Page 97 of Knot Your Baby

“Hey, that’s our secret.” I tap his leg. “Don’t tell anymore or I’ll start reading medical romance.”

“You might have to. I’m leaving the fire service.”

I stare at Zane, mouth open, shocked. “Really? That’s—”

“Fucking amazing,” Thorne finishes. And then turns to me. “Now please tell us you’re staying?”

“You really want me to?” I ask, surprised.

“We’d prefer you to stay than Thorne, if we have to choose,” Miller says.

“Hey!” Thorne protests, but he’s grinning. “Yeah, I suppose I deserved that.”

“You’re not wrong,” I challenge, lifting an eyebrow. But this feels so right, and for a moment I forget the complex history between us.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and I store the observation away like something precious.

This version of Thorne is relaxed, playful, open and is one I never thought I’d see, let alone directed at me. “I’d like to talk to you later. Explain a few things about my actions,” he says.

“Okay. Me too.”

Stone stirs in his bassinet, making tiny mewling noises that will soon become full-fledged demands. I reach for him automatically, but Thorne is faster, lifting our son with a gentleness that makes my heart clench.

“I’ve got him,” he says, cradling Stone against his broad chest. “Finish your lunch.”

I eat my food and watch Thorne with Stone. The sight of them together causes an ache of longing so intense I have to look away.

“Freya.” His voice draws my eyes back to him, but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by Miller appearing at the balcony doors.

“He’s here,” Miller announces, his expression carefully neutral.

Thorne nods, passing Stone back to me. “Will you take him upstairs for his nap? This won’t take long.”

“Who’s here?” I ask, anxiety immediately spiking.

“Patrick O’Hearn,” Thorne says, and the name sends ice through my veins. “The man who believes our son is his.”

Stone finally settles in his crib after feeding and bathing. I dressed him in pajamas before tucking a blanket around him, staring at his perfect little fingers, the cuteness of his chubby cheeks. Knowing the dark hair comes from Thorne, and his rosebud lips come from me. The thought of O'Hearn claiming him makes my omega want to claw out his eyes.

I should stay in my room, try to rest while Stone sleeps. That would be the sensible thing to do. But nothing about my life is sensible lately and knowing that Patrick O’Hearn is downstairs. A man I should have shared my heat with and whose life I unwittingly tangled with mine makes rest impossible.

Before I can second-guess myself, I slip into the hallway and move silently toward the stairs. Voices drift up from Thorne’s office, and I follow them, careful to stay out of sight.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” O’Hearn demands.

“Not suggesting. I know your omega was not Freya Rose, just someone claiming to be,” Thorne says, his voice controlled but with an edge I recognize.

A pause. “But I was notified by the clinic that she had my child. Here… Look.”

“He is my child, Mr. O’Hearn. Our son is not your baby.” Our son. Thorne’s words land heavy.

“The documentation is quite clear, Mr. O’Hearn.” Miller’s clinical tone carries through the partially open door. “The DNA profile matches Mr. Stone, not you.”

“That’s impossible.” O’Hearn’s voice is strained, frustrated. “I have confirmation from the clinic. I took Miss Rose through her heat.”

“Your booking was used,” Zane corrects. “But not for the omega that you think. Someone is trying to make you believe it, though.”

I edge closer, heart pounding against my ribs.

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