And then everything fell apart.
One drunk driver running a red light. One moment of someone else's recklessness. That's all it took to shatter everything we'd built, to tear apart the family we'd created, to leave two kids without their mother, two Alphas without their Omega, and a brother without his sister.
And then that Omega walked through our doors this morning looking every bit as terrified as Evie used to be when we were younger. Back before she met Silas and Wyatt, back when she was still figuring out who she was and what she wanted.
She'd been skittish and shy of the world, anxious about everything, jumping at shadows and second-guessing herself constantly. It had taken time for her to come into herself, tobecome the confident, radiant Omega she'd been before the accident.
Evie used to call me her big bad protector. She'd say it with this teasing smile, usually right after I'd scared off some Alpha who was getting too aggressive or too pushy at a bar or a pack gathering. She'd known I'd do anything to keep her safe, that I'd tear apart anyone who tried to hurt her. That I'd stand between her and any threat, no matter how big or how dangerous.
But I couldn't protect her from that.
My throat tightens and I have to look away from the photograph, blinking rapidly against the burn in my eyes. Grief is an old companion at this point. It comes in waves still, usually when I'm tired or caught off guard by a memory or a smell or a photograph I haven't been able to put away yet.
The sound of footsteps tears me from my thoughts and makes me look up. Silas appears in the entryway to the kitchen, a beer in his hand despite it being barely past lunch. His glasses are slightly askew, his hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. The guy looks like he hasn’t slept all week, which, he probably hasn’t. He drops into the seat beside me with a heavy sigh, the chair scraping against the tile floor.
I raise an eyebrow at the beer. It's not judgment, exactly, but it's close enough that Silas catches my meaning immediately. His mouth quirks in something that's not quite a smile. "You can judge me after you start eating regular meals," he says, taking a swig and meeting my eyes with a challenge in his own.
He's got me there. I can't remember the last time I ate breakfast, and lunch is usually whatever I can grab between meetings or on a job site. Dinner happens when I remember it exists, which isn't often enough, according to Wyatt's increasingly worried looks and pointed comments about me needing to take better care of myself.
"Touché," I concede, leaning back in my chair and wrapping both hands around my cold coffee mug.
Silas sets his beer down on the table next to the photograph, staring at it for a long moment. His expression softens in the way it always does when he looks at pictures of Evie. "Wyatt said Amelia’s coming back. Said she just freaked out this morning. Maybe we should just give her some space to do everything with the kids and at least try to make this work."
I nod slowly, relief washing through me despite everything that happened this morning. One moment, I had been ready to introduce Amelia into our little slice of a nightmare and then her scent was filling my nose. I couldn’t focus on it, though, not with the terror in her eyes and the way she bolted out the door.
Wyatt walks in a few moments later, looking just as disheveled as Silas. God, we’re a mess. "Isaac was already asking for Amelia," Wyatt announces, heading straight for the refrigerator. "Wanted to know when Miss Sterling was coming back so he could show her his trucks. I think this might actually work."
He pulls out a container of leftovers from last night's takeout, then another, setting them on the counter with more force than necessary. Both Silas and I start to get up, reading the signs of an impending Wyatt lecture about taking care of ourselves, ready to escape before he can really get going. But Wyatt whirls around before we can make it out of our chairs, pointing at us with the kind of authority that makes it clear he's done playing around.
"Sit," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We're going to eat, like normal, healthy adults, and we're going to start doing better for our kids. We're going to hope that Amelia works out and we're going to figure all this shit out. But that starts with us actually having food in our stomachs."
His blue eyes blaze with a determination I haven't seen in months, something both reassuring and slightly terrifying about it. Wyatt's been the steady one, the one holding everythingtogether while Silas buried himself in work and I built walls around myself and pretended I was fine. But there's an edge to him right now, a barely contained frustration that says he's done watching us slowly destroy ourselves through neglect and grief.
I settle back into my chair, knowing better than to argue when Wyatt gets like this. Beside me, Silas does the same, though there's a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth underneath the exhaustion. We're both aware that we've pushed Wyatt too far and that we've been relying on him to be the functional one while we fell apart.
Wyatt starts pulling out plates from the cabinet before bringing them to the table. "We've got less than twenty-four hours before that woman is coming back," he continues, spooning food onto the plates. "And I don't want her to run off again. So figure out what you two need to do to pull yourselves together, and I'll clean up a bit so she's not walking into a fucking pigsty."
The observation is fair, even if it stings. The house isn't a complete disaster, but it's not great either. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, an abnormal response to the whole situation. By Wyatt's drill sergeant routine, by the absurdity of three grown Alphas needing to be ordered to eat and clean like we're children instead of functioning adults. "Yessir." I throw him a horrible salute, maintaining a crooked grin.
Silas snorts into his beer, the sound somewhere between amusement and agreement, Wyatt's stern expression cracking just slightly. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips despite his obvious frustration, some of the tension in the room easing just a fraction.
We’ll get there.
Amelia
Dylan's truck pulls up to the Kane house at exactly six forty-five in the morning, fifteen minutes earlier than necessary because I made him leave early. I couldn't risk being late or give them any reason to doubt me after yesterday's disaster.
I blow out a little breath, trying to clear my head of any thoughts of Vincent. Because the Alphas in there aren’t him and they’re Dylan’s friends. Which means I can trust them.
"You've got this," Dylan says, putting the truck in park and turning to look at me. His expression is encouraging butworried, the way it's been since he picked me up off that street corner yesterday. "Just take it one hour at a time, okay? If you need me, I'm one call away."
"I know." I check my phone one more time, even though I've already checked it three times in the last ten minutes. No messages. No missed calls. No Vincent. Just silence. "Thank you for the ride."
"Anytime, sis." He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. "Now go show them what an amazing nanny you are."
I snort as I climb out of the truck, knowing full well that Dylan knows nothing of my kid-caring abilities outside of my job at the school. But he’s right. I can be amazing. Before my nerves can talk me out of it, I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder and head up the walkway.
This morning I was meticulous with my routine. Three alarms to make sure I woke up on time. Two applications of scent-blocking cream, so thick over my glands that I had to blend it carefully to keep it from looking obvious. The jar is in my bag just in case I need to reapply throughout the day. I'm not taking any chances.
