Jesus Christ.
I rip my phone out of my back pocket and search for baby gates. We’re going to need three, and they have to be heavy-duty enough to keep a toddler from trying to climb over them.
How the hell did my dads keep three kids alive in this house? Ehh, the nannies and our mothers were to thank for that, I’m sure.
I order the hardware and the gates, dropping my phone on the carpet next to me.
I haven’t seen a soul for hours.
Patrick possibly called it a night, but I have no idea where Cormac is. He has to be responsible for the Christmas decorations. With the holiday coming up, it was a nice touch.
We had no intention of celebrating. With just the three of us, there was no reason to. Well, not outside of a quickMerry Christmasand the kitchen staff preparing a nice dinner.
We occasionally exchange gifts, but I’m sure if Charlotte and Lukas stick around through the holiday, we’ll have to adjust how we handle things.
Some type of noise filters through the door and out to me, making my head tilt as I listen even more intently. It almost sounds like crying or possibly the boy is awake and talking.
Shit.
Poor Charlotte.
She was exhausted, and it hasn’t been more than three or four hours since she fell asleep. There’s no way she’s had enough rest to wake up and tackle the day.
The noise continues, and I push off the floor, taking the few steps to the door. Plastering my face to it, I try to make out what’s happening.
I can’t decipher if Charlotte is crying or maybe the kid is awake and scared because it’s an unfamiliar environment. It’s not like my big ass is going to offer him any comfort, but I could take him downstairs for breakfast so Charlotte could get another few hours of sleep.
Would that be kidnapping the kid?
Hell, we basically kidnapped both of them last night. She was so frazzled, there’s no way she was coherent enough to make the call to come willingly.
I told her to get in the car because she was coming with me…
Damn.
Did I kidnap the omega and her child?
Nah, that’s silly.
She camemostlywillingly.
The boy is passed out like a starfish across most of the bed when I finally pump myself up enough to check what’s happening.
Charlotte is facing away from the door in the fetal position on her side with her hands close to her chest. Her face contorts in her sleep, and she whimpers.
She must be having a nightmare, right?
I’m not sure seeing me when she wakes up will help a damn thing.
Cormac and Patrick are right.
I look like a damn mountain man with my shaggy hair and unkempt beard. I like my beard, though. It keeps my face warm in the frigid temperatures.
Watching her jolt around as she imagines something that frightens her doesn’t sit well with me.
I gently kneel on the edge of the bed and give her a tender shake.
Her eyes pop open, and she shrieks as she claws at my forearm. It sends a shiver down my spine. She’s terrified of someone; that much is plain to see.
