Chapter 246
Jacob’s Perspective
The days that followed flowed like honey left to warm in the sun—slow, thick, and sweet enough to make a person feel lightheaded. Assuming, of course, you weren’t the type to gag on sappy metaphors.
The hangover crew didn’t start dragging themselves off the floor and out of chairs until well past noon the next day, groaning, clutching their heads, and cursing as they hunted for water. Lily’s eyes were still hazy when she spotted me, but they sharpened quickly, darting between Celena and me before her mouth stretched into a knowing grin.
I ignored her, shoving a mug of strong black coffee into her hands to shut her up.
Celena’s condition improved visibly, day by day. It wasn’t a forced, put-on cheerfulness, but a slow, steady resurgence of life from the inside out. In the mornings, she’d wake with me—not jolted from a nightmare, but naturally, to the sound of birdsong. Sometimes I’d wake first and just watch her sleep, the early light tracing her eyelashes in gold, her breathing even and calm.
We didn’t talk much about that night in the woods. Some things just *are* after they happen, etched deeper than words into your bones. But the atmosphere between us shifted. More intimate. More relaxed. More… *right*.
She’d pull up a stool beside me while I worked on the old Ford, a book in her lap or just a steaming mug of tea loaded with sugar and milk—her sweet tooth was as persistent as a kid’s. The smell of motor oil and metal mixed with her warm, sweet scent became my new, ridiculously distracting background noise. When I’d slide out from under the truck, face and hands smeared with grease, she’d wordlessly pass me a clean rag, her fingers sometimes brushing the back of my hand, sparking a tiny, insignificant current that went straight to my core.
“Here,” she’d say, pointing to a complicated diagram in the open repair manual, her brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement. “Why is this part designed this way? It doesn’t seem efficient.” Her questions could be surprisingly technical.
“Because the engineer who designed it was probably an idiot. Or drunk,” was my usual reply, taking the manual and trying to explain leverage or hydraulics in terms she’d understand. Her eyes would follow my moving finger with intense focus, a nod here and there, a strand of brown hair slipping from behind her ear to brush her cheek. I couldn’t resist then, using a relatively clean part of my wrist to tuck it back. My fingertips would graze the warm shell of her ear, and her cheeks would pinken, but she never pulled away.
Time vanished during moments like that. Pack business, border patrols—all of it got temporarily muted. All that existed was the occasional soft sound of her laughter and the brief, warm pressure where our knees touched.
Of course, it wasn’t just the two of us. This was a pack. A loud, messy family.
Lily appointed herself the most annoying—no, the most *enthusiastic*—observer. She seemed to take “ensuring Celena’s genuine happiness” as her new personal mission. She’d pop up out of nowhere, dragging Celena to the kitchen under the pretense of “teaching you my grandma’s secret stew recipe that makes grown men weak in the knees.” Celena would tie on an apron, clumsy but utterly earnest, her eyes watering from chopping onions in a way that made me want to laugh and simultaneously pull her out of there. Lily would stand by, hands on her hips, loudly heckling me for lurking in the doorway.
“Look at him, pathetic!” Lily’s voice carried through half the house. “Celena, remember, the simmering time is key! And don’t you dare let him taste it early. Make him wait!”
Celena would glance over her shoulder, giving me a smile that was a little harried from the steam and smoke but blindingly bright. It hit me square in the chest, turning everything inside to mush. I’d grunt and pretend to walk away impatiently, ears still tuned to the sound of their laughter from inside.
The twins weren’t idle either. They’d “happen” to bring back the freshest wild berries from the woods or a still-flopping trout from the stream, dumping them unceremoniously at Celena’s feet.
“For you!” Dave would grin, all white teeth. “Bet Jacob never told you fish is his favorite.”
Jim would sidle up to me, dropping his voice to a stage whisper everyone could hear. “So, bro, what’s the progress? Need us to clear out? We can make ourselves scarce all night, guaranteed.”
My response was usually a kick aimed at his shins or whatever object was closest hurled at his stupid, grinning face. Celena would blush, but she’d also smile, accept the fish with a sincere thank you, and ask for the best way to cook it.
She was learning to fit in, as part of the whole.
She was trying, awkwardly but sincerely, and everyone saw it, accepting her in their own rough, straightforward way.
Ethan was his usual self, but he and Lily made a point of lingering unobtrusively at the edges of the territory during Celena’s and my evening walks, making sure nothing disturbed us.
The sweetest moments were often hidden in the most ordinary interactions.
Like that afternoon, when I was sorting through tools in the storage shed for winter.
Celena found me, carrying two fresh mugs of tea. The shed was dim and smelled of dust and old metal.
“Lily said you were in here,” she handed me a mug, peering curiously at the cold, gleaming tools. “Are all these… really necessary?”
“Just in case,” I said shortly, taking a sip. The temperature was perfect, the sweetness just right—she’d remembered. I handed her a cleaned and maintained leg-hold trap, carefully avoiding the trigger. “See, set like this, it’s only for bigger game. Safe for rabbits, squirrels.”
She took it gingerly, her fingers tracing the cold steel teeth, her expression complicated. “It feels cruel.”
“Survival can be. It’s hunt or be hunted.” I set my mug down, moving behind her. My arms went naturally around her waist, my hands covering hers on the trap, my chin resting on her head. “But we get a choice. To be smarter. Stronger. To protect what matters.” My lips brushed her hair. “Like right now.”
She leaned back into me, her body softening, the back of her head nudging my chin. “Mm.” A soft sound, like a sigh of contentment.
We stood like that for a while in the dusty shed, not speaking. In the gloom, there was just the sound of our mingled breaths and the faint, distant sound of Lily yelling at the twins to wipe their feet. Mundane, noisy, and utterly real—the sounds of home.
Another time, a sudden night rainstorm woke me. Half-asleep, my hand instinctively reached out beside me. Celena was deeply asleep, but at my touch, she turned unconsciously, rolling into my arms, her face burrowing against my chest, an arm slung over me like a small animal seeking warmth and shelter. I stiffened for a second, then relaxed, pulling her closer, tugging the blanket up, listening to her steady breathing and the drumming rain until I fell asleep again. The satisfaction in that moment beat winning any fight.
The days melted one into another.
We fetched water from the stream in the misty dawn, her hands turning pink with cold. I’d wrap them in mine and breathe warmth onto them, and she’d laugh, saying my hands were too rough, like sandpaper.
We sat on the sun-warmed porch in the afternoons, me working a deer hide, her mending an old shirt torn on branches. The needle would slip sometimes, pricking her finger. She’d suck in a soft breath, and I’d pull her hand to me, taking the tiny bead of blood on my tongue. She’d blush to the roots of her hair, but her eyes would shine as she looked at me.
After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room, the fireplace blazing. Adrian might strum his beloved guitar, Nate humming along tunelessly, the twins keeping time by drumming spoons on their knees and the table. Celena and I would be tucked into the old corner sofa, her hand in mine, resting on my leg. In the unnoticed shadows, my thumb would trace slow circles on the back of her hand, feeling the delicate pulse beneath her skin. She’d tilt her head just slightly, giving me a look meant only for me, her eyes filled with a warm, wordless happiness.