Chapter 5
FIVE
CASH
I tap my pen against the immaculate spreadsheet I’ve prepared. The adoption agency interviewer—Ms. Parker, according to her nameplate—glances between the document and her computer screen.
“As you can see, we’ve converted the second bedroom into a nursery.
We’ve installed childproof locks on all the cabinets, covered electrical outlets, and secured all furniture to the walls.
” I flip to the next page. “Our financial portfolio includes a college savings account we’ve already funded with an initial contribution, and our healthcare plan covers dependents with no additional premium. ”
Lucas sits beside me, his broad shoulders tense despite his relaxed smile. His fingers tap against his knee—a nervous tell I’ve learned to recognize over our five years together.
Ms. Parker adjusts her glasses. “Mr. Matthews, I appreciate the thoroughness of your preparation, but?—”
“We’ve also completed all the offered parenting classes, including the optional ones,” I continue, unwilling to be derailed. “And Lucas has reduced his personal training clients to part-time status as he’ll be the primary caregiver.”
“Mr. Matthews.” Ms. Parker’s voice firms. “I need to be honest with you both.”
Something in her tone makes me stop. My stomach drops before she even speaks.
“While your application is exemplary on paper, you should understand that you’re...well, you’re quite far down on our waitlist.”
Lucas’s hand finds mine under the table. “How far down?” he asks quietly.
Ms. Parker’s professional smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “It could be several years before we find a match for your situation.”
“Our situation?” I repeat as heat rises to my face. “You mean two loving adults in a stable relationship, with a safe home and financial security?”
“Cash,” Lucas murmurs.
Ms. Parker folds her hands. “Most birth parents still prefer traditional family structures. A pack with multiple alphas or, more ideally, an alpha-omega pairing typically receives priority placement.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The words burst out before I can stop them. “What does designation have to do with parenting ability?”
“It’s not my personal opinion, Mr. Matthews.” Her gaze flicks to Lucas. “And there’s also the matter of your...unconventional dynamic.”
Lucas stiffens beside me.
“What dynamic?” I demand, though I already know.
“Birth parents typically expect the alpha to be the provider.” She gestures to my spreadsheets. “Having a beta as the primary breadwinner and an alpha as the house-husband—well, it’s an additional challenge to overcome.”
Lucas stands abruptly. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Parker.”
I gather my papers, hands trembling with anger. “This is discrimination.”
“It’s reality,” she counters. “I’m simply preparing you for what to expect.”
In the elevator, Lucas leans against the wall, eyes closed. The scent of his distress fills the small space.
“She’s wrong,” I say, reaching for his hand. “We’d be amazing parents.”
“I know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“We’ll find another agency. Or go private. I’ve been researching international options, too.”
Lucas nods, but I feel him pulling away emotionally. “Maybe I should look for more clients. Get back to full-time work.”
“That’s not the issue, Lucas.”
“Isn’t it?” His voice is soft but heavy. “An alpha who lets his beta partner support him? Who wants to stay home with kids instead of hunting and providing? Maybe they’re right about me.”
“Stop.” I grip his shoulders. “You’re perfect exactly as you are. We’re perfect together. Some bureaucrat with outdated views doesn’t get to define our family.”
He pulls me into a hug, his face buried in my neck. “I love you.”
“We’ll figure this out,” I promise, though I’m not sure how. “Together.”
The elevator doors open, but neither of us moves right away. Lucas takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, putting on the confident alpha face the world expects.
Even though he and I both know how much he’s hurting.
I wish I could protect him from this pain, but all I can do is hold his hand as we walk out into the sunlight.
We stop for ice cream on the walk home. Lucas chooses an ice pop because dairy has too many calories, but it’s still something to cheer him up.
If I focus my attention on my own soft-serve cone, then I don’t have to think about all the problems that can’t be solved with a few dollars at the ice cream truck.
So I’m in absolutely no mood to be welcoming when I see a familiar figure sitting on our doorstep.
“If this is about the vesting schedule for your stock awards, then you need to save it for the next board meeting.”
Matheo’s eyes glint with amusement as he rises off the front stoop. “What’s a few million dollars between friends?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “What do you want, Matheo? We’ve had a rough day.”
Lucas perks up slightly at the sight of our friend. “Hey, man.”
Matheo’s gaze shifts between us, his alpha instincts clearly picking up on the emotional undercurrent. “Bad news at the adoption agency?”
“How did you—” I start.
“You’ve been talking about it for months. Today was the big interview.” He shrugs. “Plus, ice cream on a Tuesday morning screams emotional eating.”
Lucas manages a half-smile. “They basically told us we’re at the bottom of the list because Cash is the breadwinner and I’m just the house-alpha. ”
Matheo’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s society,” I counter, fishing for my keys. “What brings you here anyway? The last time you showed up out of nowhere, it was because you wanted to break up with that beta fashion model you met during fashion week and wanted someone to tell you it was okay to just stop texting her back.”
Matheo’s sudden discomfort is obvious enough that Lucas releases his first genuine laugh of the day.
“Definitely woman problems,” he chuckles. “It’s written all over his face.”
He might be one of my closest friends, but Matheo has always had the worst timing.
“Sounds like we’re all going to need something stronger than ice cream, so you might as well come in.”
Matheo and I settle at the kitchen island, glasses of chilled pinot grigio sweating between our fingers.
Lucas busies himself at the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients with his free hand while still working on his ice pop.
The bright red treat stains his lips slightly as he sucks on it, and my gaze lingers on the curve of his mouth.
A knowing chuckle from Matheo breaks my trance. I turn to find him watching me with amusement.
“You two are sickeningly domestic,” he says, swirling his wine. “Lucas cooking dinner while you moon over him. It really does suit you both. With that picket fence outside, all you need is 2.5 children to complete the picture.”
“Not according to the adoption agency,” Lucas huffs, his annoyance unsuccessfully concealing the thread of hurt.
I roll my eyes but don’t take offense. “Not all of us can jet off to Milan for fashion week on a whim or disappear into the wilderness for weeks to photograph birds. ”
“Hummingbirds,” Matheo corrects. “Specifically ruby-throated hummingbirds. I’m working on a series.”
Lucas pulls chicken from the fridge. “You staying for dinner? I’m making that lemon garlic thing you liked last time.”
“If you’re offering,” Matheo says, then takes a long sip of wine.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t come all this way to experience our domestic bliss. What’s going on?”
Matheo sets down his glass with deliberate care. “Actually, I did. Sort of.” He runs a hand through his hair—a rare display of nervousness from my usually composed friend. “I need a pack.”
Lucas drops a garlic bulb. It rolls across the counter until I catch it.
“You need a what now?” I ask, certain I’ve misheard.
“A pack. Temporarily.” Matheo’s face is a study in discomfort. “I met someone.”
I lean forward. “An omega someone?”
“Trinity Jones.” The way he says her name—soft, almost reverent—tells me everything. “She was coordinating my gallery showing. The moment I caught her scent, I knew. We’re scent-matches.”
Lucas abandons his dinner prep to join us at the island. “That’s huge. I thought you didn’t believe in scent-matches.”
“I don’t. I didn’t,” Matheo admits. “Until I met her.”
“So what’s the problem?” I ask. “You’re both single, you’re scent-compatible, and I’m assuming she’s not hideous, so what’s the problem?”
“She’s stunning,” Matheo says quickly. “That’s not the issue. The problem is she’s not looking for a mate. She’s looking for a fake dating arrangement. ”
I blink. “Come again?”
“She went to my mother’s agency looking for professional escorts. She has no idea I’m connected, or that we’re scent-matches. She didn’t even seem to notice.”
I’ve heard about suppressants messing with an omega’s sense of smell. Given his history with women, the irony of Matheo finally finding a scent-match who has no clue kind of serves him right.
The pieces click together in my mind. “And Amara, being the notorious matchmaker she is, called you.”
“Exactly.” Matheo downs the rest of his wine in one gulp. “She tried to set me up with Trinity before the gallery showing, but I refused. Now I’ve met her anyway, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“So you want to be her fake date?” Lucas asks, returning to his cooking.
“I want to be her real date, but I’ll take what I can get, at least for now. She needs a date for a wedding,” Matheo pauses. “At Heat Island.”
“Heat Island?” My eyebrows go up at that. “Swanky.”
“And then I’ll have a week to convince her that a temporary arrangement isn’t enough.” Matheo hesitates for the briefest second before dropping the next bomb. “The thing is, she specifically requested a pack.”
“A pack.” I nearly choke on my wine. “And I’m guessing you want us to...”
“Be my pack,” Matheo confirms. “Just for the wedding week. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”