Chapter 153 I'll Take That As a Win
ELIJAH
Leo appeared in the doorway of my office at what I could only describe as an aggressively early hour, still in his pajamas, holding something in his fist that turned out to be a small folded piece of paper on which he had written, in his careful handwriting, a single sentence. He had clearly decided this was important enough to put in writing in case his words failed him in the moment.
His hair was still rumpled from sleep, one side flattened, the other sticking up slightly, and there was a seriousness to his expression that didn’t match how small he still was. He stood there patiently, waiting for me to notice him properly rather than just in passing.
He held it out to me.
I unfolded it.
It’s her birthday tomorrow.
I looked up at him.
“Adriana’s birthday is tomorrow?”
He nodded with the gravity of someone delivering intelligence they considered critical.
“How do you know that?”
He gave me a look that communicated, very clearly and without words, that this was not the relevant question and I should focus.
I patted the top of his head and reached for my wallet. He accepted the money with dignity and left without further comment, his small shoulders squared like he had successfully completed a task of importance.
I sat with the information for a moment and then started making calls.
The absence had been eating at me since the conversation in the bedroom.
The look on her face when she said it had done something to me that I was still reckoning with. It had settled somewhere under my ribs and stayed there, heavy and unwelcome.
I had been so focused on the surprise that I had forgotten what she needed daily. That was a mistake I did not intend to repeat.
Hazel had been doing a lot of work. She came to find me that morning with a list of things Adriana had mentioned wanting, things she had pointed to in shop windows or spoken about briefly and then moved past. She still sometimes moved past things she wanted, out of old habit. She had not yet fully unlearned the instinct of not asking for things.
“She tried it on at a boutique,” Hazel said. “It didn’t fit and she didn’t say much about it but I know she loved it. If you can have something made in her measurements, she would lose her mind.”
There had been something in Hazel’s tone when she said it—protective, almost—that made it clear this wasn’t just about a dress. It was about giving Adriana something she had quietly denied herself.
Getting the measurements without Adriana knowing required a level of operational coordination that I found genuinely impressive in retrospect. Leo had been our intelligence asset. He spent more time in her vicinity than anyone, moved through her space naturally, and could measure without anyone thinking anything of it. He had simply followed her around for an afternoon with a piece of string and a look of extreme concentration, and she had thought he was playing a game.
At one point, he had asked her to stand still “so I can win,” and she had laughed and indulged him without question.
He was six. He had done an exceptional job.
The seamstress worked quickly and the result, when I saw it two days later, was better than I had hoped. Adriana’s taste ran to things that were elegant without being elaborate, and the dress landed exactly there. Clean lines, soft structure, something that would move with her rather than against her.
I ran my hand over the fabric once, briefly, already able to picture it on her, already knowing it would fit.
We set the house up while she was sleeping, which she had been doing more of in the final stretch of the pregnancy, and the whole thing came together quickly as everyone involved is genuinely motivated.
Leo arranged the flowers with enormous seriousness, adjusting them repeatedly until they met whatever internal standard he had set. Hazel managed the pack members who had gathered, keeping the noise at the right level, directing people with quiet efficiency. Aiden stood near the back looking like he was trying not to cry preemptively, which was very Aiden.
Hazel came down the stairs.
“She’s awake. She’ll be down in a few minutes.”
I got into position. Leo stationed himself beside me, very straight, holding a small bunch of flowers he had selected himself, his fingers tight around the stems.
Adriana came around the corner.
“Happy birthday!”
She startled badly and grabbed the doorframe and pressed her hand against her chest, which made several people laugh, and then she looked around the room and her face did something that I wanted to keep as a memory for the rest of my life. She was taking it in slowly, thoroughly, not wanting to miss any part of it.
Her eyes moved from face to face, to the decorations, to the table, to Leo beside me, and then back again, like she was trying to understand how all of it had come together without her noticing.
“How did you know?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I forgot about it weeks ago.”
I put the camera down and crossed to her and put my arms around her.
“It’s alright,” I said. “I’ve got you.”
I tightened my hold slightly as she leaned into me, grounding her there, one hand coming up to the back of her head briefly, steadying her as the emotion hit.
She pressed her face into my chest and I held her while she got through the first wave of it, feeling the way she exhaled against me, the way her fingers curled into my shirt like she needed something solid.
When she lifted her head she was smiling, and she turned to the people who had gathered — her people, our people, one pack now — and thanked them with grace.
We cut the cake. We made the toast. Leo sat beside her with a piece of cake on a plate and ate it with great ceremony, taking small, deliberate bites like this, too, was part of the occasion.
She pulled me aside when the room had settled into its own momentum.
“Was this what you were doing all week?”
“Mostly.”
She looked at me with an expression I had seen before. A combination of warmth and exasperation that I had come to understand was how she looked at me when I had done something she found both touching and slightly infuriating.
Her hand rested lightly against my chest as she said it, like she was checking that I was actually there this time.
“You could have just told me you were planning something.”
“It wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
“I spent a week thinking you were avoiding me because I look like a penguin.”
“You look like my penguin,” I said. “The most beautiful penguin to ever exist.”
I reached for her then, almost without thinking, my hand settling at her waist, thumb brushing lightly over the curve of her side in a small, absent gesture that felt like a correction of the distance I had created over the past few days.
She shook her head, smiling despite herself.
I would take that as a win.