Page 78 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

I leaned over the console just enough that she could see me clearly. “He isn’t wrong.”

Her mouth trembled and for once, no joke came to save her.

“Nobody has ever called me perfect.” Then she stepped out of the car leaving Hudson with the scent of violet, blackberry, whiskey and rain, and a future we hadn’t yet been invited to enter.

Chapter 14

Mary

By the second day Lincoln and Hudson had called six times.

Not in a frantic way, which would have been easier to dismiss. Frantic men could be placed in a mental drawer marked ‘do not touch’.

Hudson called in the morning, once after lunch, and once in the evening. Each time, he left a short message.

“Mary, it’s Hudson. I hope you’re well. Call when you want to.”

“Mary, I won’t keep ringing if you tell me to stop. Until then, I need to know you’re safe.”

“Mary, Lincoln says to tell you he isn’t going to text too often. This is a lie.”

It was because Lincoln’s texts were worse, not in quality but in effect.

He sent practical things.

Have you eaten? Was the nausea better? Did I have ginger biscuits? Did I need him to send a particular brand? Did Maeve’s house have enough blankets? Did I know a lack of sleep could make sickness worse? Did I want more cake? Did I know he was aware I was rolling my eyes?

I rolled my eyes at that one so hard I nearly saw my own brain.

Then I saved every single message, which was pathetic but none of anyone’s business.

On the third morning, I sat cross-legged on the bed with my laptop open, pretending to listen to an online lecture about business ethics while reading Lincoln’s latest text for the fourth time.

Lincoln: Morning, love. Eat before tea if you can. Tea on an empty stomach can make sickness worse.

Lincoln: Hudson says that sounded bossy.

Lincoln: Hudson doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve got manuals.

The lecturer on my screen said something about stakeholder accountability.

I wrote in my notebook.

Stakeholders are people who text about ginger biscuits.

The bedroom door opened after one polite knock, which was Maeve’s way of pretending I had privacy before ignoring it and coming into my room, anyway.

She leaned against the doorframe with Mila on her hip and Mac half hiding behind her leg. Mila had jam on one cheek and a smile that had me hoping I had a smiley child.

“What’s happening?” Maeve asked.

I closed my laptop. “With capitalism?”

“With your alphas. Is your phone broken?”

“No, why?”

Mac peered around Maeve. “If it’s broken Gregor can fix things.”