Page 32 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
Mostly because of Lola.
She was nothing like he’d expected a nanny to be. Then again, she’d never really claimed to be one. She was still awkward, still prone to talking in anxious little rambles when she got flustered.. Still blushed every time he walked out of the shower without a shirt, even though she tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed.
But when it came to Sam, she was steady. Caring. Warm.
That’s what he’d named his baby. Samuel. It seemed like a good name. A solid name.
When he had told Lola, she had nodded once with definite approval, and even though he knew he shouldn’t care what she thought…how could he not?
She talked to the baby like he was the only thing in the world worth talking to, read him stories with all the serious focus she gave to her research, sang lullabies under her breath while she rocked him, even when she was exhausted and her voice cracked.
And Sam, hisson, lit up whenever she entered the room.
Dane should’ve felt threatened by that.
Instead, he just felt…grateful. And completely, utterly overwhelmed.
He blew out a breath and kicked open the back door of the Pine Shadow Club, wincing as his shoulder clipped the frame. His shirt was torn, there was dried blood on the side of his neck, and his hands were sore from where he’d caught the pavement mid-roll.
The fight had been brief but messy—three teenage shifters, all alphas in the making, high on hormones and ego, deciding they didn’t have to wait until training hours to start swinging at each other.
He’d pulled them apart before anyone got seriously hurt, but it had taken all his restraint not to knock a few skulls together.
Now all he wanted was food, a shower, and eight minutes of silence before Sam inevitably woke up for his late feed.
The main floor of the club was quiet in an early afternoon lull, with the bar wiped clean and chairs still tucked in. A few of the bar staff were behind the counter, prepping for the evening rush.
Dane headed toward the side hallway, intent on grabbing a clean shirt from his locker, when a voice stopped him.
“You look like shit.”
Dane turned.
Rick leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Dane gave a humorless snort. “Appreciate the concern.”
Rick’s gaze swept over him. “Run-in with trouble?”
“Some of the kids are getting into it. They’re all testosterone. Barely needed a shift to knock them out of it.”
“And yet you’re limping.”
Dane didn’t bother replying. He kept walking toward the hallway.
Rick fell into step beside him.
“How’s the kid?” he asked, voice casual.
Dane’s shoulders tightened. “Fine.”
“And Lola?”
That made Dane pause.
He glanced sideways. Rick wasn’t looking at him. Just walking, like this was small talk. But Dane knew better. Rick didn’t ask questions unless he already suspected the answers.
“She’s…good,” Dane said eventually, “better at this than I am.”
