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“I understand you’re in pain, but do not talk about him like that in front of his daughter,” I say, keeping my voice firm but quiet. Topher jumps to his feet, a rage so scary on his face as his hazel eyes burn into mine.
I’m just as fast as I jump to my own feet and level him with a glare. There’s so much anger, so much vicious intensity in his body, but my child is in this room with us, and this discussion will not become loud or aggressive.
Not in front of her.
Never in front of her.
“Raise your voice, and we’re gone,” I warn, keeping my tone as civilised as possible.
He looks at Phoebe, the pain apparent on his face, and he turns tail and leaves the room. I’m not sure if he needs a moment to calm down or if he’s just completely done with the conversation, but I am relieved he listened to me.
I look between a stoic Ben and a very tense Alex, waiting for either of them to comment on what just happened. When they don’t, I sit back down, trying to calm myself.
The adrenaline rushed through me very quickly, and it’s going to take me a few minutes to calm back down. None of us speak, both Wolfe brothers alternating their glances between me, the door that Topher left through, and Phoebe.
“What was her name?” I ask once I’m a lot calmer.
“Morgan Phoebe Grey,” Alex says quietly. Relief floods through me, and it’s silly, I know it is, but I’m so glad there’s that little bit of separation. “She hated her name, said it was too boyish, and so we’d all call her Phoebe when we weren’t around our parents.”
The tears prick at my eyes, my throat closing up as I see my little girl, who, day after day, looks more like me. She has my dark, curly hair, and I have no idea where her grey eyes came from since Ryan’s were so blue, but she’s got so much of me in her facial features. But Ryan’s influence isn’t completely gone. She carries his genes inside her, his wolf.
She’s her father’s daughter, and the name he chose was to resemble and honour his dead sister.
A sister that died before her time.
Just like her brother.
It’s bittersweet in a way.
I purse my lips, trying to stop the tears from falling, but they won’t. My child’s got a strong legacy to live up to... but if these people lost their darling female-born wolf, wouldn’t it seem like fate is giving them a second chance by bringing them Ryan’s little girl who shares a name with the daughter they lost?
The daughter that—in their eyes—this family ripped away from them?
If they’re as spiteful and horrid as Ryan claims they were, then they’d take Phoebe just out of principle to hurt me and the Wolfes.
Fuck, Ryan, you’ve really left us in a pickle.
20
MAIA
Phoebe is asleep, and we’re all sitting watching her. She’s so at peace, so content, and I’m anything but. They’ve just shared a huge family history with me, and I don’t know how to move forward.
They’re rattled. Ben’s so quiet, so still. He’s usually very restless and fidgety, but right now, he just seems so drained of life. The tension in the air seems to be impacting the youngest Wolfe brother a lot, and there’s a niggling feeling of guilt flickering away in my chest as I see the sullen and downtrodden expression on his face.
Not enough to have me being the one to fix it, considering he’s a liar and withheld information about my child that has impacted her safety, but seeing him so unlike himself is not something that sits right with me.
Is this behaviour part of his natural personality, the fact that he’s a runt, or just his way of expressing remorse?
I have no idea, but I hate that it affects me as deeply as it does.
Alex is staring at Phoebe, but I don’t think he’s actually seeing her. He’s lost in the memories of the past, and I can only imagine what is running through his mind. The distance in his eyes is not common for him, and neither is the hunched up way he is sitting. Alex is often so graceful, so warm, and it’s concerning how upset he is.
And me, well, the tension in the air is affecting me very deeply. They’ve shared a lot, and it’s going to take me some time to process it. I feel sort of numb, unable to actually understand the racing feelings inside of me. I don’t feel angry anymore at the lie, not really, but then I’m frustrated that I’m letting it go so fast.
My shock is overtaking my own pain and empathy for them, and I feel so lifeless as the constant what if’s float through my brain.
What if Ryan told me the truth about his family?
