Page 28

Chapter 28

Freya

After my talk with Thorne, the lunch table on the balcony feels like a scene from someone else’s life.

It’s too damn perfect.

And I haven’t told Thorne yet, but I won’t make this any harder than it has been.

He gave me the truth, the least I can do is accept it. And I’ll need his arms in the future to stir those eggs in for the gougères it turns out he loves.

Stone sleeps peacefully in a bassinet beside me. The warm air carries the scent of the ocean and my alphas. And across from me sits Zane and Miller, both watching Thorne with smiles as he bites into another gougère and makes sounds that should be confined to the bedroom.

“These are criminal,” he declares, reaching for a third. “How did you learn to make them like this?”

“You helped and my grandmother is French,” I explain, the words coming easier than they have in months. “She taught me everything I know about pastry. Said I had the touch. Probably why baking became my calling.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

The simple praise loosens something in my chest.

I turn to Miller, who winks at me, and Zane shuffles on his chair until he is sitting beside me. He gives my knee a squeeze.

“Does she still live in France?” Thorne groans as he picks up another gougère and pops it in his mouth.

My eyes pop open. He’s going to be sick. “Yes. I haven’t visited for four years. I really should, but—”

“We can take you,” Miller says. “I’d love to go to France.”

Oh my god, my heart is going to explode.

So, I tell them about my grandmother’s kitchen in Marseille, about the many summers I spent learning to fold laminated dough for croissants, about the way she could tell if butter was the right temperature just by its smell.

“My siblings loved to go to the beach. I loved being in her kitchen and learning. My twin, Freddie, loved to be my taste tester.” I blow out a breath as my eyes fill with tears. “I never talk about him.”

“Maybe you should,” Zane says, rubbing a hand over my spine.

I nod. “Anyway, my grandmother is the best pastry chef. She had so much patience with me–”

“She sounds remarkable,” Thorne says, pouring me more lemonade. “Like her granddaughter.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and I nearly knock over my glass. “I’m not—I haven’t been very remarkable lately.”

“You survived,” he says simply. “Everything that’s happened to you. From the clinic to the pregnancy.” He gulps as he looks at me. His green eyes pierce mine. “I wish I was there for you, seeing you getting bigger with our baby.”

I shake my head, shocked by also wishing it too. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I was an absolute jackass and gave you something else to deal with. And the DRA, though I doubt that’s who they were. And the ambush, I’m sorry for so much. Yet—” He sighs. “You’re sitting here making perfect pastry and caring for our son like none of it touched you. You’re so strong, Freya. I’m in awe of you.”

Our son. The words still make my heart skip whenever he acknowledges Stone.

“I’m not strong,” I admit quietly. “But I’m also not the same person I was before.”

“Who were you before?” He leans forward, genuinely curious in a way I’ve never seen from him.

The question opens a door I’ve kept closed for months. “I’m just a boring girl who—” I shrug.

“You’re funny,” Zane interrupts as he turns to his brother. “And she reads firefighter romance.”

“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.

“That’s absurd,” O’Hearn scoffs. “Why would anyone—”

“Because someone wanted to create confusion about paternity. Someone is trying to discredit Ms. Rose and you’re being used,” Miller interrupts. “The omega you think you impregnated was at Club Midnight that night, not at the clinic.”

Club Midnight. My cheeks burn at the memory. At my desperation.

“Club Midnight?” O’Hearn sounds bewildered. “What does that sex club have to do with this?”

“That’s where conception actually occurred,” Zane explains. “Natural conception. Between Thorne here and his mate.”

Mate.

“That’s very convenient and I don’t believe a word of this,” O’Hearn says flatly. “Show me this omega. Let me hear it from her.”

“No,” Zane and Thorne growl in unison.

I should hold back, but knowing I can end this now, I push the door open and step into the office. Four pairs of eyes swivel toward me—Thorne’s anxious, Miller’s stunned, Zane’s cautious, and the stranger’s confused.

Patrick O’Hearn is younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with sandy hair and a clean-cut appearance that speaks of money and education. He stares at me without a hint of recognition.

“Do you recognize me?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

He shakes his head slowly. “Should I?”

“I’m Freya Rose,” I say, watching as he searches his memory and comes up empty.

“Ms. Rose,” he acknowledges with polite confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t recall meeting you.” He sniffs the air to take in my perfume. “But you do smell delightful.”

I don’t acknowledge the perfume response.

“Because we’ve never met.” I step further into the room, drawing on courage I didn’t know I still possessed. “I was booked at the clinic, but I gave my slot to another omega named Ebony Edwards. She needed it more than I did.”

His brow furrows. “Ebony Edwards? Did she have my baby?”

“No.” I reach into my pocket for my phone, pulling up the confirmation email from the clinic and showing it to him. “Here’s my email exchange telling Ebony what she had to do.”

O’Hearn studies it, frowning. “But I received correspondence telling me I had a baby by you, not Ebony Edwards.”

“Someone lied to you,” Thorne says, coming to stand beside me. His proximity strengthens my resolve.

“As for where I was that night.” I pull up another screen on my phone and turn it to show him my Club Midnight membership entry log. “I was here. With him.” I nod toward Thorne.

“And we now have confirmation from the club’s security system,” Miller adds. “And from genetic testing. The child is unquestionably the offspring of these two people.”

O’Hearn sinks into a chair, the implications hitting him. “Someone deliberately set this up. Made me believe...” His face darkens with anger. “Do you know who?”

“I can’t tell you,” Thorne says. “I don’t want any violence.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone over this, Mr. Stone,” he says. “I’d just like to know why the person believes it.”

“Because you still don’t believe me?” Thorne replies as he slides a photograph across the desk. “Have you spoken to this woman?”

O’Hearn picks up the picture of Maya, studying it, but doesn’t respond.

“Was this her?” Thorne asks.

“I don’t know. I only spoke by telephone to someone claiming to be from the clinic.” He looks at the picture again and then looks up. “Who is she?”

“My assistant,” Thorne replies with a sigh. Her betrayal reflected in his tone.

“Your assistant did this?” O’Hearn’s shock mirrors what I felt when I first learned of Maya’s involvement. “Maybe your assistant needs to be punished,” O’Hearn says. His tone could freeze over hell. “I take it she is an omega.”

The implication in his tone makes a chill slide down my spine. Before Thorne can respond, I step forward.

“Don’t hurt her. Being an omega is hard,” I say. “She wanted my alpha, and this was her revenge against me. You were caught in the crossfire.”

O’Hearn assesses me, then turns back to Thorne. “You have an interesting mate, Mr. Stone. Understanding. Caring. Beautiful.”

Another alpha thinks I’m beautiful.

“We do and she is all that and much more,” Thorne agrees, his hand finding the small of my back. The touch grounds me, connects us. “And I believe our business here is concluded.”

After O’Hearn leaves, escorted out by Zane, I remain in the office with Thorne, the revelation of Maya’s manipulation remaining heavy in the air.

“Why did you bring him here?” I ask finally. “You already knew the truth.”

Concern etches itself into every line around Thorne’s eyes. “He deserved to know he was being used. And...” He hesitates. “I needed you to see that every loose end is being tied up. That no one will threaten what’s ours again.”

Ours. The word settles over me like a cozy blanket.

“Is that what I am now?” I dare to ask. “Yours?”

He takes my hands in his. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belies his calm exterior. “If you want to be. If you can forgive me for everything that came before.”

“I’m not the same Freya who followed you around hoping to be noticed,” I tell him honestly. “And you’re not the same Thorne who pushed me away.”

“No,” he agrees quietly. “We’re not.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe we needed to become these people to find our way here.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “And where is here, Freya?”

I look up at him—my alpha, my mate, the father of my child—and feel the outer walls around my heart begin to crumble.

“With your pack,” I whisper. “If you’ll have us.”

The smile that breaks across his face is unlike I’ve ever seen him make before. He pulls me against him, his heartbeat strong beneath my cheek. “Our pack is your pack, Freya. This is your home now.”

Home! My heart soars like a joyful bird, singing a tune of pure elation.

“I was never letting you go once I knew,” he promises. “I just took too long to realize how perfect you are. But I’ll make up for it every day of your life.”