Page 71 of My Orc Package Deal

Kesha shifted on my chest. “I said what I had to say to⁠—”

“No, you don’t get it.” I pressed a kiss to her hair. “You reached him when no one else could. I don’t mean that he was in a small space, dkaar. I mean…” I swallowed, my throat suddenly thick with emotion. “You remember what I told you Friday night, about how you complete our family? You treated him no different from Milo—you called him baby, you worried about him, you cried over him.”

She lifted her head, and I imagined I could see indignation on her face. “Of course I did. I love him.”

When I squeezed her, my chuckle slipped out. “That’s my point. You love him, and he loves you. You didn’t just reach his body when he was trapped today, you reached his heart and his mind. You told him he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world, you told him it was okay to be a little kid. You did that, Kesha. You let him just…be.”

She froze, then I heard her exhale as she slowly lowered her head back to my chest, and I thought maybe she was finally getting it.

“That’s what I meant when I told you there was no use keeping score, love. Because how could a house and health insurance possibly compare to that gift?”

When she huffed a little, “huh,” I thought maybe she finally understood.

“I love you, Kesha.”

I felt her smile, felt her snuggle closer, and there in the darkness, I smiled.

“I love you, husband.”

“Mate,” I gently corrected, my heart swelling with pride and my Kteer vibrating with contentment at the word.

Kesha yawned, then wrapped her arm around my middle. “Mate,” she agreed.

And long after her breathing settled into sleep, I lay there, listening to three heartbeats which were my whole world.

My Mate. My sons. My family.

Epilogue

Kesha

December

The mainland ice arena smelled like frozen rubber, stale popcorn, and the faint, lingering ghost of someone’s overly enthusiastic cologne. I hunched forward on the bleachers, my fingerless gloves gripping the metal railing so hard my knuckles ached. The cold didn’t bother me—I’d spent enough winters on frozen ponds in Massachusetts that it all came back, even after years in Texas—but the tension in my shoulders was a different story.

Jay’s team, the Eastshore Ice Sharks, was down by one with two minutes left in the third period, and I was this close to screaming myself hoarse.

“Come on, ref!” I bellowed as a questionable offside call went against us. “That was clean! You’re blind or on the take!”

Beside me, Korrad chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where my shoulder pressed against his arm. He didn’t even flinch at the cold—just sat there in his ridiculous Christmas moose T-shirt—the moose was wearing a Santa hat and holding a candy cane, so Jay called it the Christmoose—his big hand swallowing mine. His fingers were warm despite the rink’s chill, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles like he was trying to soothe me.

It wasn’t working.

“Mom,” Milo groaned from my other side, his breath fogging up his glasses. “You’re so embarrassing.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the ice. “Honey, if you’re going to be embarrassed by enthusiasm, you’re in the wrong family.”

Korrad’s chuckle turned into a full-on laugh. “She’s got you there, buddy.”

Milo huffed, pulling his beanie lower over his ears. He was bundled up like a marshmallow—thick coat, scarf, gloves, the works—because unlike his father, he was a Southern boy born and bred and did get cold.

And unlike me, he didn’t give a single damn about hockey. He’d only agreed to come because I’d guilted him with the whole “Jay came to your performance” argument, and now he was making me pay for it by sighing dramatically every time I yelled.

Not that it had been a performance, not really. “It was just a gig, Mom,” he’d corrected me yet again when I’d brought it up earlier. But semantics.

I’d never forget that night, though.

Two weekends ago, Korrad and Milo had played together at the community mic night at The Salty Squid, Eastshore’s favorite dive bar.