Page 49 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Wes

T hree days of domestic bliss had given me a new appreciation for ordinary mornings.

The simple pleasure of waking up surrounded by pack, of sharing coffee and quiet conversation before the day demanded our attention, of knowing that I'd come home to the same warmth and love that had filled every moment since our bonding completed.

But this morning felt different. Charged with anticipation in a way that made my alpha instincts sit up and take notice.

"You're distracted," Willa observed from her spot at the kitchen table, where she was editing photos on her laptop while Rhett prepared her lunch for work.

"The environmental journalist called this morning," I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. "The story breaks today. Front page of the Herald, with online coverage that should hit the major environmental news sites by noon."

"Cassian's story?" Elias asked, looking up from the herbal preparation he was working on.

"All of it," I confirmed. "The buried impact reports, the falsified assessments, the corporate malfeasance. Everything he provided, plus independent verification from three different environmental science firms."

"How do you think the town will react?" Willa asked, though I could sense through our bond that she was more concerned about Cassian's reception than the environmental implications.

"Once they understand what really happened?" I said. "Relief, probably. Gratitude. Maybe some guilt about how they've been treating him."

"And until they understand?" Rhett asked, his practical mind already thinking through potential complications.

"Probably confusion, anger, a lot of people demanding explanations," I admitted. "It's going to be a rough day for anyone connected to the development project."

"Good thing you're taking me to work then," Willa said, closing her laptop and standing to accept the lunch Rhett had prepared. "I'll get to witness the chaos firsthand."

The drive to Pine & Pages was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts about what the day might bring.

Three days of pack bonding had created a bubble of contentment that felt almost too good to be true.

Part of me was waiting for external reality to intrude and remind us that the world beyond our cabin was still complicated and messy.

"Whatever happens today," I said as we pulled up to the bookshop, "it doesn't change anything about us. About what we've built."

"I know," she said softly, leaning over to kiss me before getting out. "But it might change things for Cassian. And I find myself caring about that more than I expected to."

The protective warmth in her voice made my chest tight with affection. This was what bonding with good people did to you. It expanded your capacity for compassion, made you want to extend the safety and belonging you'd found to others who needed it.

"I'll pick you up after your shift," I promised. "We can swing by his place on the way home, check how he's handling everything."

"I'd like that," she said, and I could feel her gratitude through our bond.

I spent the morning at my office, fielding calls from colleagues and journalists who wanted my perspective on the environmental revelations. The story was even bigger than I'd hoped, with implications that reached far beyond Hollow Haven's local development dispute.

By lunch time, my phone was buzzing constantly with interview requests and invitations to comment on the broader issues of corporate environmental responsibility.

It was gratifying to have my work validated so publicly, but what mattered most was that the woodland preserve was safe.

The habitat I'd spent two years documenting and fighting to protect would remain untouched.

When I arrived at Pine & Pages to collect Willa, the entire downtown area was buzzing with activity. Clusters of people stood on street corners, reading newspapers and talking in animated voices. The kind of energy that came with major news that affected everyone.

Inside the bookshop, I found Willa behind the counter helping a customer, but she looked up when the bell announced my arrival. The smile that spread across her face was brilliant and warm and made every protective instinct I possessed purr with satisfaction.

"How's it been?" I asked once the customer left.

"Interesting," she said, coming around the counter to give me a quick kiss. "Everyone's talking about the development scandal. The reactions have been... mixed."

"Mixed how?"

"A lot of people are angry that they were lied to about the environmental impact," she said. "But there's also confusion about Cassian's role in everything. Some people think he's a hero for exposing the truth, others think he's a traitor for betraying his family."

"What do you think?" I asked, though I could sense her opinion through our bond.

"I think he did the right thing," she said firmly. "And I think this town is better than letting someone suffer for doing the right thing, even when it was complicated."

As if summoned by our conversation, the bell above the door chimed and Mayor Davidson walked in, followed by several members of the town council. They looked like people who'd spent the morning dealing with crisis management and public relations damage control.

"Wes," the mayor said, spotting me immediately. "I was hoping to find you here. We need to talk."

"About?" I asked, though I had a pretty good idea.

"About the environmental reports, the development project, and what this means for our community moving forward," she said. "The council would like to schedule a public meeting. Let people ask questions, get accurate information."

"That sounds reasonable," I said carefully.

"We'd also like you to present the environmental findings," she continued. "Help people understand what we avoided and why protection of the watershed matters."

The request wasn't surprising, but it was gratifying. Two weeks ago, the council had dismissed my concerns as fear-mongering. Now they were asking me to lead community education efforts. Interestingly, none of them seemed to be mentioning their own involvement.

"I'd be happy to help if it’s honesty you’re looking for," I said, looking at them pointedly. "When are you thinking?"

"Tomorrow evening, if possible. The sooner we address this publicly, the better."

"What about Cassian?" Willa asked, surprising everyone by speaking up. "Will he be invited to present his side of the story?"

The mayor looked uncomfortable. "That's... complicated. He's not exactly popular right now."

"Maybe he would be if people understood what he actually did," Willa said with quiet conviction. "If they knew he sacrificed everything to protect this community's future."

"You think we should invite him?" Councilman Roberts asked, skepticism clear in his voice.

"I think you should let people decide for themselves whether he's a hero or a villain," she said. "But they can't make that decision without accurate information."

The quiet strength in her voice made my chest swell with pride. This was the omega who'd been too afraid to speak up in group settings just weeks ago, now advocating for fairness and justice without hesitation.

"We'll consider it," the mayor said, but the way she avoided Willa’s eyes told me everything I needed to know. The major was hoping to make Cassian the scapegoat in all this. "Thank you for your input, Miss Rowan."

After they left, I pulled Willa into my arms, overwhelmed with affection and admiration.

"That was incredible," I told her, leaving the rest of my suspicions to myself. "The way you stood up for him, demanded fairness. You're amazing."

"I'm learning from good examples," she said, settling against my chest in a way that made our bond hum with contentment. "Besides, someone has to speak up for people who can't speak up for themselves."

"Even people who aren't pack?"

"Especially people who aren't pack," she said firmly. "That's what communities do. They take care of their own, even when their own are complicated and messy and make mistakes."

The conviction in her voice reminded me why I'd fallen in love with her in the first place. Not just her beauty or her talent, but this. Her capacity for compassion, her instinct to protect the vulnerable, her belief that people deserved better than their worst moments.

We spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with the steady stream of customers who wanted to discuss the environmental revelations.

Agnes Murphy bought a book on local ecology and declared that she'd always known there was something fishy about the development project.

Tom from the hardware store wondered aloud whether Cassian Black might not be the villain everyone had assumed.

Sarah from the diner asked if Willa thought the council should formally thank him for protecting the water supply.

By closing time, it was clear that public opinion was shifting. Not uniformly, and not without resistance, but moving toward a more nuanced understanding of what had actually happened.

"Ready to go check on him?" I asked as Willa locked up the shop.

"Ready," she said, though I could sense her nervousness through our bond.

Cassian's house looked slightly better than it had the day before. The newspapers had been collected, the mail sorted, small signs that he was beginning to function again. When he answered our knock, he looked like he'd managed to shower and eat something.

"How are you holding up?" I asked without preamble.

"Better than expected," he said, stepping back to let us in. "Worse than hoped. The phone's been ringing all day, but I haven't been answering."

"Journalists?" Willa asked.

"Some. Also lawyers, environmental groups, a few job recruiters." He paused, something like surprise crossing his face. "And three people from town who wanted to thank me."

"Thank you?" I repeated.

"For protecting the water supply," he said, settling into his chair. "Apparently there are people who understand what groundwater contamination would have meant for the community."

"More people than you think," Willa said gently. "The mood downtown is shifting. Once the shock wears off, I think you'll find this town is more forgiving than you expected."

"Maybe," he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.

"The mayor wants to hold a public meeting tomorrow night," I said. "Let people ask questions, get accurate information about the environmental issues."

"Am I invited?" he asked with bitter humor.

"Not yet," I admitted. "But Willa made a pretty compelling argument for including your perspective."

He looked at her with something like surprise. "You stood up for me?"

"I stood up for the truth," she corrected. "And for the idea that people deserve to know all the facts before they make judgments."

"Why?" he asked quietly. "After everything my family name tried to put this town through, why would you advocate for me?"

"Because holding you responsible for their actions would be like holding me responsible for every terrible thing Sterling ever did," she said simply. "We're not our families. We're the choices we make when it matters."

The profound truth of her words seemed to hit him like a physical blow even if he didn’t have any idea who Sterling was. For a moment, I thought he might cry.

"Thank you," he said finally. "For seeing me as separate from my family. For believing I might be worth defending."

"Everyone's worth defending when they're trying to do the right thing," she said firmly.

As we prepared to leave, I found myself thinking about transformation again. How communities, like individuals, had the capacity to grow and change and become better versions of themselves. How sometimes it took crisis to reveal who people really were underneath their assumptions and prejudices.

"One more thing," I said as we reached the door. "If you decide you want to attend the meeting tomorrow, you'll have allies there. People who will make sure you get a fair hearing."

"People like you?" he asked.

"People like us," Willa corrected, and the warmth in her voice made it clear that she included all of our pack in that promise.

On the drive home, I found myself marveling at how much had changed in such a short time.

Three weeks ago, I'd been a solitary conservationist fighting a losing battle against corporate development.

Now I was part of a pack, professionally vindicated, and watching my omega become a force for justice and compassion in our community.

"Good day?" I asked, reaching over to take her hand.

"The best kind," she said, squeezing my fingers. "The kind where good people do good things and it actually makes a difference."

"Even when it's complicated and messy?"

"Especially when it's complicated and messy," she said with conviction. "That's when it matters most."

As we pulled into our driveway, surrounded by the forest that would remain protected thanks to one man's courage and conscience, I realized that victory didn't always look like what you expected.

Sometimes it looked like a community learning to see past their assumptions.

Sometimes it looked like an omega finding her voice and using it to defend others.

Sometimes it looked like a pack that was strong enough to extend their protection beyond their own boundaries.

It was the most beautiful ordinary evening of my life.