I watched until he was completely out of sight, then got in my car. I had alotto process—more than could be done in a single day, or even a week.
But at the same time, I wanted to update Ben, so I pulled out my phone to make an important call.
SIXTEEN
BEN
Look Who’s Coming to Dinner
Giselle was coming to dinner.
Giselle was coming to dinner!
After everything that had happened, I was certain I’d never hear from her again, despite her comment about a second date.
Her whole demeanor had confused me. She’d smelled like she was in crisis, and her heart had thudded so loudly that it made it hard to catch what she was saying.
And yet she’d sat on my kitchen floor with me, talking just as soothingly as she had in the car. If it weren’t for the fact that other people had interacted with her in front of me, I would have thought I’d hallucinated her because she was so perfect.
It wasn’t healthy to put people on pedestals, but I wasn’t doing that. In fact, I had reasonable expectations for how a human should react to everything that had happened, but Giselle kept defying them at every turn. There she’d been, a human woman alone with a wolf shifter twice her size, and she’d offered me comfort.
It made sense that she was extra cautious about placating me before she left. Tons of women had to play it safe that way. I had been so sure that was why she’d been so nice, that I’d sent her a text the next morning, thinking it would give her an opportunity to let me down gently while feeling a whole lot safer in her own territory. Had I been surprised when she didn’t do that? Of course, but I figured that maybe she was going the ghosting route, so I resolved to let her be the next one to text—if we ever texted again at all.
So, the last thing I was expecting was for her to call me on Monday, her tone serious.
For the umpteenth time, what I expected to happen didnothappen. She told me the man who’d kidnapped her had shown up at her school.
“Here’s the basil you asked for, Daddy.”
I broke myself out of my contemplation to take the green leaves my son had collected from the window planter we had outside the kitchen, and although it was quite different from the sprawling garden my wife used to plant, it was a wonderful little reminder of her. Besides, I couldn’t make the pesto without it. While half of what I was using was store-bought, it always made a difference to have the fresh stuff.
“Thank you, Junior. I meanBenny.” I winced slightly. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry. I know you’re trying.”
“I am, buddy. Thanks for recognizing that.”
Suddenly, his little arms wrapped around my hips. “You’re always trying, Daddy. And I always see that.”
Fuck.
Kids really said the darndest things, didn’t they? I put everything down and picked up my kid, nearly crushing him with a hug.
“Ah, Dad! Too tight, too tight!” He laughed in that special way that vanished once kids became preteens.
“Sorry,” I said, putting him down and patting his head. “Hey, what do?—”
“Haggies?”
That question came from the entrance of the kitchen, where Veronica was standing on shaky legs with Natalie by her side. She had a few developmental delays, so she’d only started standing and walking a couple of months earlier, but her doctor said that wasn’t too concerning after the trauma that happened in her infancy.
I hadn’t realized it would affect her physically. She was only nine months old when all of it went down, as opposed to Benny nearly being five, but the way the doctor had explained it, some part of her knew she’d had a loving mother and then suddenly didn’t. She went from being breastfed by a shifter to having human formula in the six weeks it took me to find a wolf wet nurse for her.
Well, forNatalieto find a wet nurse. I was still ashamed to this day that I’d dropped the ball and hadn’t made sure Veronica’s every need was met before going off on my vengeance quest, and I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her. Because although she hadn’t started out as my daughter, now, she was as much my child as Benny was.
“You want huggies?” I asked, opening my arms. Although I didn’t correct her implicitly—who the hell corrected a baby?—I repeated whatever she said back to her like she hadn’t said it with a toddler accent. It was what her speech therapist said to do, and it had worked wonders so far.
“Haggies!”
