“Lydia?”
My cousin’s name glows on the display. I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
The sound of a baby crying filters through the line, followed by Lydia’s laugh. “Beau! God, it’s about time you picked up. Do you know you’re impossible to reach?”
I force a chuckle, dragging my gaze back to where Norah’s pulling out of the lot. Wren’s profile flashes through the window—soft, unreadable—before the car slips into traffic and disappears.
“Sorry,” I murmur, shifting the phone against my ear. “Been busy at the station. What’s up?”
“Well,” she says, voice warm with exhaustion, “you’re officially an uncle again. Thought maybe you’d want to hear the news from me instead of the family group chat you never check.”
My heart squeezes differently. “Another girl?”
“Yep. Seven pounds, ten ounces. Healthy lungs—you probably heard her just now.” There’s a rustle, the muffled sound of someone cooing in the background. “We’re all good, but Beau, when are you gonna come visit us? Everyone misses their favorite uncle. You promised last year, remember?”
I lean back against the brick wall of the bakery, the phone pressed tight to my ear, the outside noise fading around me.
Her words feel like they’re coming from another world. Idaho—open fields, long dinners, a family that expects me to eventually settle down with some sweet Beta girl and bring kids to Thanksgiving.
“I remember,” I say quietly.
“Then come,” she presses, her voice softening. “Even just for a weekend. It’s been years. Mom keeps saying she wants to see you before her hair goes completely gray. Don’t make her wait that long.”
I close my eyes, dragging in a breath of air still tinged with Wren’s scent, and something twists hard in my gut. Because Lydia’s right—it’s been too long.
But the idea of leaving right now, of stepping away when Wren’s still here in this town, makes every muscle in me rebel.
“I’ll try,” I tell her. “Congratulations, Lyd. Really. Tell Tyler I said congrats, too.”
“We will,” she says warmly. “Just… don’t forget us, okay? You’ve always been part of this family, no matter where you are.”
“I won’t forget,” I promise, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
We hang up, and I’m left staring at the space where her car disappeared, coffee cooling useless in my hand.
Maybe Simon’s right. Perhaps we should handle this as a pack and not push her.
But Christ, the sight of her in my shirt—laughing with someone else, leaving without a word—is going to haunt me all damn day.
The afternoon drags at the station, the kind of lull that makes every second feel like it’s been doubled. My shift started at eleven, but it’s after three now, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead mixing with the faint buzz of the TV someone left on in the corner.
I’m sitting with Jamila at the big stainless-steel table, both of us hunched over mugs of stale coffee and a half-finished game of cards.
She’s grinning at me, eyes sharp, her black curls tied back in a braid that brushes her shoulder every time she leans in to play. “You’re losing your edge, Rhodes. I’ve beaten you three rounds in a row.”
“You’re cheating,” I mutter, though there’s no heat in it.
Her smirk widens. “You just can’t handle getting outplayed by a girl.”
I flick my card down, earning a groan from her. “That’s not what you said the last time I beat you seven times in a row.”
Her laugh bursts out loud enough that it echoes across the room. Heads turn from the couches, but she doesn’t care.
Jamila’s never cared. She’s all ease, all confidence—which is precisely what got me into trouble with Captain Daniels in the first place.
Because Daniels doesn’t like me. Not one damn bit. And he likes her—too much, in that watchful, possessive way I can spot a mile off.
Ever since he figured out that Jamila and I had a thing, brief and uncomplicated, he’s had a chip on his shoulder the size of a hydrant.
