I set my mug down. My hands were steady, but my chest felt hollowed out. “I’m not leaving,” I said. “Not unless he wants me gone. Or you do.”
Rawley turned around fully then, arms still folded. He studied me, and for a second I saw the kid he used to be, hiding bruises from his old man, daring the world to take a swing at him. “You know what happens now, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
He waited, as if testing to see if I’d flinch.
I didn’t. I just stood there, grounded in the kitchen, the sunrise slashing its way across the sink and the knot in my gut slowly, slowly unwinding.
Rawley’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “He’s your omega now, you know,” he said, low.
It hit harder than any punch.
I blinked, once, twice, then picked up my mug and took another swallow. “I know,” I said.
He looked away first, then busied himself with the percolator, as if it needed further tending. I let myself breathe, just a little, and listened to the sounds of the house—floorboards expanding, the fridge’s compressor rattling on, the muffled footsteps from the far hallway that told me Carter was up, or at least trying to be.
I finished my coffee, squared my shoulders again, and steeled myself for the next step. I had no illusions. The hard part wasn’t over. But it was morning, and I was still here.
For the first time in a long time, I wanted to stay.
Rawley didn’t move from his post at the counter when I took my first step inside. He poured the second mug of coffee, set it precisely on the battered wood, and didn’t look up when I claimed it. The air between us was thick with words that neither of us wanted to be the first to spill.
I drank. The coffee was scalding, dark enough to stain the inside of your mouth for a week.
Good.
I needed the pain.
Rawley’s voice came out flat, stripped of everything but the bones. “How long?”
The question was a grenade with the pin already pulled.
“Since that night in the barn.” I didn’t bother softening it. “I didn’t know until later. By then—”
He cut me off with a sharp gesture, a flick of the fingers like he was dismissing a bad hand at poker. “You could’ve called him. Written. Anything.”
He turned, leaning his hips against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were flint. “Instead you left him. Alone. He’s a fucking omega, Macon, not a goddamn Navy SEAL.”
I let the accusation hit me. I deserved it. “You think I don’t know that?” My voice sounded like gravel in my throat. “I thought if I left him alone, he’d have a chance at something better. Someone who didn’t come with a load of baggage.”
Rawley’s jaw flexed. “You don’t get to decide that for him.”
“I know.”
For a minute, the only sound was the tick of the wall clock and the slow, deliberate sips of coffee as we stared each other down across the gulf of the kitchen.
“You love him?” The question was a sucker punch, thrown soft but landing hard.
“Doesn’t matter if I do or not. He’s mine now. Family.”
He scoffed. “Don’t romanticize it. He’s always been an afterthought to the family. Even now, his own father—” Rawley’s voice broke, and he snapped his mouth shut, furious at himself for the show of emotion.
“He’s not an afterthought to me,” I said, low. “Never was.”
He studied me. “So what now? You just move in together and play house? Raise a kid together like nothing happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said, because it was the truth. “I’m making it up as I go.”
