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I hate this for them both. Ben and Seb are two of the most oppositional of the quadruplets, and it shows how much this situation has got to them, that they’re mirrors of each other.
Then again, why should I care?
“Ben, you drive Seb’s car home,” Topher says. He sounds exhausted. “Seb, see where he goes, but don’t make yourself known. Come home as soon as you can.”
“Why Seb?” I ask before I can stop myself. Four nearly identical sets of eyes dart my way, and I cringe at the intensity in their eyes.
“Seb’s a tracker—someone who is extremely good at following people’s scents,” Topher says almost gently. “We all have strong senses, and we’re all able to follow a scent, but Seb’s capable of learning so much more from it. Whether they’re a little angry or their wolf is weak. Whether they’re hungry or pregnant. He can follow someone no matter how faded the scent is. If there’s something there—he will unearth it. So if he can follow this “doctor”, we’ll be able to piece together a few things.”
I nod slowly. Seb sniffs the air, gives me a piercing stare, before turning and jogging away. His ass looks very good, but that’s all I’m going to admit to in my anger. However, I am surprised he’s wearing a suit today, considering his norm seems to be versatile clothing. It makes sense if he’s a tracker, but I wonder what caused the switch today.
“Are you going to be okay with these two, or do you want to come with me?” Ben asks with a pleading tone.
“I’m no less angry with you,” I mutter, and he sighs.
“I was under orders, baby girl.” He gives me a puppy dog face, even fluttering those long, dark eyelashes of his.
Fuck that. Not only has he kept a huge secret from me, but now he’s acting as if he had no choice in the matter.
I’ve had choices stolen from me. By these very men, at that.
“I’ll see you at home,” I say, and Topher leans forward and pulls his car door shut. Ben sighs and watches as we drive away with a very sad expression on his face.
I don’t feel guilty.
Or at least, I shouldn’t.
The drive is mostly silent, the only noises coming from Phoebe as she sleeps. My mind won’t quiet down, and unlike them, I don’t have a wolf to talk to who can help me rationalise what they did.
They’ve lied. By omission or not, it’s still a lie, and it’s one that hurts.
Phoebe is my daughter. They think they have a claim on her, and whilst they might in the supernatural world—they do not in mine. I’m human with the tiniest foot in their world—and her foot is so, so tiny—and they’re keeping secrets that could cost me my child, all because I can’t understand.
Sure, over the last few weeks, they’ve helped me with Phoebe. They’ve sat with her in my bedroom whilst I take a very fast shower, and they’ve supported me as much as I’ll let them.
I’m not permitting them to act as parents, but there’s no denying the connection they share with my daughter. They lap up every single scrap I throw their way, any form of attention I let them give my child, and they’ve never once complained.
They’re still here. Trying. Caring. Maybe even loving.
But how do I link those two things? How can the men who are so determined to be in her life, in my life, keep something so important from me?
Why would they do that?
How have they spent the last three weeks showing me this beautiful side of them, when deep down, they were lying, keeping secrets, and destroying the very fragile trust I’ve placed in them?
How am I meant to move past something like this?
“I can hear your thoughts ticking away,” Alex says. I recognise the streets now, and I know we’re very close to home—to their home.
“Very loudly,” Topher adds, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Do you want to talk it out?”
I clench my jaw and stay silent. Whatever I say now will be said in anger, confusion, and without the context I need. They both sigh, identically, and we go back to the uncomfortable silence.
We’re home less than five minutes later, and neither man rushes to my door. I don’t let that bother me, even though it’s against their norm, and round the car to get Phoebe out. Topher grabs her bag from the boot, and Alex shuts the car door after me. I huddle Phoebe in close to me, wrapping my jacket around us to protect her from the harsh wind.
“We’re home,” Topher calls through the house, which startles Phoebe enough that she begins to cry. It’s not her soft ‘I’m hungry’ cry or the whine she does when she’s feeling uncomfortable.
No, this is the cry she does just before—and there it is. I don’t startle this time as the shift overtakes her, instead, I just adjust my hold so I don’t drop her.
