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“That was”—Brady pauses, and I brace for him to lecture me, really hoping he doesn’t because we’ve come so far—“fucking amazing.”
My mouth drops open in surprise, but I quickly recover. “Yeah?”
He nods. “I was terrified you wouldn’t come up, but under there?—”
“Jump!” Austin shouts, and Brady snatches my hand and we both surge up as a wave smashes into us and pushes us toward the beach. Salty water stings my eyes.
Brady grunts as water splashes him in the face, blinking rapidly and side-eyeing me.
I laugh and squeeze his hand as the wave moves toward the people in the shallower waters. “And that?”
“I like diving under better,” he admits.
Fair enough.
“Good.” I glance over my shoulder. “Because we have just enough time to prepare for the next one.”
Nodding at me, he turns and treads water beside me. Dylan and Austin fall in line with us, and I share a look with each of them. My alphas embracing one of my favorite pastimes makes my blood sing and my heart leap for joy.
“Now!” I scream and, together, we dive under.
Fifty
QUINN
The sun is crawling toward the western horizon by the time we pack up and head to the car. Austin orders the shawarma for pickup on the way home, while Dylan and Brady carry most of the beach supplies. I clutch the bag with our towels, a permanent smile on my face, and hum under my breath as we walk along the busy sidewalk.
There are so many people, probably a lot of tourists, and I love that I don’t recognize anyone. I people watch without shame. A family passes, a little girl’s eyes filled with tears as her mom tells her everything will be okay and they can get a new ice cream cone. A couple, maybe a first date, awkwardly meander down the street, shooting coy looks at one another.
And a group of alphas with their omega and two preteen kids are walking ahead of us, trying to figure out what store to go into.
Austin drops his arm around my shoulder. “Maybe we should always have them carry our stuff around.”
I laugh and roll my eyes as Dylan and Brady grumble.
The tallest alpha ahead of us turns around, and my chest cracks open at the familiar dusting of freckles and rich moss-green irises. At first, he doesn’t notice me. He’s too busy trying to read the sign on the storefront behind us.
“Sorry,” he says, dropping his eyes and glancing at the guys. The guys may not recognize him, but I’ll never forget the strong set of his jaw or the way his left eyebrow peaks a little higher than the right.
My stepbrothers have only met them twice. Once when they came to get my mother to sign some stupid legal document, and the other, when we accidentally ran into them on a family movie night.
“Dad?” My voice comes out small and cracks.
Austin’s arm around my shoulder stiffens, and the guys go on high alert.
Tom, one of my dads, my real dads, the ones who left, glances at me in alarm. “Quinn?” He looks at the guys again, taking in Austin’s arm around my shoulder.
The rest of my dads turn and take in the situation, eyes narrowing. Reggie’s face lines with concern, and he quickly checks in with the omega, who is still busy talking to her kids.
Denise, the scent match who stole my dads away.
A familiar pain digs its claws into me, talons diving in, preparing to rip me apart.
“Uh, what are you doing here?” Reggie asks.
Nohi? Nowe missed you? Of course not.
“Same thing as you,” Brady snaps.
