Page 35 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

It has always been like this. And like the fool I am, I thought maybe things had changed,Ihad changed…

I don’t know how long I stand there drowning in myself and silent tears. I just know that I don’t move until it is ages since I heard the last trace of the wolves leave me behind, and the sun is starting to properly rise.

My face feels tight from dried tears even after I wipe it aggressively on my sleeves, and I know I will probably look like a mess to anyone that sees me. But I’m already at rock bottom so far as they’re all concerned.

Weak, useless,rejectedentirely. Not even my own wolf wants me. All that’s left of her is a howling ghost haunting my bones and leaving me in perpetual pain.

So I’m going to put her, me,everyoneout of their misery.

I feel a certainty in my strides as I make my way back to the little guest house the Alpha put us up in. I knew the courtesy had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Thorn. He’s always been accepted in this world; he’s always been strong. He has always been in tune with his powerful and impressive wolf. When we were young, he got so much attention from the adults. In my pack, they admired him as a rising star of the young generation. In his pack, he was constantly being called uponby his Alpha even from an early age, clearly being trained as a prodigy of some kind.

He will never understand the hell that this whole werewolf world had put me through. He is meant to be here. I’m not. He made that clear himself.

I mount the stairs and head inside, already queuing up the words to tell Thorn that I’m calling the whole thing off.

But as I look to the kitchen, he’s already there.

The aroma of black coffee wafts through the air, and a savory scent from what looks to be breakfast freshly plated. On the table are two places fully set, each plate laden with slabs of bacon, scrambled eggs, toasted english muffins, and hashbrowns. A coffee pot sits on a quaint little pot holder to fill the mismatched mugs at each spot. Thorn himself is sat at one, though he’s scooted back. Rather than eating, he’s gently supporting Rowan on his lap, clearly in the middle of gently coaxing the baby to use a sippy cup. He’s in the middle of humming something I don’t recognize, but it has to be off-key; even though the pitch sounds off, the deep gravel of his voice soothes something all the way down to my marrow.

The little boy’s still too clumsy and small to properly hold the bottle himself quite yet, but one of Thorn’s massive hands so tenderly holds the back end to support the weight. He looks so attentive, clearly tuned in to every subtle cue from his son to make sure he’s safe and happy, taking the feeding at his own pace.

Rowan’s mouth distractedly laps around the little spout, though he loses his own focus to turn towards me and stare at me with those big green eyes.

Thorn’s head also shifts to look at me.

This life looks beautiful. It’s something I never thought I could have—and I know I don’treallyhave it, but just the illusion of it strikes me in my deepest wounds and fuels some foolish hope that maybe, justmaybe—

Only a monumental amount of willpower keeps me from breaking down into a sobbing mess right here. But instead, I just stand here, and a hushed anticipation takes over the room.

“Good morning,” he slowly greets me.

I clear my throat and nod.

“Yeah… Thank you. For breakfast.”

He nods back.

“Figured you’d be back soon. Either it’d be warm still, or I could heat it back up.”

I slowly pace over and hover near the table, and I know I look like some uncertain house guest or a cagey servant. But I can’t help it. I’m not at home here—I’ve never been at home anywhere, really.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You already thanked me.”

In spite of myself, I scoff, bitterly endeared to him even now. My heart had been hardened, battle-ready, when I’d walked in the door. And now I’m an addled mess, tangled between too many emotions and far too exhausted to face any of them.

I look down at the set of untouched identical meals and fend off the urge to cry again.

“I can feed him. You must be hungry—you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“Neither have you. So sit and eat.”

My body goes tense, and I’m locked up for a few awkward moments before he gives me a silent expectant stare and all of a sudden I’m sitting down as though on auto-pilot.

I force a careful breath out and go to pour myself some coffee without making it obvious my hands are shaking.

Things are quiet for a minute or so except for Rowan’s happy warbling and me carefully trying to negotiate my anxious body to eat some of this food Thorn had gone through the effort of making.

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