in my head, I want to see Darren again. And if that means enduring another awkward dinner with his packmates, so be it.

I just hope there's a window.

I open the door to find Darren leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a navy henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. His brown hair is slightly damp and dark, like he's just showered, and the scent of woodsmoke wraps around me like a warm, cozy blanket.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, eyes lighting up as they take me in.

"Hey yourself," I reply, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. It's ridiculous how he affects me, how just the sight of him makes my pulse quicken.

"You look beautiful," he says, voice dropping to that low register that does things to my insides.

"It's just jeans and a sweater," I deflect, though I can't help the pleased warmth that spreads through me.

"And you make them look incredible." His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he straightens up. "Ready to go?"

I hesitate, one hand still on the doorknob. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Darren's expression softens. "They want to apologize, Lex. Properly. And they should. They were assholes."

"What if it's awkward?"

"It probably will be," he admits with a small smile. "For them. But I'll be right there with you. And if at any point you want to leave, just say the word and we're gone. I'll boost you out a window if need be."

I can't help but snicker. "My knight in shining armor."

The sincerity in his voice steadies me, though.

This is Darren, the man who connected with my niece and nephew over rock collections, who understands what it's like to have your identity upended, who looks at me like I'm something precious.

I want to trust him, even if I'm not sure about his pack yet.

"Okay," I say, stepping out and locking the door behind me. "Let's do this."

The drive to the pack house takes about twenty minutes, during which Darren keeps the conversation light, telling me about a prank war between Aidan and Zayn that involved an alarming amount of shaving cream.

His obvious affection for his packmates, despite recent tensions, is endearing.

It's clear that beneath the frustration and anger, there's a deep bond there.

"So they're not always jerks?" I tease as we turn onto a tree-lined street of large, well-maintained homes.

Darren laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Oh, they absolutely are. But they're my jerks." He pauses, expression growing more serious. "They're good guys, Lex. They just... they handled things badly. Really badly."

"Why, though?" I can't help asking. "What happened at the restaurant? One minute everything seemed fine, and the next they were practically running for the exits."

A shadow crosses Darren's face, there and gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it. "It's complicated," he says after a moment. "Pack dynamics stuff. But they'll explain tonight, that's part of why they wanted to do this."

Oh, that's not mysterious at all.

Coming from anyone else, I'd already be throwing my door open, tucking and rolling. We're only going about twenty-five miles an hour, I'd probably walk away with minimal road burn.

But Darren… Well, there's that dangerous five-letter word again. Trust.

Before I can press further, I realize we've gone from nice suburban homes to sprawling mansions in the blink of an eye.

And of course, Darren pulls into the circular driveway in front of the very biggest one.

The kind of place that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

And I guess that's exactly what this pack is.

Last chance to dive out of the car, Lexie.

" This is where you live?" I ask, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

"Home sweet home," Darren confirms, putting the car in park. "Five hockey players under one roof, and yes, it's as chaotic as it sounds."

I try to imagine it. Five large, athletic men sharing a space, with all the testosterone and competitive energy that implies. It's both intimidating and oddly appealing.

Darren comes around to open my door, offering his hand to help me out. The gesture is old-fashioned but sweet, and I find myself smiling as I take it. His palm is warm against mine, and I have a sudden flash memory of those hands on my body two nights ago.

Focus, Lexie.

"Nervous?" Darren asks, noticing my hesitation as we approach the front door.

"A little," I admit. "It's not every day you get a formal apology from four professional hockey players."

"If it helps, they're nervous too," he says, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "Especially Aidan. Poor rookie's been stress-baking all day. The kitchen looks like a bakery exploded."

The mental image of a six-foot-four goalie frantically baking makes me smile despite my nerves. He was so intense when I met him, it's hard to imagine him painstakingly measuring out the ingredients for muffins. "Well, at least we won't go hungry."

Darren's answering grin is infectious. "That's the spirit."

He opens the front door without knocking, calling out as we step inside. "We're here!"

The entryway opens into a spacious living room with high ceilings and large windows. The decor is masculine but tasteful, leather furniture, rich wood tones, and subtle hockey memorabilia integrated into the design. It feels lived-in and comfortable, not at all the bachelor pad I was expecting.

Four men appear from various directions, converging on the living room with an almost comical synchronicity. They're all dressed casually but neatly, as if they've put thought into their appearances without wanting to seem like they're trying too hard.

Jax reaches us first, his imposing height and broad shoulders making the large room feel suddenly smaller. He's wearing a simple gray henley that brings out the silver in his eyes, and his expression is solemn but welcoming.

"Lexie," he says, voice deep and steady. "Thank you for coming."

Before I can respond, Aidan bounds forward, practically vibrating with nervous energy like an overgrown puppy.

He's in a green plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms, flour dusting one of them.

His hair, tousled the last time, has been carefully slicked back, but a strand in front bounces out with his movement, falling into eyes that aren't quite as sharky as I remember them being.

"Hi! Welcome! I made, um, pretty much everything," he says in a rush. "There's cookies and brownies and this lemon cake thing I saw on Instagram, and I wasn't sure what you'd like so I just?—"

"Breathe, rookie," Zayn interrupts, stepping forward with feline grace.

Unlike the others, he's dressed more sharply in dark jeans and a fitted black sweater that looks expensive.

His dark eyes assess me with an intensity that makes me want to fidget.

It's not unfriendly, though. Quite the opposite.

I can't help but wonder if maybe the intensity I felt emanating from all of them at that first disastrous meeting was something else entirely, but I immediately dismiss it as wishful thinking.

"What the puppy is trying to say," he continues, "is that we're glad you came."

Dmitri is the last to approach, moving with a deliberate calm that contrasts sharply with Aidan's nervous energy.

He's somehow even taller than I remembered, with broad shoulders and light blond hair that falls slightly into his piercing blue eyes.

He nods once in greeting, a small but genuine smile softening his intimidating presence.

I get the feeling smiling isn't something he does often.

"Welcome to our home," he says, his accent wrapping around the words, rendering that deep voice soothing.

Standing here surrounded by them, I'm struck again by how physically imposing they all are.

Each one is over six feet tall, with the kind of athletic build that comes from years of professional training.

They're a study in just how different alphas can be with Jax's quiet authority, Aidan's boyish enthusiasm, Zayn's sharp edges, and Dmitri's watchful calm, but there's something cohesive about them too. They belong together.

And then there's Darren, solid and reassuring beside me, his hand still holding mine like an anchor in unfamiliar waters.

"So," I say, breaking the slightly awkward silence that's fallen. "What's this about cake?"

Just like that, the tension breaks and Aidan's face lights up with relief. "Yes! Tons of cake. And other stuff. Come on, everything's set up in the dining room."

He leads the way through the house, chattering about his baking adventures as we follow. I relax with every step, despite the opulence of this place.