Page 16 of Pack Plus Three

“Daisy—”

“Down!” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the dining chair, a scowl firmly on her face. “Where is your first aid kit?” she asked.

“Under the sink. But let me get it, you shouldn’t be?—”

“Sit your fucking ass down, Jeremy,” she snarled.

My eyes widened as my ass plopped down on the chair. She was so pissed at me she was actually cursing. Daisy disappeared behind the counter, muttering under her breath as she rummaged through my cabinet for a few minutes before resurfacing, first aid kit in hand. Stomping over to me, she started going through the kit, pulling out an antiseptic wipe and ripping it open with a grumble.

“You should sit down. Stress isn’t good for the baby,” I tried to reason.

A sharp, stinging sensation exploded across the back of my skull as Daisy clipped me round the back of the head in an almost skillful move. “Shut up. Let me fix this. Don’t you dare comment on my stress levels, or I’ll just get more stressed!” Her voice took on a shrill tone.

“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender.

Grabbing my chin with one hand, she delicately dabbed at my eyebrow. It stung—antiseptic always did—but I kept my face calm and even. When her hand reached for a butterfly bandage, I resisted the urge to tell her she was overreacting.I had a distinct feeling that wouldn’t work out for me.

“How did this happen?” she asked, pulling back to inspect her work.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted, gently grabbing her wrist that was reached out to me. Her skin was so soft; I wanted to taste it, but it hardly seemed like an ideal moment.

“Why won’t you tell me? Are you a criminal?” Her face paled. “Jeremy, if you’re into some iffy stuff, I can’t be spending time with you. I’m about to have a baby! I refuse to bring a baby around that stuff!” Her breathing was increasing, and she tried to take a step back, but I was still holding on to her wrist.

Panic gripped me. I couldn’t let her leave—she was mine, whether she realized it or not. She was retreating, and I couldn’t have that. Fear and panic weren’t good for her or the baby. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to make the situation right, to soothe the omega.

“Hey.” Standing up, I pulled her closer to me, my hands gently gripping her upper arms. “I’m not a criminal, okay? I’m a hockey player,”

Daisy stilled, looking up at me with wide eyes. “A-a hockey player?” she asked, confused.

“Yeah. There was a little scuffle during the game. It’s normal.”

Her brows were pinched. Did she believe me? I wasn’t going to let her think I was a criminal—no way in hell. I would happily explain every little part of my life to her if it made her feel better.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I’m, uh... I’m quite well known. I hate it. I hate the sport, but I’m good at it, so I do it for my pack. I’m in the NHL.”

Daisy bit her lip. “I can’t say I know much about hockey, but even I know what the NHL is. Are you even a contractor?”

“I am!” I nodded eagerly. “It’s only part time, but it’s what I want to do full time more than anything.” She swayed slightly as I spoke. “How about you sit down while we talk? I’ve got spicy peanut noodles I can make.”

“It’s nearly midnight,” Daisy said, confused. “Do you really eat at this time?”

I shrugged. “I eat when I’m hungry. Have you managed to eat anything today?” I asked pointedly. I could see clearly from the pale color of her face that she hadn’t. Daisy’s face was so expressive—it was one of the things I adored about her. “I’ll make you some. Spicy Asian food seems to be all your stomach can cope with right now.”

“You can’t keep feeding me,” Daisy grumbled.

“Watch me,” I said, leading her towards the kitchen. She headed for the breakfast bar, but I’d decided a few days ago that the bar stools weren’t good enough for her. She deserved to be comfy and refused to wait on the sofa while I cooked. She insisted on being with me, and I loved the company, so I was inclined to agree.

So, the only solution had been to buy one of those big, overly stuffed armchairs and place it in the corner of my kitchen. It had been delivered just yesterday, and Daisy hadn’t seen it yet. It was a deep emerald green—I had picked that color because, thanks to her glorious red hair, she looked stunning in green. She looked lovely all the time, but green just hit differently. I had also taken the liberty of adding a throw pillow and a cream blanket that was stupidly soft.

It was a throne for a queen.

“What is that?” Daisy asked with a frown when I turned her to look at it.

“You’re heavily pregnant, so there’s no way in hell I’m letting you sit on those bar stools—they’ll destroy your back. This is your seat while I’m cooking.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and my heart stuttered. Had I fucked up? Oh no. Shit.

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