Her parents offered for her to stay with them in Manhattan, but she insisted on staying at her condo in Forest Hills. Sloane had come by the first night a bottle of sparkling cider and ordered a ridiculous amount of takeout that required three delivery men, then they’d sat on the couch and talked about everything except Eli. Her father stopped by with groceries and spent twenty minutes rearranging her refrigerator without being asked. Arch sent flowers. Renée curated a Spotify playlist for her entitled “Songs for When Men Are Trash” that was four hours long. Her group chat with her other Lizzie and Charley—which had gone quiet since their last messages of support when Eli left—now lit up her notifications as they sent her funny memes and viral videos. Nobody mentioned Eli by name like it was some family agreement.
Her mother broke the streak on day three.
“I brought you ginger tea and prenatal vitamins,” her mother announced, marching into the apartment with two shopping bags. She had come with only a two-minute warning, texting Olivia that she was already downstairs in the lobby. “My baby. And my grandbaby.” Her face softened. “You’re carrying beautifully, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia took the bags from her and placed them on the counter.
She unpacked the bags which tea, vitamins, organic crackers, a cashmere throw blanket, and three onesies, one in pink, one in blue, and one gender-neutral yellow. “I couldn’t help myself,” she said when Olivia raised an eyebrow at the baby clothes. “So sue me.”
They made tea and settled on the couch. Luna tucked her feet under herself and studied Olivia over the rim of her mug.
“Your father wanted to come today, but he’s in meetings with the Alpha all afternoon.”
“That’s fine.”
“He’s worried about you. We all are.” Her mother took a sip. “And for what it’s worth, he’s furious. So is Arch.”
“At Eli?” His name felt alien on tongue. She couldn’t remember the last time she said it aloud.
“Who else?” She set her mug down. “Though I will say, your father and your brother are slightly less furious than I am, which is infuriating in itself.”
“Why less?”
Her mother rolled her eyes so hard Olivia thought they might get stuck. “Because they ‘understand’ his need to ‘protect’ you.” She put air quotes around both words. “Apparently, running off to fight your psychotic father alone is some kind of noble Lycan male instinct, and I should be more sympathetic to his ‘impossible position.’” More air quotes. “Your father actually said that to me. With a straight face.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that’s bullshit. And then I said men are idiots. And then I said if Eli Blake ever shows his face again, I’m going to smack him in the face so hard, he’ll see birds dancing around for weeks.” She picked up her mug again. “Your father didn’t argue with that last part.”
Olivia laughed. A real one.
They went to dinner at a small Italian place a few blocks from Olivia’s apartment. Her mother talked about a gallery opening she was curating and a new artist she’d discovered in Brooklyn, and for a couple of hours, Olivia felt close to normal. She ate an obscene amount of pasta, bread, and pizza, and her mother encouraged her, telling her stories of how much she ate back when she was pregnant.
They parted on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Her mother hugged her tight. “Call me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
“I mean it. Tomorrow. Not in three days.”
“Tomorrow, Mom. I promise.”
She watched her mother get into a cab, then turned and started walking home. The evening was mild and she wanted the air. Her apartment was only eight blocks away, and the streets were well-lit and busy enough that she wasn’t worried.
She was halfway down the block when someone bumped into her. A man, tall, wearing a baseball cap pulled low. He muttered an apology and kept moving, but something fell from his hand and clattered on the sidewalk near her feet. She bent to pick it up on instinct and that’s when the scent hit her. It was familiar, but at the same time, not.
Leather, rum-soaked oak barrels, and a touch of grass.
Her head snapped up. The man had stopped a few feet ahead, his back to her. He turned slowly and approached her. Evenunder the cap, she could see the resemblance — the jaw, the build, the way he held himself.
“It’s you,” she breathed.
Chapter 15
Eli had spent every single day of the last three months hunting down Garret. He reached out to everyone back in Boston who knew Garret, even those he knew would slam their doors on his face the moment Eli mentioned his name. He followed every clue, sniffed out every tiny bit of information he could get his hands on. He’d crisscrossed the northeast, through ghost towns and bustling cities, following leads that went cold within hours and rumors that evaporated the moment he got close enough to verify them. Still Garret McCall remained a ghost, at least to Eli.
His body was running on fumes, the dark circles under his eyes had become permanent fixtures. He ate when he remembered, slept wherever his body collapsed, and spent the rest of his waking hours in a state of misery. His inner wolf had stopped cooperating weeks ago. It lay inside him, ignoring him save for a few times it sneered at him with contempt. Every time Eli tried to engage it, the animal would snarl and retreat further into itself. Its message was clear:You left our mate. Fix it or I’m done with you.
He couldn’t fix it. Not while Garret was breathing oxygen. At least, that’s what he told himself. This was for the best anyway. This was the only way he could guarantee that Olivia and the baby would be safe. Before his thoughts could further spiral, he pushed them away. His wolf growled.
