Page 41 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Blake

W hen Sadie finally contacts me herself, she doesn’t text.

She sends an email.

Full sentences.

Capital letters.

A polite subject line. Requesting a visit with Quinn.

The timestamp says it was sent a little after six this morning. No emojis. No typos. No half-sent follow-ups.

I’ve read it four times. I recognize the language. I’ve read the handbooks and sat through the family workshops. Clear communication. Direct intention. Accountability.

If this came from anyone else, I’d call it progress. But I’ve seen Sadie do thirty days dry before. I’ve listened to her say all the right things with shaking hands and a hangover still seeping from her pores.

So I don’t know what this is.

She says she just wants to talk.

She always just wants to talk.

Until she wants more.

The baby monitor beeps from my nightstand, too quiet for anyone but an anxious uncle to notice.

I need to replace the batteries. Quinn’s probably too old to need one, but I still check it every night.

It whines again, nagging. I reach over to shut it off, and silence settles around me, but it doesn’t stay quiet long.

The sound of Chloe’s laughter drifts from downstairs.

She’s up early, but our Omega has been spending extra time with Holden, and the gentlest of our bondmates has been thriving because of it.

I think Chloe needs it, too. It gives her a focus now that everything stalled after her editor’s call.

Grady hadn’t been able to fix things for her, and the Beta has been walking around with a dark cloud over his head for days now.

Out in the hall, doors open as my other bondmates rise to start their day, and I take it as my cue to do the same.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub a hand over my face, scruff catching on my palm. The air in my room still carries a hint of cedar and cotton from the laundry Holden did yesterday, clean and grounding, but it doesn’t settle the churn in my gut.

My jeans are already draped over the back of the desk chair, dust-streaked from yesterday’s site work.

I yank them on without much thought, muscle memory taking over where energy should be.

I get a clean undershirt from the dresser, tug it on, and grab a flannel.

It has two missing buttons, but it’s still serviceable.

Nathaniel will give me shit about it later, and Dominic will want to order me a new one, but it’s soft in a way new flannel takes months of hard wear to achieve.

I reach for my work boots by the door, the laces stiff from dried mud, but I don’t bother swapping them. No one’s going to care about my appearance down at the work site. I clip my utility knife to my belt, the familiar weight grounding me.

But Sadie’s message still buzzes in the back of my head.

She just wants to talk.

I shove the thought aside and head for the door.

As I walk toward the stairs, the light from Chloe’s open door draws me over. I can still hear my Omega downstairs, and I push it wider, intending to turn off her lamps, but I pause in the doorframe.

Quinn sits in the middle of Chloe’s floor, ensconced in that silly cow onesie.

Its padded udder drags on the floor, and Quinn hikes it up as she works.

She’s surrounded by glitter pens and open notebooks, her brow furrowed in fierce concentration as she copies line after line in careful block letters.

In her entire six years, I don’t think I’ve seen her so focused on a single task. On anything that’s not a story.

A different kind of knot forms in my chest as I take it all in. The neatly printed words that fill the page. The way her tongue sticks out at the corner of her mouth in concentration. The tiny feet in fluffy slippers peeking from the bottom of the too-big onesie.

My perfect, complicated niece, taking after her Aunt Chloe so completely that my heart can hardly stand it. “What are you doing, princess?”

Quinn's head lifts, surprise on her face. “Morning, Uncle Blake! I’m copying Aunt Chloe’s book! I’m going to show her when I’m done.”

I step into the room and crouch beside her, ruffling her hair. “Where did you get all those notebooks?”

“Aunt Chloe brought them out for me.” Quinn points to a stack beside her, each cover decorated with stickers and doodles.

A small figure with red hair and fairy wings stares up at me, and I recognize it from Holden’s description of the Aurora Storm books. One of Chloe’s characters. The princess, I think.

“This one is a really old story she never finished.” Quinn holds up the notebook she’s been copying from, careful not to smudge her block letters.

I study her earnest face, each breath tightening the knot in my chest. Her world is glitter pens and borrowed space, a life I’ve built without knowing if it’s right, or if I’m keeping my sister from the same kind of happiness.

“Aunt Chloe has a lot of stories she never finished,” she says softly, her attention returning to the notebook, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Maybe I can help her.”

I watch Quinn for a long moment. Her heart is so big, and all I want is to protect it. The weight in my chest builds until it aches, because Sadie could still take this happiness away .

Holden calls from downstairs. “Pancakes are on the table! Come and get them while they’re hot!”

Quinn bounces to her feet, her excitement for the morning routine overcoming her focus on the task. She hikes up the cow udder and rushes to the door. “Don’t tell Aunt Chloe! I want her to be surprised!”

“Then you should clean up your mess!” I yell after her, but she’s already gone.

I stare down at the scattered glitter pens, and the ache in my chest grows heavier.

I’m caught between my niece’s happiness and my sister’s demands.

Quinn doesn’t know her entire life could change with the wrong decision.

A few words on a piece of paper could take away the life she’s only just begun to embrace here.

“Uncle Blake?” Quinn’s voice echoes from the stairs. “Aren’t you coming?”

I blink the sting from my eyes. “On my way, princess.”

With one last look at the room, I stand and leave the room with heavy steps. I need to tell Quinn that her mom wants to visit, but there’s no way to prepare her for what may happen.

Dominic’s blueprints are perfect, as always, which makes turning him down all the more difficult.

Our bondmate had come up with a surprise for Chloe, a room just for words and quiet. Something that says: You belong here. You get to stay. And he wants Nathaniel and me to bring it to life.

But all I can think of is how hurt she was after her editor’s call, and how Chloe hasn’t opened her laptop since. Another heart I need to guard from hurt.

“It’s not the best time,” I say at last. “What if the call means her series is canceled? This will be a reminder of what was taken from her?—”

“No, this is a reminder of what will always be a part of her. Even if she has to start over.” Dominic cuts me off, certainty in every word. “Believe me, she may be sad now, but Chloe’s been writing for as long as she could pick up a pencil. This setback won’t stop her for long.”

I remember the notebooks filled with stories, many Chloe never finished. Dom’s right, and he understands her better than the rest of us. If he says this will inspire her, I will believe in him.

Nathaniel unfolds his lanky frame from the stool and reaches for the blueprints. “We’ll convert half the office above the garage. It’s the only place in the Homestead to put it. ”

I turn to Dominic. “Sure you want to share your sanctuary?”

Dominic’s face lights up with excitement. “I figured that’s where it would go. I already ordered her recliner. It’s identical to the one from her apartment, and Kyle’s picking it up this evening.”

I draw a deep breath, the tightness easing from my shoulders. This will be a good project to take my mind off Sadie. “Where do we start?”

The grin that breaks over Dominic’s face reminds me of when we were still in university, and he beat me in one of our many competitions. “I knew you’d say yes.”

We gather leftover wood from the cabin builds, an abundance of raw materials waiting to be transformed.

The air fills with the sharp tang of sawdust and the dull thud of hammers as we sort through the possibilities.

We pull Holden in on designing a nameplate for the door, wanting every member of the pack to touch this project.

As Nathaniel transfers Holden’s drawing to a long piece of wood, Quinn sneaks into the garage, her dark curls bouncing. “Can I help?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” I catch her mid-leap and settle her on the workbench.

Her small hands reach for a carving tool, and I guide her fingers to safer options as Nathaniel sets aside the curved knife for me.

Memories rise unbidden, flashes of my own small hands around tools far more dangerous than this, Sadie’s little face watching from the doorway as our father taught me the tools of his trade, but not her. Never her.

“Did Aunt Chloe ask what we’re working on?” I help Quinn steady her grip as she uses a file to round the edges of the first letters.

She giggles. “Nope. But she knows it’s a secret.”

“Good.” I help her through the outline of the next letter. “Let’s keep it that way.”

The sign takes shape slowly, the letters wobbly but legible.

The Writer is In . Quinn helps with the simpler parts, her small fingers smudged with graphite as each word appears.

The dedication in her expression steals my breath, the same focus she gave the notebook, and I force myself to look away before the tightness returns.

“We need an OUT side, too.” I set the simpler work aside to pick up my knife. “Think you can handle that one?”

The first letter cuts cleanly from the wood, and Quinn’s triumphant giggle warms me.

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, we’ve finished carving the letters.

Sawdust catches in my beard, the sap from fresh-cut cedar clinging to my skin.

My tension unwinds as the project progresses, each stroke of the knife taking me further from Sadie’s demands and closer to something tangible.

Dominic hovers at my shoulder, supervising as I sand the sign to a smooth finish. “She’s going to love that.”

Quinn beams as she wipes excess dust from the table, her cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. “It’s going to be so pretty! Can I help paint it?”

I wrap my arm around her and pull her in, ignoring the pang threatening to undo me as she leans into my side. “We can do it after dinner.”

After dinner, Dominic helps Kyle bring up the recliner while Nathaniel works on the framing for the room. Meanwhile, Quinn paints the letters on the sign with the same focused concentration she showed copying Chloe’s notebook, her small tongue peeking out at the corner of her mouth.

I finish the detail work and attach a chain while she chatters about our surprise, how she can’t wait to show Aunt Chloe, and how her glitter pens will be perfect in the new writing room.

She talks so fast that her words tangle together in a breathless blur of enthusiasm as vibrant as the pink paint she chooses for the Out side.

It leaves me dizzy with the joy of her unbroken world.

When we hang the sign to dry, I realize the night is slipping past with the kind of quickness reserved for the very young and the very old. For families who don’t count time by minutes, but by how much they can squeeze into each other before morning.

The shadows stretch long across the garage by the time we finish, and I carry Quinn inside before she gets too cold. Her small weight fits perfectly in my arms, and with my distraction of the day over, the memory of Sadie’s email returns, still waiting for an answer.

Quinn’s asleep before I tuck her into bed, not a care in the world, not a shadow in her room.

I’ll wait to talk to her later.

Two days later, Chloe follows us into the garage office, her steps light as Quinn tugs her toward the surprise .

The space holds the scent of cedar and fresh paint, and Quinn insisted we string fairy lights from the ceiling until everything glows. The nameplate hangs beside the door, its letters crisp in pink and purple.

Quinn bounces, full of pride. “I helped make that!”

“You did this for me?” Disbelief slackens Chloe’s face as she turns in a slow circle to take it all in.

My shoulders relax when I don't see even a hint of sadness at our present.

Dominic had lined the walls with bookshelves, filling half of one with an eclectic array of journals. When Chloe sees them, she laughs and smacks his arm, so it must be some inside joke they share.

“I can’t believe…” Chloe looks around again. “I didn’t need this. I have the desk in my room.”

Holden catches her in a hug. “You deserve a place to work where you don’t also sleep.”.

Quinn drags her back to the nameplate, showing how it can be turned over. “Pink is for the Out side. And purple is for the In side.”

Chloe traces the outline of the wood, touching each letter before she pulls Quinn in for a tight squeeze. “You did a wonderful job. Thank you so much. ”

Quinn buries her face in Chloe’s neck. “Are you happy?”

"I am." Chloe blinks back tears as she steps away to touch the enormous recliner.

Dominic crosses to where I stand, the loose braid in his hair coming undone. “Reckon she likes it?”

“Shush.” I elbow him. “No need to say I told you so .”

He turns to Nathaniel. “Did I say that?”

Nathaniel reaches out and runs his hand up the back of Dominic’s braid, undoing it further. “No one needs a smart ass.”

He dances away. “Hey!”

Chloe tucks Quinn to her side and wipes at her eyes before she extends her free hand toward Nathaniel. When he takes it, she tugs him into the hug, and she gestures for the rest of us to join her. Everyone else crowds around them in a giant hug pile.

Quinn squeals as she’s squished into the center, and my heart lurches. If things go wrong, she won’t just lose a home this time. She’ll lose a family.

“Get in here, Blake.” Chloe’s laughter cuts through my worrying. “No skipping out on pack hugs! That’s the rule! ”

I step forward, wrapping my arms around all of them and squeeze tight, ignoring the good-natured groans of protest that rise.

I’ll do whatever I can to hold this pack together.