I longed to have him strip down so I could run my hands over his tattoo and maybe get a blow job, but he’d be late if I did. And he and Atticus were working on a project together. I didn’t want Atticus to be beating down our door and yelling for Phelan to get his dick out of my hole.
Oh gods, the term the big A flashed into my head. That was what Jack used to call Atticus when they were fucking. I closed my eyes and shook my head, willing it to vanish, never to return.
I was six weeks away from giving birth and still had my head in the sand regarding how the baby was getting from inside me to the outside world. Of course I understood the basics, but it was the agony that I was pretending wasn’t a thing. Phelan’s dad had told me once I had the baby in my arms, I’d forget the pain I endured.
Great.
But because neither my mate nor I wanted me to give birth in a hospital for humans—just in case anyone got furry—and there were no shifter-specific hospitals, we’d decided to use the infirmary for its original purpose. The living room furniture had been pushed aside, and my in-laws had purchased the necessary equipment on Mrs. Ardilla’s advice. Most shifters gave birth at home or with a healer. Phelan and his folks agreed we should do it here, but we’d have the equipment on standby.
I’d seen the list, which included a fetal heart monitor, an oxygen tank with a mask, an IV start kit and fluids, an infant warming station, clamps which looked scary, and an emergency to-go bag in case we had to be transported to a hospital.
Again, I avoided thinking about the consequences in case something went wrong. Phelan and I had debated about where I gave birth, but as shifters gave birth just with their mate, I figured we’d be okay.
The alarm went off, and I heaved myself up. Then minutes later after, brushing my teeth and changing my shirt, I logged onto the Sombertooth online classes. Channon was also in this literature class, but he refused to interact with me and kept his camera off.
My feet were swollen, and I had them up on a chair as I was asked a question about metaphor in a novel by a famousshifter author. I’d been aware of the author in high school, but not knowing shifters existed, I’d missed some of the hidden metaphors that only shifters picked up on.
I was able to answer about the line where the main character spoke of his family telling him as a child to take up less space. Originally I’d assumed this spoke of generational trauma. But now I was aware it referred to keeping yourself small and your beast hidden when around humans. It was so sad, and I thought back to Phelan talking about his childhood. But he, like many of his peers, spent most of his life in shifter environments thanks to the family’s status, connections, and most important to all, money. The lives of shifters with fewer advantages may have mirrored that line of text.
Later as I sat in bed and closed the laptop after completing my homework, I picked up the glass of juice beside me. I sniffed the orange liquid and studied a patch of sunlight on the floor. My mind went once again to that yellow door in the photo that had sparked a vague memory. But no matter how many times I clawed at the cobwebs and gauze in my head, they refused to reveal any more details.
Reaching out beside the bed, I grabbed the huge box of paperwork that we’d brought with us from Rawlins’s basement. It was the equivalent of a pirate’s treasure because each time I dived in, I’d find something interesting, though the more I covered, the more I questioned. I was still reeling that Rawlins had a sister I didn’t know about, one I'd known as a kid.
Hauling up a handful of papers, I placed them on my lap and divided them into piles of photos, documents, and letters. I should’ve gotten a filing system set up, but trying to balance classes and being in my third trimester, I was tired by seven in the evening, and the last thing I wanted to do was filing.
I came across another photo of me as a baby with Charlie, Arnie, and Rawlins, with our names scribbled on the back. The handwriting kinda looked like Rawlins’s, but it was a little faded.
“That looks like a family photo.” Phelan plopped onto the bed beside me.
He’d been harping on the idea that Charlie was my mom and had sent away my hair and Rawlins’s scarf, hoping enough DNA could be collected from the scarf. I was certain it would show him that we were not biologically related.
“Well, yeah, because Charlie was Rawlins’s sister and I was his godson, so we were family.” How I wished Charlie had stayed close by while I was growing up, because I’d looked at other kids with extended families and wished I’d had that. I couldn’t understand why she and Arnie had gone radio silent.
Not that Rawlins hadn’t filled my life with love. He had, and he was enough, but bringing me up was hard as a single parent, and it would have eased his burden if his sister and brother-in-law had stepped in to help.
I didn’t have to tell Phelan again that they weren’t Blakesleys, so no way were Charlie and Arnie my folks. It was funny that as soon as I learned she went by Charlie and not Charlotte, that was how I thought of her. Rawlins’s sister was a fun-loving Charlie and not a staid Charlotte.
“I know this handwriting.” Phelan had picked up a letter from the bottom of the pile, and I assumed he’d seen my godfather’s scribbles enough to recognize them.
“What does Rawlins say?”
“Nope.” He thrust the letter at me after reading it.
I stared at the words on the page. I was also familiar with the handwriting, but it wasn’t my godfather’s.
“Professor Shaw?” I scanned the letter which was addressed to Charlie. He’d been so curt and dismissive when I told him I knew who she was, and from what he’d said, I’d assumedhe loathed her because she’d ignored his advances. Oh shoot. Maybe he did, but not when he’d penned this note.
“Holy shit. The professor told Charlie she was his mate, and I quote, ‘You know we are meant to be together. It was why I befriended your brother, so I’d get to know you.’”
“So where does Arnie fit into this?” Phelan took the letter back and reread it. “So he’s the human my father heard about, or did Charlie mate Professor Shaw first and it all went south?”
I shrugged. I’d learned enough about shifters and fated mates, having been one myself—a mate, not a shifter—that I was surprised Charlie and the professor hadn’t mated based on this letter. Though it took Phelan a semester to recognize me as his mate.
“You’re the expert.”
“Unless they weren’t fated and either Professor Shaw or Charlie met ‘the one’ before she and the professor marked one another.”
I asked if the professor had ever been mated, and Phelan said he didn’t think so. He sent his father a text, and he replied,No.
