Chapter 124 Never Leave Forrest Unattended

Chapter 124 Never Leave Forrest Unattended
Opal's POV

The fire danced low in the hearth, casting sleepy golden shadows across the living room. The couches were all occupied—limbs lazily sprawled, blankets messily draped, and one of Ridge's socks mysteriously thrown over a lampshade, likely Forrest's fault. No one was in a rush to clean. For once, they were just… still. Together. Breathing.

Opal sat cross-legged on the middle couch, her legs covered by a throw blanket she suspected had belonged to their mother. She ran her fingers over the fraying corner, steadying herself with the familiar texture.

"I need to tell you guys something," she said, her voice quieter than usual.

Forrest, who had been dramatically lounging upside-down on the recliner with one leg over the armrest like a disrespected Victorian lady, perked up. "If this is about the werewolf-sized hairball I found in the bathroom, I've already named it and given it its own toothbrush."

Opal huffed a half-laugh. "It's not about the hairball. But thank you for your ongoing service to domestic chaos."

Ash, who stood by the window like he always did when the firelight made him broody, turned his head slightly. His gaze met hers, calm but heavy.

She let out a slow breath. "I've made a decision. About Kael."

That was enough to make Ridge shift forward, brows raised. Brooks set down his mug. Forrest turned himself right-side up, clearly disappointed it wasn't a prank, but still intrigued.

"I'm going to let him mark me," she said.

A heavy silence followed. No one gasped. No one shouted. But the weight of the words dropped like thunder.

"I'm going to be his mate," she continued. "And his Luna."

Ash's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Not from anger—just the inevitable sting of change.

Opal glanced at each of them before continuing. "I know this isn't easy to hear. I know we all thought the answer was here, in this pack. That if we just waited, maybe I'd find my fated mate within our own walls. But time's up. I can't afford to wait. And Kael… Kael makes me feel like I have a future. Like I'm more than the witch's deadline. He is my chosen mate."

Brooks cleared his throat. "So this is it? You're leaving our pack?"

Opal smiled gently. "I'm not leaving you. I'll never stop being your sister. But yes—officially, I'll belong to Kael's pack. I'll be Luna."

Forrest placed a hand over his chest. "I can't believe you're choosing him over me."

Opal blinked. "What?"

"I mean, if we're being honest," he said, gesturing grandly, "I'm clearly Alpha material. Handsome. Charismatic. Practically allergic to responsibility."

Ridge raised an eyebrow. "You think that helps your case?"

"Alpha Forrest," he said, trying the title out like it tasted like glory. "Has a nice ring to it. Rolls off the tongue. Would definitely look good on a mug."

Brooks leaned back and muttered, "The entire pack would die in a week."

"You wound me," Forrest gasped, but he winked at Opal anyway, mischief softening into support.

Opal laughed despite the ache building in her chest. Then she turned her gaze back to Ash.

"I also need to talk to you. Just you."

Ash stepped closer, slowly, his posture a little too stiff to be casual. "I'm listening."

Opal swallowed the lump in her throat. "By choosing Kael, I'm also stepping away from any claim to Alpha here. And I think you always knew that was the way this would end. I just wanted to say it—to say it to you. Officially."

Ash frowned, not in confusion, but in protest.

Opal held up a hand before he could argue. "Ash, you've always been the leader. Since we were pups, you were the one holding us together. The one making the calls, keeping us safe, pulling us out of the fire—sometimes literally. You were born second, but you were always first in line to take over from Dad. I may have been the glue but you were the support needed."

"I thought…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I thought if I pushed hard enough, protected you long enough, you'd be safe here. That we'd find another way. That I wouldn't have to lose you."

"I know," she whispered. "But there isn't another way. Not one that doesn't risk all of us."

She stood and walked toward his chair.. They were nearly the same height, though he still looked down at her like she was that tiny girl begging to tag along on his training runs. The little girl who somehow outran men twice her size.

"You're going to be the next Alpha of our pack," she said. "That's how it should be. That's what Dad always hoped for even though he never said it.And I think it's what you've been carrying, whether you knew it or not."

Ash's eyes shimmered, just slightly. "You think I'm ready?"

"I think you've been ready," she said. "I just needed to get out of your way."

He reached out and pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, his hand cradling the back of her head. He didn't say anything for a long time.

Then he whispered, "If Kael ever hurts you—"

"I'll kill him myself," Opal said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Forrest sniffled loudly from across the room. "Wow. Can't believe you're both moving on with your lives and no one consulted me."

"You were eating Cheetos out of a rain boot when we made the family pact," Brooks deadpanned. "Your vote was always conditional."

"I had visions," Forrest argued. "Vivid ones."

Ridge leaned forward. "So… when do you mark him? Kael, I mean."

"Tomorrow," Opal said. "We've talked about it. But I want it to be special. I want it to be my choice, on my terms. No magic. No pressure. Just us. If I don't get the magical fated bond, I at least deserve something romantic."

Forrest groaned. "So, no live musical accompaniment? No fireworks? No interpretive dance from me as a wolf? I can't think of anything more romantic than me dancing."

Opal grinned. "Absolutely not."

Ash finally let go, stepping back with one last look. "If you're really doing this… then we're behind you. All of us."

"Even Forrest?"

"Especially Forrest," Ridge muttered.

Forrest raised his mug in the air. "To Luna Opal—Queen of Smart Decisions and Terrible Taste in Brothers."

"To Ash," Opal added, turning toward him with a smile. "The future Alpha. Our anchor. Our pain-in-the-ass hero."

Ash snorted. "Don't make me cry in front of these idiots."

"We've seen you cry before," Brooks said.

"That was one time. And it was Bambi."

"Still counts," Ridge said.

They all laughed, the sound echoing off the walls like a promise.

Opal looked around the room—at the brothers who had bled for her, fought beside her, made her laugh when the world tried to drown her. Tomorrow, she would choose Kael. She would claim her future. But tonight?

Tonight, she was just their sister.

And that would never change.

The laughter slowly died down. The fire crackled softly in the background, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace.

Until Brooks squinted.

"Hey… where's Forrest?"

Opal blinked. "He was literally just here. Making toast in the recliner."

"Yeah, which, by the way, is not a recognized seating arrangement," Ridge muttered.

Ash, who had resumed leaning against the window frame, straightened. "He's been quiet for way too long."

Ridge nodded slowly. "That's a red flag."

"A blazing one," Brooks agreed, rising to his feet.

Opal sat up straighter. "You think he's asleep?"

"No," Ash said, rubbing his temples. "If Forrest were asleep, we'd hear him snoring like a rhino with a deviated septum."

Just then, a soft, strange sound caught their attention.

Glub.

A pause.

Pop.

Everyone turned their heads toward the hallway leading to the kitchen.

"That didn't sound like a snore," Brooks said.

Then a single bubble floated into the room.

Perfectly round. Sparkling under the firelight. Mocking them with its joyful ascent.

"…was that a bubble?" Opal asked, eyes narrowing.

Brooks took a cautious step forward. "Do we own a bubble machine?"

"No," Ash said. "But we do own a Forrest."

Another bubble floated in.

Then two more.

Then a literal stream of bubbles started pouring into the living room like a fluffy, sudsy invasion. It slithered along the wooden floors, innocent and cheerful—for now.

Opal jumped to her feet. "What the hell—"

Brooks lunged toward the hallway. "Oh no. Oh no no no."

From somewhere in the kitchen, Forrest's voice rang out cheerily:

"GUYS, I THINK THE DISHWASHER'S BROKEN!"

Ash was already halfway down the hall. "You didn't."

"I might've!" came Forrest's distant reply. "But in my defense, brownies were involved!"

Ridge followed right on Ash's heels, Opal and Brooks charging behind. The hallway was quickly filling with bubbles, and it was becoming harder to walk without slipping. The scent of warm chocolate and lemon dish soap filled the air like an apocalypse hosted by Martha Stewart.

They burst into the kitchen—and stopped dead.

Bubbles. Were. Everywhere.

They were piled in the sink, frothed up over the counters, sliding down the fridge, floating lazily toward the ceiling. The dishwasher door was still closed, but foam was oozing from the edges like it was possessed. The floor was completely coated, several inches deep in warm suds.

And in the middle of it all stood Forrest, proudly wearing an apron that said "Don't Make Me Flip My Sassy Pancake," holding a half-eaten brownie in one hand and the empty bottle of dish soap in the other.

"Heyyy," he said sheepishly. "So, good news: brownies came out amazing."

Ash blinked slowly. "You put dish soap in the dishwasher."

"I may have, yes," Forrest said, shoving the rest of the brownie into his mouth. "I didn't know you weren't supposed to. They both say soap. How was I supposed to know one meant 'demon foam bomb' and the other meant 'clean plates responsibly?'"

Ridge looked around in horror. "Why is it still running?!"

"I tried to cancel it, but then it made that scary beep noise and I panicked," Forrest admitted, now ankle-deep in bubbles. "Also, I slipped and hit a different button. Possibly all of them."

Brooks stared at the mountain of suds threatening to breach the kitchen threshold. "This is why we can't have nice things. This is why our lives are cursed."

Ash pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are eighteen years old. Technically an adult."

"And yet," Forrest gestured grandly to the chaos, "I bring wonder and whimsy."

Ridge cautiously stepped closer to the dishwasher and yanked the door open. A wave of bubbles surged out like a soap tsunami, soaking the front of his jeans and hitting Brooks square in the chest.

"WHY IS IT ATTACKING?!" Brooks yelped, swatting at the foam like it had personal beef with him.

"I tried to tame it," Forrest said solemnly. "But I was only a man. And she was a beast."

Opal doubled over with laughter, gripping the edge of the counter to stay upright. "I swear… I haven't laughed this hard in weeks."

Ash growled under his breath and turned to Forrest. "You're cleaning this up."

Forrest raised an eyebrow. "Define clean."

"I mean get every last sud and soap particle out of this kitchen before I turn you into a throw pillow."

Forrest glanced around and grinned. "Can I at least get help from my pack?" He threw dramatic air quotes around the word.

"No," said Ash, Brooks, and Ridge in unison.

"You brought this horror upon us," Brooks added, wiping bubbles from his shirt. "This is your personal soap purgatory."

"Fine," Forrest sighed, grabbing a mop and slipping immediately. He landed with a splat and just laid there, dramatically staring up at the ceiling. "Tell my story."

Ridge stepped over him. "We'll write it in the kitchen manual. Under 'What Not to Do If You Have a Brain.'"

Opal crouched beside Forrest, still giggling. "I swear, you're like a walking tornado made of glitter and poor decisions."

"You say that like it's not a compliment," Forrest said, offering her a soapy high five.

She took it.

Ash turned back to the living room, muttering, "I just want one day without a domestic incident."

Brooks followed him, still picking foam out of his hoodie strings. "I feel like the dishwasher has seen things. Like, ancient horrors. It's going to be haunted now."

As the chaos slowly began to settle, and the suds were (sort of) pushed back, Opal sat on the edge of the countertop, watching her brothers stumble and gripe and argue about who had the worst bubble-related injury.