Page 69 of Met Your Mate

He nods like he understands, and I believe him. "Are they treating you okay?"

I frown and cock my head. "Of course," I say, holding back a protective little growl that wants to threaten him for questioning my mates.

"I had to check. I meant no offense, promise."

I nod once, forgiving him but needing to draw the topic away from my mates. I don't know why, but I'm feeling damn protective of them, which is stupid because it's just Beckett. Yet, there's a tension between my guys and brother that sets me on edge.

"So… how long have you known you had a sister?"

"Oof, going for the big question, huh?"

I smirk, trying to act like I'm confident enough to hear his answer.

He concedes, "Alright." Settling back into the chair across from me, his eyes get a faraway look as he begins his story.

"Well, I was placed in a children's home before I went into foster care. There was a woman that was especially kind to me. She was my main caregiver in the busy building from infancy until I was six."

I'm so completely invested in his story that I don't realize I'm leaning so far forward I almost tumble off the couch.

A soft smile graces his elegant face. "She used to tell me stories of a boy who was separated at birth from his little sister, but not to fear because he would find her again one day. When I was old enough to ask her about the origin of the story, she snuck a picture to me one day of two tiny little babies."

I gasp. "Us?"

Beckett nods, leans forward, and pulls his wallet from his pocket. "I asked Remy to get my shit from my parent’s place. Thankfully, the big oaf didn't miss the most important thing."

Then he's handing me a small polaroid photo of two wrinkly babies. Tears fill my eyes knowing this was us.

"My caregiver knew our mom... our real mom. She told me how our mom always wanted two names for her children. Beckett and Blair."

I'm speechless. That's not my name.

In another life, I could have been happy and loved with a brother and a mom. I wonder what Blair would have been like.

Would she have my attitude or general anxiety to the world? Probably not. I bet she would have taken the reins of her life and lived it epically.

I may not be Blair, but I'm still only twenty years old. Maybe Blair would be off doing great things by now, but if I've learned anything living with my very positive mates for five days, is that there's still so much time to live an epic life.

Beckett continues, pulling me from my thoughts of what my life could have been. "Because girls are perceived as the easiest to raise and mold, our mother's sister only wanted to adopt you. We were separated shortly after that photo was taken. There was nobody left to raise me, and nobody chose to adopt me. My caretaker was too old to take on a child full time. So, I grew up in the system."

I frown. "But you just mentioned your parents."

He scowls, confusing me further. "Yeah. I caught the eye of a rich couple when I was a preteen in foster care. I was showing signs of aggression and dominance. Key traits for a budding alpha, and a wonderful investment opportunity for many people."

His words are bitter, much like the taste in my mouth. "That's why our aunt and uncle wanted me too," I whisper. "Status. Having a dainty omega is like having a chess piece."

"I'm sorry, Freya," Beckett says, choking a little. "I'm so sorry! I looked for you. For years. But nobody would help me. Your aunt and uncle were too fucking rich for a teenager like me to find or even contact."

"Beck, hey," I coo, moving forward and sitting on the coffee table between us. I take his hands in mine. "That wasn't your responsibility. I'm not your responsibility. There's nothing you need to apologize for."

"Of course you are! You're my sister, literally the person I was born into this life with. The one person I should have always been beside and instead you were ripped away from me by selfish pricks who didn't love you like I could."

"You were just a child," I whisper, wiping away his angry tears.

"I should have been able to find you, though. God, I even went to the OPS to help me when I was fifteen, but they brushed off my worries, saying if you were with family then they weren't needed."

"So that's why you have an issue with the OPS," Ronan interrupts, scaring me enough to squeak.

Beckett's on his feet in a flash, standing between me and my mate with a snarl curling his lips.

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