Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)

This was my idea, but I’ll never admit it.

For one, Gunnar looks like he’s ready to murder me already. And now that I see an axe in his clumsy clutches… I’m starting to rethink my strategy.

Originally, I tried to be casual when I pointed out that Gunnar and I were both required to be super fit for our jobs—it only made sense that we would be out here, chopping down the Christmas tree our omega wants to decorate tonight.

Technically, none of it is untrue. And Knox needs to be home this morning to deal with the delivery of Emma’s furnishings. I just happened to leave out the part where I think it’s smart for the alphas in this non-pack who currently don’t get along to spend some extra time together.

Hence, me out here, in the snow, trudging along beside grumpy Gunnar and the axe he definitely doesn’t know how to hold properly.

Knox and Zane stayed behind to bake cookies with Emma. Between Zane and me… I’m not sure who got the surlier alpha to deal with.

Although, Zane seems to have charmed Gunnar somehow. He can probably do the same to Knox, but, uh, I think the way Zane is charming Gunnar may not be something he’d offer to just anyone.

I saw it this morning over breakfast. Gunnar looks at Zane in some bemused, indulgent way that almost seems fond. When I point this out, the hockey player grumbles, “What are you talking about? He’s another alpha.”

I shrug, my mouth curling at the corner. “So? That happens in packs all the time.”

Gunnar grunts. “In case you need a TLDR, bro, the whole issue is that we aren’t a pack.”

I don’t point out the fact that we’re acting like one. This approach I’ve been taking—being a team player, subtly encouraging everyone to get along—only works if I let them think things are their idea.

Instead, I say, “We’re all going to do her heat together.”

Gunnar’s nutty scent gets saltier. “That’s true,” he sighs. His eyes scan over our work before his vice drops into something quieter. “Emma may not like us fucking around, though.”

I can’t picture Emma ever having negative feelings about two people making each other happy. Even two alphas. Even two of her alphas.

Hell, if the way she reacted to watching them touch each other was any indication, she’d love it.

“Emma doesn’t seem like the jealous type to me,” I reply carefully, eyeing his profile.

He cringes. “No. But she’s insecure. Those assholes made her feel like no one wanted her. And I didn’t help, running off the night we met. Her Omega still hasn’t forgiven me.”

Hmm. That is a problem.

“What if she took it as some sort of…” Gunnar trails off, huffing a frustrated breath. “Preference?”

My brows spike. “Is it?”

He laughs. “No. I could never prefer anything or anyone to her. She’s like… the fucking sun. The light of my whole existence. It was so—” He swallows. “It was dark. Before her.”

His face glitches several times before he admits, “We don’t make any sense without her. She’s the thing we have in common. Any bond we might have… she’s at the center.”

His brows pinch harder. “It’s like… the things about him that appeal to me? It’s all from watching him with her. The way he makes her smile, how comfortable he makes her with her body. How he dotes on her and cooks for her. That’s where I started to respect him.”

I can’t help but smile. The feeling he’s describing—watching Zane with Emma and developing a sense of respect for him—is one I know well. It’s how I feel about all of them.

I just… don’t happen to notice how any of them look naked.

I shrug, still going for casual. “I don’t think you need to make any decisions. You both have Emma as your number one priority. Whatever other feelings develop will just take time. If we make a pack—with or without a bond—no one says we need to have our pack dynamics figured out immediately. And those dynamics don’t necessarily have to be all-or-nothing.”

Gunnar pauses to listen, some tension leaving the space between his brows. “I guess you’re right. My mom used to tell me I was an Ansel Adams.”

When he sees my face, he laughs again, but not unkindly. “Ansel Adams was a photographer. Only shot in black-and-white.” Sadness passes over his features. “My mom was an art professor.”

Was.

His tone—and the loss there—is, unfortunately, very familiar. The fingers I have resting on his shoulder curl, squeezing. “I’m really sorry, man. When did you lose her?”

Pain spasms over his features. “Like six months ago.”

Fucking hell. I’ve been judging his shitty attitude since he got here… but this is his first Christmas without his mom?

I remember my first few years slogging through the holidays without my mother. It was hell. The memory alone tightens my throat and my voice as I reply, “My mom died when I was in high school. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through.”

His nose twitches, drawing attention to his glassy eyes. “But you did?”

I give him another squeeze. “Yeah, I did. And after a while… Now, I just feel grateful, for the most part. I had a great mom who loved me. She’s at peace, and I’m still here. I get to do the things she didn’t—and make choices that would make her proud.”

I drop my gaze, embarrassed about blurting out more than I intended. Surprise pinches my lungs when Gunnar answers.

“She would have wanted that, I think,” he rasps. “For you to be grateful. And have adventures. And make her proud.”

Grief is odd. After ten years, I know it never goes away. There are still moments like this, every once in a while. I had one when Emma sang that song in the shower, the day we found her. My mother loved to hum the tune from The Sound of Music, warbling her own nonsense versions about whiskers on kittens and mittens or whatever. She had a jewelry box that played it, and I used to sit at her feet as child to listen.

Hearing the tune still makes me sad, but, looking back, that was also the moment I knew there was something special about Emma.

Maybe my mom sent her here, somehow.

Maybe Gunnar’s helped.

When I look back at him, I choose not to hide the fact that my nose is stinging and my eyes are wet. He deserves to know—this is normal. The remembering, the sadness. It’s just respect for the person you loved and nothing to be ashamed of.

Besides, you can’t go around it.

But you can go through it.

“I think your mom would have wanted the same,” I tell him. “The way you talk about her, I think she would have liked Emma. And maybe Zane, too.”

Gunnar laughs. The sound is watery, but it’s also genuine. And one I’ve only heard him make when he’s with Emma. “Oh, man, she would have loved Emma. And Zane, too, with the way he’s constantly on my ass.”

I smirk, and he slaps me away, returning to his grumpy scowl. “Not like that. Jesus.”

I shrug again, unbothered and back to smiling. “Like I said; we’ve got time.”