“You came to my apartment?”
“Yes, I needed to make things right. But you weren’t there.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “I saw the pregnancy test on your bathroom counter.”
The room seems to tilt sideways as his words sink in. He knows. He’s known this whole time that I’m pregnant with his pack’s baby.
“You knew?” I whisper, feeling exposed, vulnerable. “This whole time, you knew I was pregnant?”
Kieran nods slowly. “I did. And I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you that I know, so we can talk about it, but you’ve barely spoken to me since the accident.”
I turn away, unable to look at him. Everything makes horrible sense now. His insistence on caring for me. His constant presence. His declarations of love. It’s not about me at all. It’s about the baby.
“I need a minute,” I choke out, feeling trapped, cornered.
Kieran rises immediately. “Of course. I’ll go. For what it’s worth, Francine, I wanted you to come back to me as my omega before I knew about the baby.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m alone with the revelation that’s turned my world upside down yet again. I press my hand to my stomach, tears blurring my vision.
I’m trapped now. Trapped by my broken body, by my pregnancy, by Kieran’s sudden change of heart. He’ll never let me go now that he knows I’m carrying his pack’s child. He’ll say all the right words, make all the right promises, but always, always, it will be about the baby. Not about me.
The pack house, once a dream come true, now feels like a gilded prison.
I know the truth now. It’s not me he wants. It’s his pup.
Thirty-Three
KIERAN
The numberson the spreadsheet blur before my eyes as rain pelts against the window of my office. I’ve been staring at the same cell for twenty minutes, unable to focus. I rake my fingers through my hair, exhausted from sleeping outside Francine’s door every night, listening to her soft breaths, making sure she’s safe while knowing I’m the reason she’s broken in the first place.
A flash of movement in the driveway catches my eye. Something unsteady, out of place in the downpour. I blink, focusing through the rain-streaked glass.
My heart stops.
Francine. On crutches.In the fucking rain.
Her red hair is already soaked, plastered against her skull as she struggles toward a yellow taxi waiting at the curb. She’s wearing a thin jacket, and her casts are covered in plastic bags secured with rubber bands to keep them from getting wet.
“No,” I whisper, then louder. “No!”
I’m moving before the word fully leaves my throat, nearly tearing the office door off its hinges as I sprint down the hallway. My feet pound against the hardwood floors, each step echoing the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat.
She can’t leave. Not like this.
I burst through the front door into the downpour, not bothering with a jacket. The cold rain immediately soaks through my thin dress shirt, but I barely feel it. All I can see is Francine, halfway down the drive now, moving with painfully slow determination toward that waiting taxi.
“Francine!” I call out, my voice cracking with desperation.
She freezes, her shoulders tensing. For a moment, she doesn’t turn around, and I think she might ignore me completely. Then, slowly, balancing precariously on her crutches, she pivots to face me.
The sight of her knocks the wind from my lungs. Her face is thinner than before, pale except for the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. But it’s the look in those green eyes that destroys me—wary, wounded, and so very tired.
“What are you doing?” I demand as I reach her, my breath coming in ragged pants. Water streams down my face, but I can’t tell if it’s rain or tears anymore. “You’re supposed to be resting. Your ribs aren’t…”
“I’m feeling a lot better,” she interrupts, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve stayed long enough. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Kieran.”
The formal politeness in her tone is worse than if she’d screamed at me.
“Stayed long enough?” I repeat incredulously. “You’re not a burden to me or my pack, Francine.”
