Page 50

We got to the clearing a little after dusk. The long grass still held the heat of the day, and the big picnic tables were already laid out with food—crock pots plugged into portable batteries, salads in huge plastic bowls, drinks in coolers filled with ice, and more chips than the den needed for a year. Kids were pretending to be foxes and running on their hands and feet, looking nothing at all fox-like.

Wayne ran off without hesitation, shouting to his den mates about bubbles. Liz, tucked into her sling, let out a little sigh but didn’t fully wake. She was just over a year old now and getting heavy enough that I felt every ounce of her on my back and hips, especially carrying the extra weight of the pregnancy. She really needed to be in a stroller, but this was her favorite place, and I was never going to deny her that.

“Deviled eggs!” I turned just in time to see Booker peeling back the lid of the container I was still holding.

I smacked his hand. “Wait your turn.”

He stuck out his tongue, grinning. Booker and I had gotten close in that sibling-adjacent way where we could tease each other without it ever hitting a nerve. Sometimes we even teamed up to poke fun at Garner, which always made him roll his eyes, making it more fun.

After everyone had eaten and after Wayne had dramatically declared he didn’t like carrotsunlessthey were “the crunchy small ones,” I set up the bubble machine.

It was my secret weapon. A couple of the older kids helped by blowing their own to add to the mix while the little ones screamed and chased after them. It kept them distracted justlong enough for the omegas who wanted to shift without little hands clinging to them.

Garner came up behind me, brushing his hand over the small of my back. “You good?”

“Better than good.” I smiled up at him.

He kissed me quickly, then stepped back, his fingers already going to the hem of his shirt. I watched as he stripped down. They might have all been used to nudity, growing up in a den, but I wasn’t, and if I could see my sexy mate naked, I wasn’t going to waste the time ignoring it.

Then he shifted into his fox. Beautiful. Sleek. And adorable. All copper and white with piercing eyes that still somehow lookedlike himeven without the human shape. I never got tired of watching him take his beast and seeing the animal in him come forward.

He was Alpha of the den, and it showed. The others followed his lead, and he ran with purpose… just one loop around the clearing, a signal to start the hunt, a signal that everything was safe and they were ready.

Then, just like he always did when I was pregnant, once he led them into the woods, he returned to me.

He padded over to the edge of the blanket I’d laid out and settled beside me, tail curling around his feet. Liz, now awake, reached out and patted his head. She recognized her papa.

Wayne came over and plopped down with a juice box, pressing into my side. “That’s my papa,” he said proudly. “He’s my bestest fox.”

And honestly? Same, kid. Same.

We sat like that for a long time. Watching the stars come out. Listening to the laughter and the rustle of paws in the underbrush, only getting up to add more bubbles to the machine.

Garner eventually shifted back, pulling his jeans on and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I leaned into him.

“I don’t know how we’re gonna manage four babies,” I whispered.

“We will,” he said without hesitation. “We always do.”

I rested my hand on my belly, feeling the flutter of kicks just beneath the surface. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“You’re not the only one,” he murmured, kissing my temple.

And for a while, we just sat there, watching our den mates coming back and join their families.

This was what life was meant to be. Surrounded by pack, by laughter, by family. The deviled eggs were long gone. The juice boxes empty. Even the chips were in bellies. My feet were sore, and I was pretty sure I had mashed banana in my hair.

But my heart?

Full.

Overflowing.

The lady in the grocery store might not have understood, but I did. This was what life was all about.

Sometimes the wrong number is the exact one you need.

When my phone rings and I don’t recognize it, I ignore it. Full stop. Never once have I regretted that habit… until today.

The message left on my voicemail was a plea for help, his car stuck on a country road as the rain cascades down. He had meant to call a tow company, but got me instead. No big deal. I just need to call him back, right? Wrong?

Cell service dies one ring in and I’m left with one two choices: Hope they called someone else in the 20 seconds it took me to try and call them back or go and try to help them myself. I pick the latter.