Chapter Forty-Three
Frey
Frey pushed the stroller, listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees as he headed down the path towards the lake where he was meeting Bowie and Ziggy. Hollis had cried off an hour ago after Taylin had come home from a business trip a day earlier than planned. Frey got it. He would be the same. Booker had gone away for three days, having left two days before, taking Lennon with him because Frey didn’t want to leave Emmy.
This had brought about a difficult discussion—one Frey had prepared for when he wanted to continue to work with Booker but didn’t want to leave his baby girl. Lane had offered to have Emmy when they were required to go away. Only Frey didn’t want that. Having a heat was different, that was a situation they couldn’t control. Work they could, and he believed his daughter should come first.
Booker had spoken to Silas, and he had called a meeting for all the PAs and his brothers to talk about what possible changes could be implemented to help. A nursery set up at work was the first thing to happen for all staff. No one had an issue with that when it would improve and encourage folks to work for a company that could support omegas returning to work after having children.
With some reorganization of space, they’d found an area on the first floor, and it was currently being redesigned. Hollis had assigned himself to interview the staff for the new nursery, with Frey’s assistance. He was excited about it and already had a long list of criteria they would need to meet to satisfy him about their ability to look after Emmy. However, that didn’t stop the issue of traveling and how to cope with that.
Frey didn’t want Emmy to come on work trips, it didn’t feel right. He said as much at the meeting. Hollis had come up with the idea of a team of floating PAs to work alongside the ones assigned to the brothers to learn each area so they could fill in the gaps when needed. Frey had noted some reactions to this from both the brothers and the PAs. Some were most definitely not happy. The vote came down to Hollis when the brothers couldn’t all agree, so he had the final say. It was a little tense in the room and Taylin hadn’t looked happy with how Kodi, Laken, Rue and Kari had given Hollis a hard time.
It was the first time, it seemed, that Hollis had flexed his power to wield a deciding vote on anything. Frey wasn’t worried and, until they had trained the new PAs, the others had offered to fill in for Frey on the trips away.
Frey felt the ball of emotion form once more at how lucky he was. He’d lost his skulk but had somehow gained a makeshift one in the form of his work friends.
“Are you deaf?” Bowie asked breathlessly, as he waved a hand in front of Frey’s face, looking flushed and sweaty. “I’ve been shouting your name for the last five minutes. I had to run to catch you.”
He offered Bowie and Ziggy, who strolled up to them at a slower pace, a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have a friend like you.”
Ziggy slung an arm over Frey’s shoulder. “What about me?”
Frey glanced sideways, grinning at Ziggy. “You, too… but you will have to learn to bake to gain full friendship status.”
Ziggy groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you that if you tasted my cakes, you’d never want to be my friend because you’d possibly not survive the poisoning.”
Frey barked out a laugh as they strolled on towards the concession stand that Frey knew made the best chocolate brownies.
“We haven’t tried, so how can we judge?” Frey eyed the queue they were headed towards, counting the number of people waiting. “I hope we got here early enough to nab some brownies.”
“You and your sweet tooth.” Ziggy stepped up his pace to match Frey’s, revealing just how keen he was too. Frey might have bragged a time or two about this place. The lakefront had several concession stands, but this one was Frey’s favorite to visit. Ella made the best brownies Frey had ever eaten. They were better than Bowie’s, not that Frey would be mean and say that.
“I have one, too,” Bowie confessed. “I can’t seem to stop baking or eating cake no matter how many times I get told off by Da—”
Frey glanced sideways at the sudden stop to see Bowie glow brighter than the one time he’d gotten sunburnt when they’d had a work picnic at the beach. “Are you dating?” Frey asked with interest, trying to recall if Bowie had mentioned having a boyfriend.
Bowie dropped his gaze and stared at the ground intently, like it held the answers to a complex scientific problem, his cheeks going a darker shade of red. “Nah… not dating…”
“Then who tells you off for eating cake?” Ziggy enquired in a gentle tone, like he didn’t want to spook Bowie.
“I-I…” He groaned and ran his hands through his messy hair. “Can we change the subject?” he begged, still not looking at them.
Ziggy shrugged at Frey, dropping his arm from around Frey’s shoulder when he gave Ziggy an enquiring look. Most of the PAs went to Ziggy with their problems, Frey had noticed. He got it. Ziggy was easy to talk to and a great person to rely on.
Ziggy laid a hand on the stroller and gave him a begging look. Laughing at him, Frey took a step to the side.
“You,” an angry sounding guy growled, right before someone grabbed Frey’s arm, almost wrenching it from the socket. Frey got violently spun around, his heart racing as he squealed in pain, “how the fuck did you con my son into adopting divergent scum?”
Ziggy hissed, but Frey didn’t look away from the giant in front of him as he panted in pain. Murderous eyes so similar to Booker’s, it was impossible to mistake the family resemblance when Frey’s gaze swept over the man towering over him. Fingers dug painfully into his flesh, bruising, adding to the burn in his shoulder joint.
Booker had clearly gotten his height and size from the man in front of him, but not the nasty personality. Frey had always been fast on his feet, and it took little to figure out Booker’s father was referring to the newspaper article from the week before.
The same asshat who had hounded Taylin and Hollis and wrote awful things about Taylin being divergent in the newspapers, had found out about Booker and Frey’s recent adoption. Booker had gotten madder than a den of bears disturbed from hibernation at the invasion of their privacy. They all suspected it had been the lawyers for the previous factory owners trying to throw around some diversion tactics by not painting them in a particularly pleasant light.
Frey hadn’t cared one iota what the press wrote, he knew the truth, and that was all that mattered. Emmy’s daddy deserved respect and that meant not being goaded into a battle in the press that could harm their chances of winning against those scumbags.
As he stared at the glaring giant, attempting to pull his arm free, it seemed others cared, but not for the right reasons. “Don’t you dare speak about our daughter in that way!” he snapped, all teeth.
Booker hadn’t fully opened up about how he’d come to be ostracized by his family. Although now Frey was questioning whether he had been. Because why would this man refer to Booker as his son if they weren’t in contact?
“I can say whatever the fuck I want,” he spat. “That thing will never be welcome in our family!”
Frey grimaced in pain when he was shaken by his arm, almost losing his footing as he tugged harder to escape. He felt something pop in the joint, making his eyes burn.
The crowd at the concession stand were taking notice and Frey, who hated to make a scene, shouted out in panic, “Someone call the police, I’m being attacked.”
“You let go of my friend,” Bowie said, with absolutely no force in his quivering voice.
“Fuck off,” the bear growled, “before I rip your divergent head off!”
Bowie cowered back just enough to get out of the reach of the guy. Ziggy pushed the stroller at Bowie. “Take Emmy,” he demanded forcefully.
Ziggy waited but a beat for Bowie to do as he requested before he shifted and an enormous snake, one that made Frey’s fox, who was struggling to escape, recede quickly.
Frey staggered at the speed at which the bear let go to step away from the rearing, hissing snake. Amazed at Ziggy’s size, Frey stared in wonderment, his own concerns disappearing as he watched his friend slither through his torn clothes and chase the bear as it turned tail and ran off .
“Look at him go!”
Frey looked at Bowie giggling—possibly in hysteria—and nodded, clutching at his aching arm. “Who knew snakes could be that fast?”
Bowie had the wherewithal to call Kari before Ziggy had returned, just as the police arrived. It was a total mess and Frey had no idea how he was going to explain this to Booker when he got home the following day. Would Booker blame him?
He groaned in misery.
“Sorry,” Derick murmured, misunderstanding what the issue was.
“You didn’t hurt me,” Frey responded quickly, through the rawness of his throat, his eyes pleading with Derick. “I just don’t know how to explain this to Booker when he gets home tomorrow.”
Frey, who had sat on the huge couch, became distracted by Emmy, who Lane held and rocked when she became fussy, as if sensing the tension in the room. Derick was kneeling in front of Frey, checking out his injuries, cursing through gritted teeth. Frey was finding it hard to hold back the tears, now the shock had worn off. He avoided looking at the ugly bruising that spread from his wrist to his elbow. The finger impressions were impossible to hide. Not that he could do that when the police had escorted him home after several people had explained what they’d witnessed.
Also, when the asshat had wrenched his arm, he’d torn the ligaments in his shoulder, making it very difficult, if not impossible right now, for Frey to hold Emmy safely. The police had taken him via the emergency room to get checked out before coming home.
He needed to shift to heal, but it didn’t look like that was going to be possible for the foreseeable future, as Derick didn’t stop fussing over him.
“He’s coming home today.” Derick's words penetrated through Frey’s thoughts when he said it like it was inevitable, and Frey barely had a chance to consider that when Derick carried on. “I’ll kill the bastard this time. I fucking swear it.” Frey didn’t doubt it with the deadly intent glinting in the eyes of the wolf. Only he didn’t know what he meant by ‘this time’?
It hurt to swallow with how tight Frey’s chest was. Many times, Frey had considered that Derick was a force to be reckoned with, he’d just never suspected just how much until now. This man, who was sort of his father-in-law through mating, appeared ready to go and rip Booker’s father’s head off. It was there in the barely concealed—contained—fury.
How would Booker feel about that?
What have I done?
You’ve done nothing, and our bear isn’t going to be mad at us.
Me. You mean me !
“You will do no such thing,” Lane grumbled softly. “We will not lower ourselves to his level, not again. We have to consider the impact on our grandchild and Booker. He wouldn’t want that.”
The sound of a door crashing into a wall got Lane cursing softly, his gaze going to the doorway.
“We’re about to find out,” Derick replied, already moving away from Frey to stand next to Lane, placing a protective arm around his shoulder.
At the noise of shoes thudding on marble, Frey’s pulse danced hard enough to make his ears buzz. The door burst open, bouncing off the wooden cabinet sat behind it when Booker charged in like a bear ready to attack. His hair was a mess and his clothes were in disarray, like he’d dressed in a hurry in the dark.
He flicked his bangs off his face while he searched the room with a crazed, wild-eyed look. When his gaze landed on Frey, it took all Frey’s courage to hold his stare and offer him a wobbly smile, hoping to reassure his mate he was fine.
Booker’s large body shook as he stared at Frey’s exposed forearm. Large hands formed into enormous fists as Booker growled ominously, lifting the hairs on Frey’s body. He came and dropped to his knees in front of Frey. “Who did this?”
The softness of his tone belied the same murderous look Derick had worn when he’d seen Frey’s injuries. Frey found he couldn’t get his tongue to unglue from the roof of his mouth.
“Your father,” Derick seethed, shoving his hands into his slacks, his face a rigid mask of fury .
Booker’s head swung towards Derick, his hands hovering over Frey’s injured arm. “He came to the house?”
The rasped question made Frey shudder at the iciness.
“No, I was by the lake, meeting Bowie and Ziggy, when he must have seen me,” Frey rushed to explain, wanting to reach out but unsure whether his touch would be welcome, having never seen the expression Booker wore. It revealed nothing. It was as if his face had been carved out of stone. Emotionless. Dead. Only his eyes betrayed him. “Ziggy chased him off in his snake form.”
“He did!” Silas questioned in a strangled tone as he strode into the room.
Booker paid Silas no attention as he focused back on Frey. “I’m so sorry, foxy love.”
Hearing the endearment eased a little of Frey’s anxiety. He reached to touch Booker with his injured arm and hissed when the pain radiated right into his shoulder, reminding him it wasn’t a wise move.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him. I fucking swear,” Booker growled so loud, Emmy started to cry.
“Shush, it’s alright Emmy.” Lane rocked Emmy, his attention on Booker. “As I said to your dad, you’ll do no such thing. We will deal with this like civilized people.”
Frey didn’t miss the exchange of looks between Booker and Derick. Lane did as he returned to fussing over Emmy.
Heart lodging in the back of his throat, Frey tried not to think about what it meant when a part of him wanted Booker to kick the asshat for scaring him and his daughter.