ECKO

Even though my hands were covered by the sleeves of my olive green sweater, the sides of the teacup still burned hot against my palms as I blew steam from the rim. A delicious mixture of chamomile and mint teased my nostrils as I did so, and a shiver of delight eased its way down my spine as little twirling spirals of steam ascended into the air, dissolving into the balmy breeze.

This tea shop was hands down my favorite of all time. Their product was always fresh, their tea leaves were locally sourced, and their decor resembled a celestial greenhouse, what with its walls full of climbing wisteria vines, fairy lights, and diverse, blooming flora forming a tapestry of life across the vaulted ceiling. And, as if to make things even better, the shop's tables were graced by wide, airy window panes that pulled back just enough to let the outside world in. The windows were framed only by creamy, billowing curtains that whispered calm into every corner of the serene oasis of an establishment.

Well, that is, it would be a lot more of an oasis if it weren't for my Dad, who was currently on a mission to bankrupt himself as he shoved a handful of dollar bills into the tip jar, all the while praising the teenage barista to heaven and back. 

And what was all the fuss about? Oh, just his precious triple-sweetened coffee, stuff he proudly called "Jaxon Cahill's Elixir of Life" – a drink guaranteed to rot your teeth faster than you could say "bad idea."

Seriously, you could practically hear Dad's tooth enamel begging for mercy every time he sipped the nightmarish concoction.

But fortunately, my pint-sized Dad's exuberance was short-lived thanks to the intervention of my Alpha father. With all of the learned grace of a lion tamer, he gently placed a hand on my Dad's lower back, expertly maneuvering his husband towards the table where I sat – keeping the poor barista safe from the likelihood of an impending invitation to be adopted into our family.

Oh, the poor teenage worker. He didn't even know how close he'd been to a lifetime of madness with our terrifyingly eccentric family.

"Hey, let go of me you damn constipated cactus! I still had five more dollars to give them!" My Dad protested when Papa effectively managed to wrestle him back to the table and nestled his smaller body down into his lap. Papa, of course, was firmly unfazed by his husband's antics as he thrashed about. I giggled at his antics, hiding my smile behind my teacup.

"Dad, we can't afford to let you empty the Pack's bank accounts every time a barista makes your tooth-rot elixir recipe." I mused, a few more blowing cooling ripples across the top of my teacup before taking a tentative sip.

Dad was definitely in full-blown pout mode, but he attempted to cover it up with a huff and a sassy roll of his eyes, obviously not agreeing with my financially conscious statement. "Listen here. We all know that there's only a tiny handful of people on this God/dess-forsaken rock who can make my Elixir of Life with such precision and finesse!" He defended before taking an audacious gulp of said drink, only to moan aloud when the liquid sugar finally hit his taste buds. "Like, fuck, man. I swear, this shit might even taste better than your Papa's–"

"Jaxon." My Papa swiftly interjected before Dad could finish his thought – a thought that I knew well enough would definitely have veered directly into inappropriate territory if it wasn't intercepted quickly enough. Papa's giant hands tightened around Dad's waist then, a silent warning in his grasp.

"Whoops, you're right." Dad blinked, turning to face me with an expression that immediately melted into one that oozed love from that wonderfully unhinged yet unconditionally caring heart of his. "Today is all about making you shine, my little star!" His gleaming emerald eyes shone with excitement, mirroring the shimmer of the ever-present ring on his finger as he finally shimmied his way out of Papa's grasp and into a seat of his own. 

Without missing a beat, he stretched his arms across the table to ensnare both of my hands in his own, freckled ones which bore a striking resemblance to my own. "So, spill the metaphorical tea and give us the scoop on whatever you are comfortable sharing today. Little or big, your thoughts deserve time in the spotlight, sweetie."

Papa nodded in agreement, scooting his chair closer to Dad's and enveloping him with a protective arm around his waist. It seemed like Papa couldn't go more than a few minutes without craving physical connection with his mate, the pair always within arm's reach of one another if they could help it. 

Sure, their shameless displays of affection could be disgustingly gross at times, but in moments like this, I couldn't deny that my parents' relationship had its own quirky charm. It was a unique kind of adorable that made me roll my eyes and secretly smile at the same time.

Tearing my mind away from my parent's love life, I tried to focus on my Dad's request as I thought about what to share. 

These monthly Daddy Dates, as Dad liked to dub them, have been a constant in my life since before I could even remember. On rotating weeks, my parents would take my siblings and me out individually to do an activity of our choosing before taking us for a meal – or in my case, out for tea. 

But what really made these dates special was the end-of-date ritual, when Dad and Papa would tap into their inner parenting detectives, probing our minds for feedback on how they could level up their parenting game. Love language quizzes, deep conversations, and catching up on the chaos of everyday life were all part of the agenda, creating a safe space for us to connect on a deeper level without the distraction of other siblings or Pack responsibilities. 

And honestly, I often found myself quite enjoying the outcome of the exchanges, seeing as to how they provided us all with a chance to understand each other so much better. After all, not everyone was lucky enough to have parents who not only listened but actively sought ways to make our family stronger and more joyful.

Still, I sipped my tea in an effort to buy myself time, trying to come up with something worthy of discussion. If there was anyone in this entire world that I could trust, it was my parents – of that, I was more than sure. But over the years, I'd learned that there was a fine balance between sharing my genuine thoughts and avoiding anything that might incriminate my siblings or myself in the process.

However, as my quiet moment stretched out into eternity, Papa, the stalwart guardian of our family, took it upon himself to rupture the silence. Leaning forward, his voice carried the weight of his genuine concern, resonating with an undertone of paternal warmth.

"How about we start with this," He suggested, leaning forward even though his deep, rumbly voice was sure to carry far regardless. "Is there anything that we can do to make you feel more loved and cared for on a daily basis?"

I shrugged, biting at my bottom lip as my fingertips dug into the porcelain of my teacup, gaze fixated on the swirling pattern of tea leaves as they settled at the bottom. 

"Umm... Well there is one thing," I mumbled, still unsure. "It's about my curfew. I know it might sound trivial, but... I'd really appreciate it if you could extend it by at least an hour. With the winter months approaching, I've been working on setting up my greenhouse tents, and I desperately need that extra time to get it done properly before the first frost." I requested, despite knowing that Papa would definitely not be the biggest fan of that idea. Out of all of my siblings – even the ones that summoned demons and lit fires for fun – I was inevitably the one that he fussed over most.

Part of me resented it, being treated differently than everyone despite being the second oldest. But then, right when that twinge of bitterness would settle in my gut, threatening to take over, the memories would flood back, gripping me with the icy chill of reality. 

The metallic scent of blood. Searing pain. The screams of anguish that tore from my lips. The scars, etched deep into my flesh, served as permanent reminders of the peril that nearly snuffed out my life before it even had a chance to fully unfold.

But these scars, these harsh imprints left behind, went beyond mere physical marks. They were a haunting testament to the fragility of my mortality, an indelible reminder that life is a delicate thread, easily frayed and severed. And in those quiet moments when I traced the raised ridges with trembling fingers, I felt the weight of my own mortality pressing upon me. 

My voice quivered as I continued, vulnerability laid bare. Because... maybe Papa was right to keep me cooped up safe the way he did. 

"I know you worry about me, I really do. But... I'm nineteen now. I need to start learning to navigate the world a little bit more on my own. I promise to be responsible, and I won't take any unnecessary risks."

The room held its breath, the silence echoing the weight of my words. And as my parents exchanged knowing glances, I could see the battle as it raged between and within them, torn between their instincts to protect me and granting me the freedom to blossom on my own.

Finally, Dad spoke, his fingers tightening around the one hand that he still held, offering a lifeline of reassurance. "We hear you, sweetheart," he said, voice filled with a delicate blend of understanding and empathy. "You're not a child anymore, and we trust in your ability to navigate the challenges that come with growing up. We only ever worry because..." He trailed off, voice quivering with raw emotion, unable to articulate the depths of his true emotions.

But even still, the unspoken words still echoed just as loud as ever. The scars that lay beneath my carefully concealed long-sleeve shirts throbbed, a constant, silent reminder of the pain that forever remained within our collective memory, pain that bound us, a battle we fought every day as we were forced to always remember.

Part 2 in Next Episode