Page 52 of In Their Arms

Her mouth presses into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “And what if whatever you’re going to do instead is not enough?”

I exhale slow, shaking my head before I let out a low, humorless laugh. “Do you really think this is the only operation I have? I’m a versatile son of a bitch. If things don’t work here,” I say, stepping back, turning toward the door. “I just move on.”

And then I leave, because I don’t need them anymore.

33

Luca

The weekend rolls in with a kind of peace I haven't felt in years. The kind that sinks into my bones, soft and warm, like I actually belong here. Life with my mates has settled into something real, something I don’t have to question every second of the day.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not jumping out of my fucking skin.

We had to stop at the hospital again for another DNA test because, of course, the first one was inconclusive. Quentin said he’d try to get a sample of Hudson’s DNA to test against the Kellers’ for a more definitive answer, but it would take time.

And now that time is up.

Quentin called this morning, letting us know the tests are done, that he’s just waiting on the paperwork. That by the end of the day, we’ll know. And that means that every second until then feels like a goddamn eternity.

To celebrate—or maybe just to keep me from losing my mind—Luther promised a trip out to pick up new pillows and clothes. Something small, something normal. Something to start fully living in this house, this home.

So now, I’m sitting on Grayson’s lap at the kitchen table, scarfing down a bowl of cereal like I haven’t eaten in days.

Blake is across from me, watching with thinly veiled amusement as milk sloshes over the edge of the bowl, splattering onto the table. “You don’t have to race,” he teases, shaking his head, but his grin betrays him.

I look up, mouth still half-full, swallowing hard before grinning back at him. “But pillows,” I say, as if that explains everything.

Luther chuckles from his spot near the counter, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, eating faster isn’t going to make this next step go any faster.”

“I know,” I sigh, setting my spoon down with a clatter before leaning back into Grayson’s chest, letting the warmth of his body settle me for just a moment. “But I’m ready to start our forever. I want to hear that the baby isn’t Hudson’s. I want to hear that he’s locked away or some bullshit.” There’s a beat of silence, something tense creeping into the air, but I bulldoze through it, sitting up straighter, rubbing at my stomach. “He still hasn’t tried to contact us about the baby and I know he would know. Everyone at the station knows.”

And that’s the part I can’t figure out. Hudson isn’t the type to sit still, to let things play out without his interference. The fact that he hasn’t come knocking down our door yet? It makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t like.

Blake must see something on my face because his teasing grin softens into something else. “Maybe he knows it’s not his,” he offers, but there’s no real certainty in his voice.

Grayson hums low in his chest, his fingers tapping against my thigh. “Or maybe he’s planning something worse.”

Luther doesn’t say anything at first, just steps up beside me, warmth pressing against my side as he leans down, catching my chin between his fingers. He tilts my head up, pressing a slow kiss to my lips, licking away a drop of milk at the corner of my mouth before pulling back with a smirk. “Finished?” he asks, voice low and amused.

I grin up at him, lighter than I’ve felt all morning. “Finished.”

He chuckles, giving my thigh a quick squeeze before pulling away. “Alright then, let’s get this over with.”

I push off Grayson’s lap, my body buzzing with nervous energy, and immediately Blake is there, draping himself over my shoulders dramatically. “I still don’t think we should let you go out in public,” he says, half-joking, half-serious. “You’re dangerous when unsupervised.”

I snort, elbowing him lightly. “Says the man who can’t go five minutes without trying to climb into someone’s lap.”

Blake grins, unbothered. “I don’t see the problem.”

Luther sighs, shaking his head fondly before grabbing his keys. “Alright,children, let’s move.”

The ride to the station feels too quiet, even with Blake curled against me in the backseat, Luther gripping the wheel like he’s ready for a fight, and Grayson tapping his fingers against his thigh, his tension bleeding into the space around us. Maceo is a silent wall on my other side. I should be relieved. Quentin called, said the results were in. We’re about to find out the truth, about the baby, about whether Hudson has any legal hold left on me. But I can’t shake the unease curling in my stomach, my eyes darting to every car, every alley, waiting for him to appear.

By the time we pull up to the station, my skin is itching with anticipation. Ward meets us at the entrance, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different about him. Something lighter. He doesn’t waste time with small talk, just nods and leads us through the station. But instead of the usual interrogation rooms, we step into an actual office. It’s nice, larger than I expected, a dark wooden desk, two small couches, framed pictures on the walls.

We all settle onto the lounge, Blake pressing close against my side, Grayson and Luther bracketing us in, Maceo resting on the armrest beside Grayson. It’s not lost on me that they’re still shielding me, even here.

I glance around before raising a brow. “Why aren’t we in one of the other rooms?”

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