My mom is strong as hell.
But there was one time where I questioned the rumors. I was twelve. I asked my dad flat-out. I asked him who’s my biological father—and he said,me.Unequivocally, wholeheartedly.Me.
I believe my dad. I’ve seen the DNA tests, and they confirm that I’m Loren Hale’s son. We’ve even publicized the DNA tests.
People don’t like to believe facts. They want to believe the most salacious story. The one that makes you keep flipping the pages.
That story isn’t always the truth.
I like the narrative where my mom and dad helped each other battle their addictions. Two addicts who used to enable one another were able to pull through together and become sober and healthy. I like my reality. My real-life parents. Who possess an unconscionable amount of strength that most people will never know and never see.
They’re my heroes.
And I’m damn proud to be their son.
Recently those paternity rumors have been running rampantagain. I want the world to know that I’m proud to be the son of Loren Hale. I want to honor my dad, and I have no idea how to do that other than to look more like him. So I dye my hair.
I need you all to know that I love him.
So damn much.
“We’ve got tacos!” My dad barges into the office, his light brown hair artfully styled. His daggered amber eyes rarely lose that edge, just like his voice and his jaw, but there’s something so human and warm about my dad.
It’s his love of the people around him.
His love for his wife and children.
His love for me. It’s more powerful than anything I’ve ever known.
Ryke enters the office behind my dad, the walls frosted for privacy. He shuts the door—I jolt as a foiled taco lands on my lap.
My dad towers nearby, his face scrunched at me. “You look a little pissy. What’d I miss?”
I gesture from me to Connor. “We were talking about how Uncle Ryke was pretty upset over theCelebrity Crushissue this morning.” I start peeling the taco foil, and I look up as my dad and Ryke turn to Connor. The source of the info.
Ryke glowers.
My dad’s jaw sharpens. Not happy that Connor fed my frustration over Ryke and my mom’s friendship.
Connor stares at me. Only me. “Context is really a beautiful thing, Moffy. Let’s try not to lose that.” To my dad, he says, “I was making a point that was lost in translation. And to be clear, it was poorly translated by your son.”
It’s true, and as my smile forms, my dad sinks on the couch beside me. Ryke takes the chair next to Connor. And they pass around food.
I look between the three of them. “Is anyone going to mention how that photograph was takeninthe neighborhood?”
My dad and my mom were in the backyard.Theirbackyard. In the same gated neighborhood with twenty-four hour security. How Alpha let a photographer capture a shot of my parents from who-knows-where—I have no idea.
What if paparazzi are in the trees? What if they hired one of the neighbors to spy?
It’s not okay.
“We’re looking into it,” my dad says, sifting through his paper bag of food. Off my stern expression, he adds, “Don’t worry about it, Moffy.”
“How can I not worry about it?” I point at him with my chicken taco. “Luna, Xander, and Kinney live there and someone is taking pictures of the house.”
“I’m sorry, did you lose your name badge?” Sarcasm thick, he pretends to scan my red crewneck for the nonexistent badge. “Because…I don’t think it saysDadon your shirt.” He pats my shoulder lightly. “Pretty sure that’s my job, bud.”
“It saysBig Brotheron my forehead.” I must’ve jabbed my taco towards him.
