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But just because she’s never been wrong before doesn’t mean that she’s incapable of error. Maybe I can be the first to prove it.

I just can’t believe that Alina would ever be able to ruin me.

I head inside the cabin, hoping to shower and change my clothes after the fitful sleepover I had in Alina’s driveway. With any luck, neither Cal nor my father will notice that I stopped by before heading back to West Pond.

Not that I’m trying to hide anything from them. I’ll tell them about Alina and Noah, eventually. I just need time. I need a chance to get to know my son first. I need to figure out how to convince Alina to bring him back to the Greenbriars.

I need to account for all my past mistakes.

What had gone through Alina’s mind when she discovered she was pregnant? Was she alone? Did she not understand at first? Was she ill? Was she terrified? Did she consider finding someone to help her terminate the pregnancy?

A thousand questions slice through me like thrown daggers. I know Alina probably won’t want to talk about any of that with me, but I want to understand what she endured because of what I did to her. It’s what I deserve. I failed her. I stopped looking for her. I stopped caring about anything other than the title looming over my head. I stoppedhoping that I could ever be happy without a Mate and resigned myself to a life of dull, vaguely unsatisfying contentment. It was better than being ruined, I suppose.

Lost in thought, I shower quickly and then dig through my closet for something to wear. I’m a practical man, and my wardrobe proves it. Most days, I opt for jeans and a T-shirt. They’re easy to shuck off if I need or want to shift into my wolf form.

But what does one wear to meet his son for the first time?

Not that it really matters. Noah has already seen me. He already knows what I look like. And anyway, he’s a nine-year-old boy. I doubt he’ll care if his father has halfway decent style.

I opt for plain black jeans and a black tee, then grab a neutral gray flannel to cover up against the slight pre-spring chill in the air.

Half an hour later, I’m hopping back into the truck and pulling onto the road back to West Pond. In just a couple of hours, I’ll get to speak to the child I created with the woman that I might have loved, if I’d ever been given the chance to do anything but push her away.

Alina is behind the bar when I step into The Diner. It’s afternoon now, and I’ve managed to kill enough time so that I didn’t go crazy before Noah’s school day ended.

Several heads turn in my direction upon my entrance. I doubt Henry Whiterose will have a problem with me sticking around in his territory, considering who Alina and Noah are to me, but I straighten my spine and stare down anyone who dares to let their gaze linger too long.

“Hey,” I greet Alina as I approach the bar.

She looks unreasonably pretty. Her blonde hair is a tangled mess, gathered on top of her head in a bun from which several golden strands are attempting to escape. It’s cute, especially because the idea of someone with her ferocity being cute is preposterous.

I shake those thoughts from my mind, though.

Alina is wiping down the bar, but she pauses and purses her lipswhen she hears my voice. It’s a performance. She would have scented me the moment I walked into the building.

“Give me a minute,” she mutters.

No hello, Rowan. No hi, how are you? That’s fine.

My son is already here. He’s sitting in a booth at the back of the space, skinny knees pulled up to his chest while he reads another comic book. I want to go to him, but I also don’t want to startle him. He seems a little…delicate.

Then again, I didn’t really grow into myself until I hit puberty and had my first shift. I just hope the kids at school aren’t teasing him for it like they teased me. Even the thought of it causes irritation to trickle down my spine.

I remain as patient as possible as Alina tosses the rag she was using over her shoulder and then takes her sweet time coming around to the other side of the bar. She stands in front of me, arms crossed, and tosses a glance over her shoulder in Noah’s direction.

“On the ride to school, I asked him if he wanted to know who his father was,” she begins, eyes cold despite the softness in her tone. “He said yes, so I told him. I explained that it was you, and that’s why you came to the house yesterday. And this morning.”

“I hope you also told him that the reason I haven’t been a part of his life yet is because I didn’t know he existed.”

Alina looks as if she’d like to slam my skull into the oak bar top.

“Yes,” she grinds out. “And then I asked him if he’d be interested in meeting you. He told me that he wanted to take the day to think about it first.”

I swallow hard. “I see.”

For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that my son wouldn’t want to get to know me. I knew that Alina didn’t want us to meet, but I figured any child would leap at the chance to know their father.

I guess I forgot that Noah is just as much Alina’s child as he is mine, and she’s stubborn as hell.