Page 70 of Forget

Looking down at Benji, I think about what she’s not saying before glancing back up at her.

“I had him in my arms,” Meghan whispers. “I turned my body so Ian wouldn’t be able to touch him, and pulled him close when Ian started kicking me. My cousin broke open the back door and knocked Ian out before picking me up and getting Benji and I out of there.”

“And your pack?” I growl. I’m already wondering if it would be unacceptable for me to call my father about this. Meghan’s pack should never be allowed to be able to have access to her or Benji again.

“Dead,” she rasps. “I know I shouldn’t be happy about that?—”

“I’m ecstatic,” I mutter. “Your cousin is a damn hero. I was already trying to figure out if it would be overstepping if I asked my father to help make sure they died really terrible deaths.”

“Who’s your father?” Meghan asks, looking slightly amused, despite the tears on her cheeks. The bruises and broken ribs she came in with are healed now, but she wasn’t ready to talk about what happened before.

The memories were too recent, and I respect that.

“Cian Sullivan,” I say softly, waiting for the response most people give me when I tell them.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” Meghan says with wide eyes. “That man is scary. Our families have been in each other’s orbits for years, but I’ve been gone for a while.”

“Well, welcome back,” I say with a smile. “We have a computer lab here in the outreach center where you can look up scholarships. Do you want to stay here in Minnesota?”

“I do,” she says, glancing at her now sleeping son. Benji curled right up against me and passed out. “You have a gift with children, Aisling. He’s been having a hard time since we’ve been here the last month and a half. He keeps asking about his daddies.”

That’s the hardest part. Explaining that they wouldn’t be coming back, and eventually discussing with him that they weren’t good men.

“I haven’t spent much time with children before this,” I tell her. “I’m actually an only child. Benji is just so sweet.”

“He is,” she says gratefully. “I feel like a failure for fucking things up so badly. I was promised the moon, and should have known I wouldn’t get it.”

Thinking, I shake my head. “I think they were the wrong people, rather than a failed experience. They gave you Benji,” I remind her. “My best friend has a pack who adores both their omegas. Their beginning was bumpy, but they figured it out. Have you come to one of our group sessions yet?”

I know for a fact that she hasn’t, but I leave the ball in her court.

“I’m not really a sharer, and it’s right during his bedtime,” she says, wincing at the paper thin excuse.

“You don’t have to say a word,” I promise her. “Sometimes it helps to listen to what others have gone through. There’s awoman who has a similar experience that attends group. I’ll also hang out with Benji. If it’s his bedtime anyway, he’ll probably curl up and fall asleep either way.”

Olivia Quinn’s story is intense, and while she tends to listen more than share, she will when she thinks it’ll help someone else. Unfortunately, abuse happens more than people talk about in packs.

The fact that they forced their bites on Olivia is despicable.

I don’t think Meghan’s pack were her scent matches based on how little she misses them, which is good. It’ll still be a lot of trauma to wade through though.

“You’d do that?” she asks hesitantly. I get it, because it’s really hard to accept help when you haven’t had any in years.

“Absolutely. Let’s get a small Pack ‘n Play set up, so you can get a little work done while he’s asleep,” I tell her. “I need to get a small daycare put together, as well for people who want to start looking for work.”

“Excuse me,” a girl says, biting her lip as she comes up. Her name is Falicia, and she’s been at the shelter for a month. Her stepfather was abusive, but her mother believed it was a boyfriend.

Falicia came home from college after graduating, and her stepfather beat the hell out of her after she found her mother killed on the kitchen floor. The stepfather is in jail, but she had nowhere to stay when the state seized the house.

God, I hate the way the world works.

“Hey, Falicia,” I say brightly with a smile. “What’s up?”

“I overheard you talking,” she says apologetically. “I’m currently looking for preschool teaching jobs, but graduated with a degree in childhood development and education. Can I help with the daycare?”

“That would be amazing,” I tell her with a nod. Meghan looks like she might faint as she glances between us, overwhelmedwith gratitude. This is what my dream looks like. I may be putting the cornerstones together, but people pulling together is what will help my dream continue to grow.

“I’m going to see if anyone else wants to help, and put together a tentative schedule,” Falicia says before running off.

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