Page 66 of Broken Pregnant Mate
“Aidan!” Oliver squeals, reaching out and trying to get a handful of my hair.
“Ah-ah,” I say, pulling back just in time to avoid it. “Not this time, kid.”
“See?” Dorian asks as he puts the car into drive and steers us out of town. “This is just training for when it’s your turn, kid.”
“Right,” I say, finding his eyes in the rearview. “That’s a cool new way to say,free babysitting.”
“How is he?” Emaline asks, after finding a position in the seat that’s comfortable for her. Dorian sighs, cutting his eyes toward my mate.
“He’s…well, I think he’s doing as well as he can be, given the circumstances.”
“Maybe I should offer help,” I say, but Dorian shakes his head right away.
“You know, Oren has his whole thing about doing it himself. Besides, you’ve got your life. Don’t go giving it up for someone else’s now.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Well,” Emaline says, drumming her fingers along the door and looking out at the changing landscape. “I hope this helps. A shared event seems like something that might bring the packs together.”
Dorian nods and glances into the backseat at his sons, who are both reaching for me.
“Yep,” he says. “Let’s just hope Grayhide festivals have chicken nuggets, or we’re going to have a real riot on our hands.”
***
The cactus festival is bustling with people, streaming around the booths and playing games. Oren finds us immediately, as though he has a special tracker for our group.
“Thank you for coming,” he says, and I reach out, punching him in the shoulder.
“Whoa, loosen up,” I say, glancing at Emin, who snickers. “You’re going to have a hernia if you keep standing like that.”
Oren sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and looks to Dorian, seeming ten years older than he actually is.
For a second, I feel guilty that I left all this to him—running off with my fiancée for a beach vacation while he stayed behind to deal with the wreckage. But, in all fairness, it’s a messhisfather caused, and a responsibility Oren wanted.
“Please,” Oren says, holding his hands out. “Enjoy the festival. Mingle. Repair decades of ill will between the two packs in just one weekend of games and food.”
Emin pats Oren on the shoulder when he passes by. “That’s the spirit.”
Oren insists he’s too busy to hang out with us and disappears. Veva hands the baby to Emin and loops her arm through Emaline’s, leading her off. Emin and I trail behind, watching our mates as they drift from booth to booth. Emin bounces their new baby boy, and Sarina stands beside her mother, asking a million questions about each cactus, about the climate, about what the plants are made from.
To our right, Dorian growls, “Boys! Get back here!”
Emin laughs, turning and calling, “Just wait until it’s five of them, Fields!”
Dorian glares at him, but doesn’t have time to fire back, because Noah and Oliver are running off.
In opposite directions.
“You should probably go help him,” Emin says, giving me a look.
“Watch my wife,” I say, sighing and peeling off to give Dorian a hand.
“You got it, kid.”
I follow Dorian, helping him wrangle his kids, getting them planted onto one of those little rides. We wait together at the side, leaning on the fence and watching them go around and around, their eyes lighting up each time they see us.
Like it always does, my mind goes back to Emaline—to the baby in her belly. Our kid is going to have this. Someonestanding at the fence, waiting for them, no matter where they’re at.
