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“What do you want to know?” he says, much happier at the promise of food.
“Do you know which pack your mother came from?”
He shakes his head and chews his lip like he’s thinking. “I know Mom had a sister, and they used to be best friends. She doesn’t like talking about her real family,”
“So you’ve never met her parents?”
He shakes his head. “No, they called Mom a rogue whore and kicked her out because Mom had me, but she isn’t a rogue whore, right?” he says, his brows furrowing. “Why would they do that to Mom?” he suddenly demands.
I don’t know how to answer that, but from what I know, Everly is nearly twenty-three, so that would have made her seventeen or eighteen when she had him. But then Everly’s words flood my mind: ‘I am not a rogue whore,’ she’d said, so that meant she knew who and what I was from the beginning?
“Did your mother say why she didn’t tell me you existed?”
He shrugs. “She said she did tell you, but you didn’t believe her. Then she said she couldn’t.”
Marcus also looks at me, and I try to think for a second.
“What do you mean she couldn’t? Why couldn’t she?”
He scratches his head. “In case you took me from her. Mom thinks I don’t listen, but I do. She thinks you would take me away from her, but you won’t, right?”
I lean forward and brace my arms on my knees before scrubbing a hand down my face.
“No, I won’t take you from her.” However, I will if she doesn’t tell me how the hell this is possible and also why the hell she kept him from me.
“How old are you?” he asks randomly.
“Me?” I ask; he nods.
“Twenty-nine,” I tell him.
“You’re old,” he snickers.
“You won’t think that when you’re my age.”
He goes to ask something else, but I speak before he can.
“I think we should call your mother, she’ll be worried. And I think I should talk to your mommy,” I tell him, and he nods.
“So you’ll come live with us now?” he asks hopefully, as if it’s all so simple.
I pause because I know that isn’t going to be a possibility anytime soon. Or maybe it could be…
If only it were that easy. I have no idea—this is the last thing I expected, but I suddenly feel like shit that she’s been raising our son on her own, looking after him all this time. All while everyone treated her like a rogue whore.
I pull my phone from my pocket when I realize something else. I met her when she was rogue and kicked her out of my Packhouse. My stomach sinks. I kicked my own son and mate out in the rain when she was homeless and living in her car. The thought sickens me. He was right there all this time, and I did nothing for either of them.
No wonder she hates me.
Marcus places a plate of grilled cheese in Valarian’s lap, and he stares at it before looking up at Marcus.
“For real, how is it possible for you to be so much like him when you’ve never met?” Marcus says, walking off and returning with a butter knife and fork, as well as a place mat.
“There. Happy now?” he asks. I dial Everly’s number, listening to it ring. Marcus watches Valarian before speaking again when Valarian still doesn’t start eating.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you a napkin,” he laughs, walking off, and Valarian smiles. I can’t help but smile myself. Marcus ruffles his hair when he returns before passing him the napkin.
“Grilled cheese can be eaten with your hands, it’s finger food,” Marcus tells him, and Valarian scrunches his face up. That’s my boy. The phone continues to ring for another few seconds before she finally answers.
