Page 21 of Three of a Kind

Every day that passes is another opportunity for her to meet a compatible pack or, God forbid, a scent match.

I lean over the table, giving Gunner my most intimidating look.

“Okay, so tell me again what she looked like,” I beg for the five hundredth time.

Dammit.

I was trying to demand answers.

Not beg for them.

“She was fine—a little tired, but she looked good. Even more beautiful than I remembered.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shrugging. “She was clearly exhausted and probably about to beat herself up pretty hard over the thing with her kid, but she was good.”

It’s hard to wrap my head around.

She was old enough to drink, based on the fact she was in the bar that night, but having a two-to-four-year-old kid?

I would have guessed she was in her early twenties, so I’m baffled how she’s old enough to be responsible for keeping another human being alive.

Most days, I stress about whether I’m reliable enough to keep up with Nova.

The good thing about the dogs is that, if we get busy, they’ll straight up bring their food bowls and drop them into our laps. They’ll also come over and nudge the shit out of your hand until you let them out when they need a bathroom break.

A toddler feels like a scary level of commitment, but I also haven’t looked twice at another woman since Brooklyn. That means I better get on board with a bonus human being and fast.

My impulses are one-hundred-percent convinced that Brooklyn is supposed to be mine.

I haven’t even tried to fight that decision, because I agree wholeheartedly.

It’s complicated when alpha and omega dynamics come into play.

There’s an all-consuming ache in my chest when I think about her and a throb in my cock when my mind replays her delicate, creamy apple pie scent.

But pursuing Brooklyn as our omega doesn’t just come with a commitment to take care of her. There’s now an additional unknown factor.

“You said her kid is old enough to talk?” I ask, wiping my sweaty palms off on my jeans. At the very least, I’m going to need her to be able to communicate.

“Yeah,” Gunner grunts. “Somewhere around three, if I had to guess. She’s verbal, but it’s still kind of a clusterfuck, because understanding her isn’t the easiest thing in the world.”

That sounds cuter than what he’s describing.

I’ve always wanted kids. Growing up as an only child, I knew I wanted my kids to have brothers and sisters to play with or to torment each other.

As far as I know, Gunner is neutral about the idea of kids of his own. He loves his nieces and nephews, but I don’t think he was planning on reproducing anytime soon.

Still, I don’t see it being a full stop.

If it was, he wouldn’t have come back that night and told me about finding her. He could have kept that information to himself if he wasn’t down for dealing with a kid.

It’s different for alphas.

We grow up knowing that we’ll end up in a pack. Some take precautions or use paternity tests for confirmation, but to me, even that seems unnecessary.

It’s all about a family bond, and DNA doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with that.

Gunner has daydreamed about finding Brooklyn just as much as I have these last few months. All that doesn’t just go out the window simply because she has a daughter.

My head flies up as Stacia slides in at my side.

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