"We all do." Oakley slides the cookie sheet into the oven. "But he made his choice. He wanted to handle his family alone."
The words have weight. Implication. Because we all know why Dorian went alone—to protect us. To keep his parents from knowing about the pack, about me, about everything that would get him disowned like Julian.
My phone rings. Dad's ringtone—the old landline sound he insisted I use so he'd know it was him.
"I should take this," I say, already heading for my room.
"Tell him we say hi," Oakley calls after me.
I close my bedroom door and answer. "Hey, Dad."
"Vespera." His voice cracks slightly. "Jesus Christ, baby. You answered."
The raw relief in his voice makes my chest tight. "Of course I answered. Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you've been dodging my calls for two weeks." He's trying to sound casual, failing. "I was starting to think those Alphas had you locked in a basement somewhere."
"Dad—"
"I know, I know. You're fine. You're busy. School is demanding." He takes a breath. "But Vespera, I haven't seen you since May. Since before..." He trails off, can't finish the sentence.
Since before I was abducted. Since before everything changed.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I should have called more. Should have visited."
"Damn right you should have." But his voice is gentle. "I'm your father. I spent six weeks this summer not knowing if you were alive or dead. And then you came back claimed and bonded and you gave me a five-minute phone call explaining you were fine and I haven't seen you since."
The guilt is crushing. "I didn't want you to see me like that. All messed up and claimed and—"
"I don't care how messed up you are. You're my daughter." His voice breaks again. "I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay. That they weren't hurting you. That you were really you and not going through the motions."
I sink onto my bed, tears threatening. "I'm okay, Dad. I promise. The Alphas—they're trying. It's complicated, but they're not hurting me."
"Trying," he repeats. "That's a low bar, baby."
"I know. But it's better than it was." I wipe my eyes. "How are you? How's work?"
He sighs, and I can picture him in his tiny living room, probably still in his work clothes from whatever show he's stage managing. "Work's work. We're runningOur Townat the community theater. Simple show, good cast. Nothing like what you're doing."
"You're working shows. That's what matters."
"What matters is my daughter getting the opportunities she deserves." His pride bleeds through. "Made callbacks for Hedda, huh? Lead role?"
"How did you know that?"
"You think I don't keep tabs on the Northwood theater department website?" He laughs. "I check it every day. Saw the callback list this morning. First position, Vespera. First. You know what that means?"
"That I have a good shot at the role."
"It means you're the best actor in that program and everyone knows it." His voice goes fierce. "All those rich kids with their fancy training and private coaches, and my daughter—the girl who learned blocking by running tech for community theater—is listed first."
"Dad—"
"Don't 'Dad' me. I'm proud. I'm allowed to be proud." He pauses. "When's the showcase? I want to come see it."
My heart squeezes. "You don't have to—"
"The hell I don't. I haven't seen you perform since high school. Since before you became..." He stops himself. "Since before everything. I need to see you on that stage, baby. Need to know you're still you."
