Page 6 of The Single Father Upstairs

Nita followed Bernard into the apartment as yet another balloon burst. She rolled her eyes and studied the living room that had been transformed into a disaster area.

“You said twelve kids was manageable.”

“In theory,” I tossed back at her.

She pulled me close and kissed my cheek as she used to when we were cubs running around the den. It’d been a month since I’d seen them, and I was struck by a pang of guilt that it’d been so long.

The den was only an hour out of town, but I was the only adult in the household, and every weekend there were Indigo activities or birthdays. Besides, I usually avoided den land itself and we met at a local café for lunch.

Jon arrived and congratulated the birthday girl. He left a wrapped box containing a whistle and rope in case they had to shimmy down the side of the building. That entertained the guests as they tried to figure out if he was joking or whether he was overly safety conscious. I confiscated the rope, but after the kids blew the whistle nonstop, I took that too.

When the last of the exhausted children had been collected and Indigo was starting to come down from her sugar high, she hugged me and thanked me for the party. That was followed by a yawn, and I insisted she brush her teeth before climbing into bed.

I ignored the paper strewn over the living room, and Bernard, Nita, and I settled on the couch and in a beanbag.

“She’s grand, your daughter.” Nita’s gaze was on Indigo as my daughter went into her room.

“You did that.” Bernard raised his beer.

“You helped.” Though I was the only one who’d put Indigo to bed for the past eight and a half years.

My friends shared a glance, and I braced myself for the question I knew was coming.

“Does she ever ask about him?” Bernard rolled up some of the discarded paper and aimed it at the waste paper basket.

There was no need for a name because I understood who he was referring to.

Nobody at the den ever said the name around me. Their refusal spoke more than if they’d hedged around the subject and said “omega father” or “other parent.”

“Sometimes but less than she used to.”

My friends looked at one another again, and I sighed because they were deciding whether to give me some news.

“Arthur saw him at the spring gathering, and he asked about Indigo.” Nita avoided looking directly at me.

“Ahhh.”

“But he didn’t mention you.” Bernard put a hand on my shoulder. He’d always been protective of me, but more so after Indigo and I were left alone.

Don’t think about him,my bear urged.He made his choice.

Kipp. His name popped into my head. Indigo and I were his past, and neither of us was included in his future. But he’d stood in a room full of people we’d known since we were cubs and askedafter the daughter he’d left behind. But didn’t inquire about the man who was raising her.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Nita glanced away.

I looked down the hallway. Behind that closed door was my nine-year-old who had no memory of the omega father who’d given birth to her. Some days I was grateful for that and others I raged inwardly at how Kipp had stolen so much from Indigo. And it was my fault apparently.

Kipp wasn’t my fated mate. I’d believed he was, and so did everyone around us. But what I thought and reality were not the same, and the den Alpha didn’t have sympathy for me getting it wrong. Fate overrode everything, including the child that came from what turned out to be an ill-fated relationship.

“It wasn’t fair.” Nita clenched her hands in her lap.

Everyone at the den told me I should have understood. Kipp couldn’t go against fate, but I couldn’t forgive him, not that he found somebody else but that he left four months after our daughter was born.

Most people in the den were baffled at my anger. They expected me to shrug it off as if we’d had an argument, and they told me I was unreasonable. That was the real reason I rarely ventured onto den territory. And the fact that I might bump into Kipp, though he didn’t live in the den either and his place was an hour in the other direction.

“You can’t fight fate,” I said bitterly.

“Maybe not, but you don’t leave the child who was a product of that initial relationship, a baby that was beloved by both parents.” Nita sniffed and wiped away her tears.