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They claim that Ryan knew about Phoebe’s existence.
I was barely pregnant when he died, but they say he knew from the moment she was conceived.
I can’t… I can’t process that.
I can’t imagine a future where he didn’t die, and we lived out our lives, and none of this—the guys, the secrets, the discoveries—happened. Is that bad? Am I a terrible person for no longer being able to imagine a future with the man I loved?
I don’t even know how Ryan would’ve played this. Was he going to wait and let me find out about Phoebe the human way? Was he going to be excited when I shared the news? Would he have been upset over it?
I never… I hate that they—that he—shared this with me. I hate that Oliver was the one to share this piece of news, that he wielded them as a weapon designed to hurt me.
All this time, I’ve had to live knowing Ryan never knew about her. That I was blessed with the most perfect miracle after losing him, and it was almost like fate made it happen. Phoebe was meant to be here, she was part of me, and him, and just... everything. A perfect happenstance.
But that’s not the case at all. Ryan knew. He may even have manufactured it to happen.
And I don’t know how to cope with that.
“You are perfect, lovebug,” I murmur, looking down at Phoebe as she sleeps. She’s lying in the middle of my bed, completely lost to her dreams, and she’s grounding me here in the present with her bliss.
She’s wearing a pale pink sleep suit with bunnies on it, after needing another change. She’s so tiny, and lying on the huge bed only makes her seem that much smaller.
There’s a gentle knock at the door, and I sigh, but beckon for whichever of my guys it is to come in. The likelihood is they’ve sent Seb up—not that he’d need much convincing—to try and smooth the waters before they all apologise, and honestly, it’s a waste of time.
There’s nothing at all that they need to apologise for. Leaving them downstairs, rushing away, was space I needed for me to be able to process.
But I’m not annoyed with them. Whether they kept this from me on purpose or not, it was a blessing. I think… deep down, as cowardly as it is, I’d have liked to know he died not knowing about her.
Because now it means when he was murdered, he knew what he was leaving behind. He knew it was more than just me. He knew that he had a child he’d never see.
The door opens, and I smile up at Seb but falter when bright silver eyes meet mine instead.
“Alex,” I say before shaking my head as he lets out a small growl. I can’t help but grin at him, loving the cuteness from his wolf. “Sorry, Max. Are you okay?”
“No. Mate is mad at me,” he says, striding into the room to come sit on the edge of the bed. The door is open a little, and since I don’t know where Oliver is, I’m a little nervous about whether he can overhear what we say. Max’s words are deeper than when Alex speaks, and there’s a little pout on his face as he stares at me .
Warmth spreads through me as giggles burst forward. His pout deepens, frown lines appearing near his lips and across his forehead, but I can feel the amusement across our bond. I duck my head, covering my lips, and let my hair cover my face as I try to calm down.
Surely, this is just hysterics from the sudden shock because there’s no way that I find the situation now this funny.
“Stop laughing at me,” Max mutters so petulantly that I snort, trying desperately to smother my giggles. But when I peek over at him, he’s crossed his arms over his chest, and has a pet lip. It’s hilarious. “Mate mean. She’s mad at me, and instead of letting me kiss her and make it better, she laughs.”
And that sobers me up. I reach over to grasp his hand, and even in his pouting, he gives it eagerly. I squeeze gently, giving him a soft smile, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my tone. “I’m not mad at you, Max.”
He frowns, opening his mouth to argue, but I shake my head, squeezing his hand once more.
“I’m not mad at Alex or the others, either. Not really. You’re working through the things with me that I need to know, and in the grand scheme of things, that one little bit isn’t a huge thing. I get why it was missed, and honestly, even if it was on purpose, I don’t care.”
I brush my hair out of my face, hating the swell of emotions that surge inside of me.
“Tell me, mate.” He somehow manages to make his growled command cute.
“I just... I’ve spent her entire life, and even the pregnancy, imagining his reaction and thinking about all the what ifs for our future. I planned out how I’d tell him, I imagined all the ways he could react.
“And it’s just hard to know that he always knew about her, and it was me who was in the dark for those first few weeks. I can’t imagine how we’d have moved on past this now that I have you guys and this whole timeline has played out. I can’t play the what-if game any more because I know that my future is you and your brothers and not him.
“But that means I’m stuck in the past, imagining all the thoughts running through his head when he died. My brain is stuck going over and over the horrors he endured. The attempts on his life, and ultimately, the successful one where he knew what he needed to survive for… and he couldn’t.”
I sniffle, wiping the tears away. “And more than that, it hurts to know the man I loved so deeply kept so much from me. It’s stupid, I know that, but it hurts.”
