Page 110 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

The morning of my dad’s funeral arrives like any other spring day—beautiful, with full sunshine, clear skies, and the perfect temperature. A normal, noisy day, with chirping birds, a light breeze, and the buzzing of bees.

It was a day not unlike today when Wesley shifted into his lycan for the first time. It was a day not unlike today when Sarina vanished and I almost destroyed the entire forest.

But my dad was present for both of those days.

All day, we exist in silence. No words are spoken by anyone in the pack—with the exception of children who are too young to understand—and no words will be spoken until we scatter the last of his ashes.

Until he’s truly gone.

As the beginning of the funeral draws nearer, I find Sarina staring out the window of my childhood living room on the top floor of the packhouse with my mom, their fingers linked.

They watch as the pack gathers on the lawn to prepare for the start of the funeral, but my footsteps interrupt their reverie and pull their attention away.

Sarina’s face brightens when she sees me, and while usually that’s enough to wipe any trace of my unhappiness away, today it barely scratches the surface. Not when my mother’s gray eyes—the eyes she gave me—have so much pain within them.

Sarina keeps my mom’s hand in hers as I approach. I cup Sarina’s cheek and place a kiss on her lips, soaking in the realness of her.

She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine.

Goddess is she ever mine .

My mom watches us with a mixed expression. Despair, hope, longing—all three are present equally. It breaks my heart.

However rough this day is for the rest of us, it’s exponentially rougher for her.

I reach for her, and she lets me embrace her. A tear falls from her eye and lands on my shirt as one of mine lands in her dark brown hair.

I hug her for a long time, comforting her like she used to comfort us, and even without words, I know she understands. Because the silence we maintain on this day isn’t a hindrance. It doesn’t prevent us from conveying our love, support, or empathy.

Words only go so far. Words are surface level. When we can’t use our voices, we give our love. We show our support and how it all runs so much deeper than what words convey.

Wesley and Haven walk into the living room from Mom and Dad’s room. Wes holds Dad’s urn in one hand and an envelope in the other. Haven has a dozing Dylan cradled to her chest, and both of them have bloodshot eyes and pink-tipped noses.

I’m sure we all look similar.

Wes wordlessly leaves the alpha apartment and heads through the packhouse, and we all follow him.

Maddie waits at the back door. She hugs her stomach and stares blankly ahead.

I detach myself from Sarina and pull Maddie into a hug, and she latches on to me.

She still refuses to talk to anyone, but all of us have teamed up, taking turns to check in on her, spend time with her, and make sure she’s okay—a task I will no longer take part in once Sarina and I join her family in Hawaii.

I hate to leave Maddie like this, but I’m comforted knowing that Wes and Haven, Reid and Taryn, and Nolan and Cassandra will be here for her and my mom in the way we can’t be.

Wesley waits until Maddie backs away from me before he opens the door to the back deck. The entire pack stands on the grass, and everyone is dressed in yellow—Dad’s favorite color.

Among those gathered, I spot Brad, Reid’s father and Dad’s former beta, and Felix and Fiona, Nolan’s parents. I spy others who were close with him as well—the pack’s cook, the owners of all his favorite restaurants, and even former alphas from other packs whom I met growing up .

Wes pauses on the bottom step, hands the envelope to Haven, takes a handful of ashes from the urn, and walks through the crowd towards the forest. The ashes drift through the gaps between his fingers, and when the handful runs out, he takes another.

He repeats this process as we make our way through the crowd, using small handfuls to ensure we have enough for our walk in the forest.

When we reach the trees, he passes the urn to Mom. She takes the lead, and he disappears into the crowd for a moment. When he returns, he has Reid, Taryn, and their babies, as well as Nolan and Cassandra in tow.

No one bats an eye at his inclusion of them. The walk through the forest is supposed to be only the deceased alpha’s family. But Reid and Nolan—and their mates—they are family.

We follow Mom into the cover of the trees. The pack stays behind and will head back to their homes, but they will remain in silence with us until the ashes run out.

Mom keeps as close to the borders as she can, spreading Dad’s ashes with the ashes of every former Crescent Lake alpha.

It’s even quieter here, with the trees muffling the waves from the lake.

The soft sounds of our footsteps and the rustling pine needles blend with baby birds’ sweet chirping and the fluttering of butterfly wings.

And the sounds of our tears, of course. We all cry differently, but none of us hold back our sorrow.

Maddie and I both take a turn scattering Dad’s ashes as well. When my turn is over and I hand the urn back to Wes, he passes it to Reid, taking Savvy from him, so he too can say his goodbye.

Reid’s throat bobs, and his chin drops to his chest. He stands there for a few moments, crying, with the urn clutched to his body. Taryn rubs his shoulder, and he inhales shakily before he continues walking.

Then Nolan takes a turn too. His eyes shine, and his lip trembles. When he hands the urn back to Wes, he pauses to hug Cassandra tightly against him.

Wes walks a few more steps with the final handful of ashes. We stop when he stops, ending our walk in a small clearing. It’s the hardest walk any of us have ever taken. As hard as it was, as sad as it was, there was so much love too. So much hope.

Wes sets the urn on the border and stays on one knee as he mindlinks the pack that it’s over.

But it’s just starting for us. Because now, we stay here until the sun rises tomorrow .

We stand in our family units. I wrap one arm around Sarina’s shoulders from behind. Reid has Savvy in his arms once more, and he rests his palm on Taryn’s lower back as she sways Austin side to side. Nolan has Cassandra tucked under his chin, and Mom holds Maddie’s hand.

Haven hands the envelope over to Wesley as he gets to his feet. He stares at it, tapping his free hand with it over and over.

“Dad, he— He, uh…he wrote me a…a letter. The day of the battle. The day he died.” Wes laughs dryly.

“I don’t know when he found the time to write it.

I barely found time to eat that day. It’s all a blur now, everything that happened leading up to the fight, but…

” His voice catches. “But he wrote this for me. He sat down, put pen to the page, and wrote me a letter . And I-I’ll never get to— He and I will never have a chance to—” A frustrated, growling sob tumbles from his chest. “I’m going to read it to you.

He addressed it to me but…but I think it’s meant for all of us. ”

He takes the letter out, carefully unfolds it, clears his throat, and reads.

“Dear Wesley,

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the best way to say all this to you. There are so many things I want and need to tell you—things you deserve to know and things I’ve been too stubborn to admit. But every time I’ve tried to explain myself, it ends badly.

“In so many ways, you and I are too much alike, and yet in other ways, you couldn’t be more different from me.

We’re both stubborn as hell. Which is probably why we butt heads so much and why most of our conversations end in arguments, and why I’ve never been able to bring myself to say the things I know I should.

“But where I’m purely stubborn, you are also determined.

Tenacious. When you set your mind to something, you do it.

You make it happen. You wanted Haven to see The Nutcracker in person.

You wanted to be part of her life when you found her again.

To give her a dream wedding and a home that was only ever hers.

You wanted all those things, and you did whatever was needed to bring them to life.

“That’s another difference between us. You are so selfless, and I…I am not.

“As we head into this fight against the monsters who held your brother’s mate captive, I realize now more than ever that there will never be a right moment for us to talk, and if I don’t say what I need to say now, I fear I never will.

But I am a coward. I’m terrified to say any of these things to your face for fear that, like always, our conversation will end with an argument.

So instead, I’m taking a page out of your book—yours and Haven’s—and I’m writing you this letter.

“I failed you, Wesley. I failed you as a father and as an alpha. Not only you, but Reid and Brad and Haven too.

“I should have done more.

“When Stephanie died, I should have ensured Brad had the help he needed instead of assuming he was fine because he never confided in me that he wasn’t.

I should have realized Reid joined us at almost every meal not because he wanted to bond with his future alpha, but because there wasn’t someone at home in the right frame of mind to provide a meal for him.

“When the four of you were trying to use the credit card to buy plane tickets to Denver (yes, I knew about that), I should have flown you there myself.

I should have done whatever it took to bring Haven here to Crescent Lake so the two of you could have grown up together.

My pride, my need to keep my reputation clean, stole all of that from you. From both of you.

“In hindsight, I think I thought I was protecting you. I, too, met your mother at a young age. I, too, fell in love with her as we grew older. My lycan formed an attachment to her. He grew ever more protective as the years wore on and we closed in on the day we would find out she was my mate.