My cheeks flush as my grin grows even wider.
“Thank you, Rage,” I say, reaching out and lacing our hands together.
His speech has gotten so much better, over the past three months. Reyna’s pack has built a new center, one for feral alphas, and they got a speech pathologist to help the alphas who have speech difficulties.
“Did you guys pull straws to see who would pick me up again?” I ask, giggling as we head to the car.
“Yes,” Rage nods, his lips quirking up in a small smile as he stares down at me. “I won.”
“I can see that.”
The pack and I decided that it would probably be best if only one of them came into the Omega Center to pick me up so the other girls aren’t overwhelmed.
“How was your day?” I ask, swinging our hands between us as we head to the parking lot.
“Good. Learned about taxes.”
“Taxes? Cool!”
I get the impression most people hate stuff like taxes. But I think for us, especially Rage and I who didn’t have a chance to learn very much of anything during our formative years, learninganythingis a blessing.
“Hi everyone!” I say as Rage opens the door for me.
“Hey, Sugar,” Griffin says, turning around in the driver’s seat to offer me a toothy grin.
“Come ‘ere,” Ash grumbles, tugging me immediately into his arms. His nose runs up along the column of my neck, scent marking me.
“Hi, Ash.” I run my hands through his close-cropped hair.
“You ready for dinner, Sugar?” Rowan asks from the front passenger’s seat.
I scoot into the car, sandwiched between Ash and Rage.
“Totally!” I lean forward and press a soft kiss to Rowan’s lips.
His lips split into a grin the moment I pull away.
“Your dad is coming, my mom too,” he says, settling back into his seat.
Family dinners have become a bit of a weekly tradition. It’s been wonderful.
Everything has been wonderful, really.
As we make the short drive to the assigned condo that’s quickly become our home, we blast the normal pop hits I’ve become fond of. We settle into a now familiar rhythm of all my guys practically fighting each other to take care of me.
Ash and Griffin man the grill outside while Rowan and I use the skills we learned in the cooking class we’ve been taking together to make all the sides. A whole thing of Mac and cheese, tons of mashed potatoes, and a huge salad.
The doorbell rings right as Rage is pouring out the pasta into the big colander in our sink.
“I will watch the food,” he says, nodding to Rowan and I. “Go say hi to your parents.”
That’s all the prompting I need before I’m flying towards the front door.
“Dad!” I say, throwing my arms around his shoulder.
“Mira!” He says, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me so my feet don’t touch the ground.
“How are you doing?” I ask, when he finally sets me down on my feet. “Oh wow, you look tired.”
