Chapter Forty-Two
Booker
Stomping down the hallway, Booker’s head throbbed with a tension headache at holding back after Frey’s warning stare. He’d kept it together for the rest of the meeting and the subsequent one he had after, but now all damn bets were off.
At Silas’s office door, he didn’t bother knocking and came to a complete standstill at the sight of Silas, sitting head in hands with his shoulders shaking.
“What the fuck?” Booker rasped through a throat that felt three sizes smaller, making it impossible to swallow while he tugged at his tie.
Silas’s head shot up, puffy, blood-shot eyes filled with misery stared at Booker and he stepped into the room, quickly closing the door behind. “What’s wrong?” he demanded gruffly, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Silas cry as he came to his desk. “Is there something wrong with Dad? Popi? ”
Silas scrubbed his face and shook his head, sniffing loudly, making Booker’s stomach quiver.
“Then what is it… is there something wrong with… you ?” Booker’s chest expanded from the deep inhale as he waited, watching Silas to gain a clue as to what the hell he was missing. Was he ill? Was the short temperedness because he was…
His legs weren’t quite steady from where his thoughts wanted to wander without his fucking permission. He came around the desk to perch his ass on the corner, never once looking away from Silas as he searched for a clue. “I know we haven’t been seeing eye to eye of late.” Fuck, I was a shit brother for not noticing something awful was going on with him! “But you know I love you. Would do anything for you.”
Silas pressed his fingers to his eyes, increasing Booker’s fear something was majorly wrong, and he’d somehow missed it. “Talk to me, you fucker,” he growled. “Are you sick?”
Silas’s hands dropped away. “No, I’m not sick unless you call getting stuck on something and you can’t unbridle!” he muttered mournfully.
What?
Stuck on something? What in damnation was that supposed to mean? “You’ve lost me. Are we talking about a horse?” Silas’s second biggest love was his horses, family being first. He was mad for them, had been since he was a teenager.
Silas’s messy, dark hair fell over his forehead as he shook his head. He sat back in the chair, lines etched into his forehead and around his mouth. He looked… grim. “My horses are fine, or they were the last time I checked in with Ethan.”
He sounded so weary it made the anxious knots, having a field day with Booker’s stomach, tighten. “Then what the fuck is it, you asshole, you’re worrying me. I haven’t seen you cry since…” Booker took a deep breath and willed away the images of the last time when it involved the awful night he’d gotten cast out by his actual parents.
“Since your dad went to hit Popi,” Silas finished for him.
“Yeah, since then.” That night, Booker had gained something precious and lost all respect for his family. Silas had cried for Booker. For the reality Booker had to face being cast out for helping Silas. For stepping in front of Lane when his father had gone to hit him. Those punches his father had landed knocked Booker on his ass and left him bloodied on the outside, but also on the inside. His heart had taken that battering too when he’d never allow his father to hurt Lane, who the fucker was aiming to punch.
His actions had created a shit storm which resulted in Derick teaching Booker’s father a lesson that night, never ever threaten his family—that, it turned out, had included Booker. His life had changed and, in immeasurable ways. He gained a family who loved him wholeheartedly and who agreed with his belief that everyone should receive respect— even divergents . That brought about a reality his father hated when Booker was the one defending them.
The perceived betrayal caused the fight that had ensued after Booker had gotten knocked to the floor, and resulted in Derick intervening. His father had shifted into his bear form, ready to commit murder, but Derick’s wolf was a powerhouse too.
The sounds, tearing flesh, howls, screams, crashing furniture, had haunted Booker’s dreams for months after. Derick had gotten injured, but he’d held his own. Booker’s biggest regret was not getting up to help. He had remained in shock, glued to the ground by the weight of it, even when the neighbors had called the police and they’d broken up the fight. His mother screamed abuse at Lane while his father had refused to shift, his fur matted with blood, not all his own. It was something that would stay with him forever. A reminder that the motto of Starling Enterprises ‘love for all’ was real to those men.
“That night changed everything,” he said softly. “It made us brothers, and nothing has changed that… yet somehow I’ve managed to fuck you off enough to make you distance yourself from me.” It was easier to focus on the now than what had been.
Silas pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing before he rose, coming face to face with Booker. “It’s not you.”
He focused on Silas, seeing nothing to indicate he was lying. “Then what is it? Talk to me.”
Suddenly, after Silas opened up about what was bothering him, that fight they’d had all those weeks ago made sense. The problem was, Silas had all but handcuffed him with promises not to interfere, so he couldn’t help to try to make it better.
Distracted as he approached the road leading up to the drive of the house, he set aside the worry he had for Silas. He decided to talk to Popi—alone—to see if he could figure out something to get Silas out of his current funk.
His headlights illuminated the front of the house and the door opened, light spilling out to reveal Frey holding Emmy. His lips tugged into a big ass grin at the picture they made together. Booker’s heart wanted to burst out of his chest at how damn fucking lucky he was. Parked, he grabbed his work laptop case, not thinking too hard about the amount of emails he had to deal with later—much later—once he’d had some time with Frey and Emmy.
He got out of his car two hours later than he should have, trying hard not to think about that fact.
“Look who’s home, Emmy,” Frey cooed at their daughter, who made a gurgling noise—that no one would convince Booker wasn’t a giggle.
“There’s my girl.” Booker had messaged Frey to let him know he’d be late. They had gone to work in separate cars for this very reason. That and the fact that Frey could easily operate Emmy’s car seat brackets. Booker hated them, his big fingers struggled to find their way in the tiny gaps to release it or make it click safely into place .
He knocked the car door closed with the heel of his shoe, coming around the hood. “Has she had dinner?”
“We were a hungry girl this evening. It seems she’s been awake a lot today.” Frey nuzzled the top of the peach fuzz Emmy had for hair. “So I had to give her a bottle earlier than normal.”
“Sh—crap I wanted to feed her.”
“You can give her a bottle for her night feed.” Frey gave him an innocent smile.
“I thought it was your turn,” Booker replied before pressing a kiss to Emmy’s head, then to Frey’s soft lips, feeling them twitch under his.
“You were the one who missed dinner time,” he pointed out, smirking just as a noise came from Emmy that was chased by a god awful stench.
Nose wrinkling, Booker gagged and took a step back as Frey offered Emmy to him. “I think Emmy wants her Daddy.”
As if Frey had planned it, Emmy reached out her tiny fists to Booker, making his chest warm with love. “You did that on purpose,” Booker complained halfheartedly, already placing what he held in the entryway to the house to take Emmy. “Your Popi thinks he’s funny. He’s not.”
“You know I am,” said Frey, giggling.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Booker muttered and when Frey stepped aside, he walked inside, doing his best not to breathe through his nose. “Let’s go sort you out, then Daddy can have some snuggles.”
As he walked to the stairs, he rubbed his nose over her hair, inhaling, then coughed at what came with her baby smell .
“How can a small person make such an awful smell?” came a muffled question from Laken, who was coming down the stairs, a hand covering his mouth.
“It’s a talent, right Emmy?” Booker chuckled at his daughter, waving her fists in the air as if in agreement.
Laken stepped aside. “It’s something, for sure.”
“You just need more diaper changing practice to get used to it.”
Laken eyed him like Booker had lost his mind. “I know your game. I’m not falling for that.”
“Falling for what?” Jupiter asked as he bounded down the stairs right behind Laken, his hands already reaching for Emmy. “There’s my sweet girl.”
Booker struggled not to snatch back his daughter when Jupiter, with an ease that was so natural anyone would believe he had a whole hoard of kids he’d practiced with, took her. Instead, he gave Jupiter a toothy grin. “Looks like you copped diaper changing again.”
“Uncle Jup is much better at it than Daddy, isn’t he?” He didn’t even hesitate and bounded back up the stairs, making Booker’s baby girl coo.
Conflicted, Booker stared after them.
Laken’s laughter made Booker scowl at his brother. Tears glistened in Laken’s eyes at how hard he was laughing. “No one would believe it if we told them Jup was a big softie at heart who lived for a poopy diaper change.”
Booker chuckled because Laken was right .
“I thought you wanted to spend some time with your daughter?” Frey pointed out, carrying the laptop bag to where Booker remained on the stairs.
Looking sheepish, he slipped an arm around Frey and lifted him. His feet dangled over the stairs as Booker held him secure and close enough to scent his cologne and baby powder. The smell was oddly erotic. “I enjoy spending time with my mate, too.” He kissed Frey with the love that could still shock.
“Oh for fucksake. Please, no more,” Laken complained, striding past as Booker turned to smirk.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of course I am, who wouldn’t want a cute little fox scream—”
“Don’t you dare,” he shouted after Laken, a scowl replacing the smirk.
“Why does everyone have to communicate through shouting?” Lane appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking between them.
“Don’t look at me,” Laken said. “I think you’ll find it was Booker.” He strolled off after giving Booker a smug look.
“Brothers, who’d have them!”