Page 3

Chapter 3

Freya

Eight Months Later

The scent of chocolate and warm butter fills my bakery as I pull another tray of brownies from the oven.

I drop the tray on the counter and hold my aching back. “I don’t think I’ll last another month.”

“It’s best to keep the baby cooking,” Harlow says, giving her son Jagger a look as he stands on his tiptoes and stares at the chocolaty goodness on the counter.

I tap his nose and say, “They’re too hot right now.”

The baby inside me gives an energetic kick.

“Ouch!”

Harlow lifts her eyebrows. “It’s telling you off for still working at eight months pregnant.”

I slide my hands to my ass, trying to stretch. “I want to have time off with the baby, so I need to earn as much as I can before he or she comes.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Harlow says. Her eyes roaming over my belly. “Contact the Wellness Center and ask for the alphas names who attended to you during your heat.”

I snort at Harlow’s choice of words. “More like bent me over and—” I stare at Jagger and grimace.

“Mommy, who bent her?” Jagger’s chocolate-smeared face turns up to Harlow.

She shoots me a death glare. “It means to help someone, buddy.”

I rub my swollen belly as another kick lands. “This kid’s daddy must be a hockey player. It feels like they’re practicing slapshots against my ribs.”

Harlow’s laugh echoes through the empty bakery. “Or maybe you hooked up with David Beckham.”

“Mmm. Imagine that tattooed…” I stare at Jagger and decide to keep it clean this time. “He’s married and that I would remember.” I wince at another kick. “Though right now I’d settle for knowing he hasn’t got a family history of giant babies.”

I hate lying to Harlow, but what am I supposed to say? I know my baby’s daddy is tall, broad and no doubt a big baby when he was born.

Harlow’s hand slides over mine. “Are you staying with your parents when the little athlete arrives?”

My throat tightens. “Hell no. Mom hates that I did this without a pack. I think she is scared that I’ll be arrested and that will look bad on her.”

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them. Harlow wraps her arms around me, careful of my belly.

“You know I’ve got you, Frey. You’re not alone in this.”

“I’m terrified of giving birth. But I have to do it at home by myself.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Harlow’s face goes serious. She covers Jagger’s ears with her hands. “Sarah–Jagger’s Mom...remember?”

My skin prickles with goosebumps. I know she died in childbirth. A shiver runs through my body. But I have no choice but to do this alone.

“Do you want to know who the father is?” Harlow asks, clearly trying to change the subject. “Have you spoken to the Wellness Center?”

I can’t tell her I know and that he wants nothing to do with me. He never has.

“I can’t. They’ll contact the authorities. I had to prove I was on birth control to be admitted there for my heat.”

“Oh shit, Freya.”

“I know, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.” I try to keep my voice even as I lift my chin and stare at the ceiling, feeling tears stinging my eyes again. “He’ll know he’s a dad.”

I made my decision.

“How? You changed your appearance for your heat.”

“I don’t know.”

“Freya—”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Perfect, even.”

“Aunt Freya! Can I lick the spoon?” Jagger’s gray eyes bounce from me to the loaded spoon and bowl.

“You have to ask your mom.”

“Only the spoon,” she tells him because if Jagger gets his way, his head will be in the bowl the moment she says okay.

“Yes!” He hops from foot to foot beside my workstation as I reach for the spoon and hold it in the air. At six years old, everything with a bit of sugar inside it is yummy to him, even brownie batter.

“How about a fresh cookie from the last batch instead?” I don’t want him to get a bad stomach from the raw eggs.

His mouth opens wide as his eyes glance at the large cookies ready to go on display. “Really?”

I force my brightest laugh, the one I’ve perfected over months of pretending.

See? I’m the fun aunt. The happy omega. The successful business owner who has it all together.

And beneath it all, I’m sure I made the right call.

I take the tongs and pick out the biggest one, and the one with the most chocolate chips on the top. I pop it in a bag and hand it to him. “Now sit on the chair and take your time.”

I rub my belly again. “There can’t be any room left to kick me.”

“Can I have a brother?” Jagger asks Harlow. His bright eyes fixed on my stomach.

“Soon,” Harlow calls from where she’s arranging the chairs around tables.

She’s planning to get pregnant during her next heat. Which is another reminder of everything I don’t have—alphas—or a pack.

That’s why I did this alone.

“Yeah. We can share my bedroom.”

My heart clenches as Harlow walks to Jagger and scoops up her son, pressing kisses to his cheeks until he giggles.

She found her pack without trying. In fact, they found her despite her being an alpha. But they knew she was theirs. Now she has four alphas who worship the ground she walks on. Alphas who make sure she lifts nothing heavier than Jagger. A pack who scent-marks her every morning like she’s precious. Like she matters.

But I’m happy for her. Really, I am.

So, so happy.

I booked to have my last heat at an Omega Wellness clinic. A safe place for unattached omegas to go through their heat with alphas of their choosing.

The alphas and the center never knew I planned to get pregnant, and when I walked out of the door, I never looked back.

Because I couldn’t do it.

I was so preoccupied with getting pregnant by only one alpha that nothing else mattered.

But that alpha loves another omega, so I’ll let everybody know the same story. I don’t know who attended to my heat.

“Here.” I hand Jagger a milkshake to go with his cookie, injecting even more sunshine into my voice than I feel. “Why don’t you go sit at the table and draw while mommy and I talk?”

“Thank you, Aunt Freya.”

Once he’s settled with his snack and crayons, Harlow turns to me with those knowing eyes. The ones that see right through my act. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” I busy myself with wiping down the counter, though it’s already spotless. Just like my life. Just like everything.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“Pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.” She touches my arm gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Frey. Not with me.”

“I’m fine.” The words come automatically, but my voice wavers. “Really. The bakery’s doing well, the baby’s healthy, I have everything I need.” Everything except someone to hold me at night. Everything except the sweet, easy intimacy I see between Harlow and her mates. Everything except someone to share this baby with.

But I don’t say any of that.

“Except someone to rub your feet after long days of baking. A pack to help raise this little one.” She lays her hand on my belly, and the baby kicks in response. My traitor of a baby, already loving Harlow as much as everyone else does.

Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back. Happy omegas don’t cry.

“I made my choice. The wellness center was my last chance at having a baby before...” I swallow hard. “Before it was too late. I don’t regret it.”

And I don’t. I just regret everything else.

“But you’re allowed to want more.” Harlow’s voice is soft. “You deserve more.”

“Mom!” Jagger calls out. “Look what I drew! It’s me and my new brother playing with rockets!”

“That’s beautiful, buddy,” Harlow calls back, but her eyes stay on me as I try to pretend my back isn’t killing me right now. “You can’t keep working these hours, Freya. The doctor said—”

“The doctor said I need to rest, I know.” I pat my belly and flash my brightest smile yet. “But this little one isn’t cheap, and neither is running a bakery.” I beam at her like my heart isn’t breaking. “And baking is the only thing that makes me feel normal. And I’m doing great! Really great! Amazing, even!”

The timer dings, saving me from further conversation. As I waddle to the oven, I can feel Harlow’s concerned gaze following me. She knows I’m lying. She knows I cry myself to sleep most nights, touching my belly and wondering if my baby will ever get to meet their daddy? And I wonder if our baby will have his eyes, his smile, his laugh, or just be grumpy like his personality.

But I’ve made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

Even if I have to lie in it alone.

Even if I have to keep pretending, that’s exactly what I want.

A sharp pain shoots through my lower back. “Ouch!”

“That’s it.” Harlow grabs my elbow and steers me to a chair. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“But the timer—”

“I’ve got it.” She ties an apron around her waist and checks the oven. “Your only job is to keep that baby happy.”

The bell above the door chimes. A tall man in a business suit walks in, his eyes darting between the display case and...me? There’s something odd about the way he’s looking at me.

“Welcome to Sweet Dreams!” Harlow calls out. She’s elbow-deep in soapy water, washing the mixing bowls.

“Two coffees, six blueberry muffins and ten gougères to go, please.” His gaze keeps sliding back to my belly.

“Six muffins and ten gougères?” Harlow whistles. “Someone’s living dangerously. You know sugar is addictive, right? First it’s muffins, next thing you know you’re mainlining cookie dough in dark alleys.”

He laughs, finally looking away from me. “They’re for my office and the boss loves the gougères.”

“Likely story.” I join in. “That’s what all the muffin addicts say. We have a support group that meets on Thursdays. And on Tuesdays, I run the cheese addicts’ group myself.”

His shoulders shake with laughter. “Maybe I should get Thorne to join—”

A sharp pain cuts through me, and I groan, clutching my belly.

“Are you alright?” The man’s expression shifts to concern.

“Oh, this little gymnast is just trying to somersault their way out.” I rub circles on my stomach. “But they need to stay put for a few more weeks.”

“Freya.” Harlow’s voice is stern as she hands the man his order. “You need to see a doctor. Those pains are getting worse.”

“It’s the same pain as always.” I wave my hand dismissively, though my lower back screams in protest. “Baby’s just running out of room.”

“I suppose, and it will be worth all the discomfort.” Harlow’s eyes soften as she glances at Jagger.

I shoot her my best evil eye. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re the size of a house.”

The man in the suit steps closer, coffees in one hand, gougères and muffins balanced in the other. “I could take you to the hospital to get checked out. Better safe than sorry.”

My eyes drift over his broad shoulders and firm jaw. For a split second, I imagine him helping induce labor the fun way. Heat floods my cheeks, and I chuckle at my own ridiculous thoughts. “No hospitals. Really, I’m fine.”

“That’s it.” Harlow throws her hands up. “Go home. I’ll handle the shop for the rest of the day.”

“Would you like a ride?” The man asks, his eyes concerned.

“I have a car.”

His gaze drops to my very pregnant belly. “You still drive?”

“I push the seat back.” I straighten up, thankful for my long legs. “It works fine.”

His eyes linger on said legs for a moment, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile that makes my stomach flutter.

My omega preens at the attention. When was the last time an alpha—or is he a beta—look at me like that?

Mental note: skip the scent blockers for the next time he comes in.

“Are you going home?” Harlow’s stern voice breaks through my daydream.

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re as bossy as your alphas.”

The timer’s shrill beep makes me jump. “The croissants! They’ll burn!”

“I’ve got them.” Harlow moves to the oven, about to pull on the door.

“No, wait—you have to check if they’re golden brown, and certainly don’t let them go dark brown. And the chocolate ones need exactly two more minutes than—”

“Freya.” Harlow’s voice carries that alpha tone she usually reserves for Jagger’s tantrums. “I know what croissants should look like. I can handle pastries.”

I grit my teeth, because Harlow is not the best judge in town, but still chooses to not insult her. “But the morning rush will—”

“Will get their perfectly baked goods.” She slides the trays onto the cooling racks. “You’re being a typical omega right now, hovering and fussing. Go home.”

My shoulders slump. She’s right. “Fine.”

The man in the suit shifts his weight. “Should I call your pack? Have them come and pick you up.”

His concern hits like a punch to the gut.

Of course. He’s only being nice because I’m pregnant. That’s what alphas do—they see a pregnant omega and their protective instincts kick in. It means nothing.

I glance at Harlow, then back to him. A slow shake of my head is all I can manage.

“I can drive myself.” My voice comes out smaller than intended.

“Thank you,” Harlow says, relief clear in her tone. “Rest, and I’ll drop the keys off later.”

I gather my purse and phone, each movement feeling heavy. I’ve had eight months to get used to this. Of proving I can do this alone, and here I am, being sent home like a child.

But maybe that’s what I get for thinking I could have it all—a successful business, a baby, a life on my terms.

I kiss Harlow and give Jagger a hug before I trudge toward the door, feeling stupid, helpless and very much alone.