Chapter Twelve
~ Macon ~
The laptop glowed with the pale blue light of a hospital corridor at midnight, and the whole kitchen felt like a waiting room for bad news.
Carter sat at the old farm table, hands flat on the battered oak, eyes locked on the screen.
The call was set to start at seven sharp—Harrison Steele’s idea, not mine.
“Early morning clarity,” the man had said in his last email, as if honesty had a fucking time slot.
I stood behind the camera’s line of sight, shoulder braced against the wall.
The whole left side of my body hummed with the need to act.
I’d spent the last half hour cataloguing every creak in the house, every possible angle of entry, like the kitchen was hostile territory and I was waiting for snipers on the ridge.
In reality, the only shot that mattered was the one about to come through the laptop speaker.
The clock on the oven ticked over. The call went live. For a split second, the image blurred, then locked in on Harrison’s face—close-cropped, silver at the temples, skin taut and unlined as an investment banker’s signature.
He wore a suit, tie sharp enough to cut, and somewhere in the background was the glint of Madrid morning, all glass and hard shadows. He looked like he’d spent the last twenty years curdling every drop of affection into acid.
Carter’s breath hitched—just a tiny stutter, but I heard it. I wanted to reach out, lay my hand on his shoulder, but I held back. This was his war. I was just the artillery.
“Good morning, Carter.” Harrison’s voice filled the room, dry and cool.
Not even a question, just a formality. He took one look at Carter, then let his gaze drift lower, pausing at the visible round of Carter’s belly, which pressed the cotton of his shirt into a gentle arc. His mouth tightened at the edges.
Carter’s fingers curled against the wood. “Good morning, Father,” he said. I watched the muscles in his jaw work, watched his tongue wet his lips. “Thank you for making time.”
Harrison steepled his fingers, leaning forward until his knuckles gleamed in the camera’s lens.
“Let’s not waste each other’s time. This…
stunt—” he said the word like it was a terminal diagnosis—“has caused no end of trouble. The board is asking questions. Your brother is fielding press inquiries. There’s talk of you defecting to Europe, or worse.
” He let the word hang. “There’s still a window to manage this.
We’ll bring you home, handle the details with discretion, and minimize the fallout. ”
I saw the color rise in Carter’s neck. He did not look away. “I’m not coming home,” he said, voice even. “This is my home now.”
Harrison’s gaze sharpened. “That’s not a decision you’re empowered to make. The family trust—”
“—is mine by legal right,” Carter said, cutting in for the first time in his life. “You know that. Barrett knows that.”
Harrison’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t bite. “You’re out of your depth, Carter. Whatever you think you’ve accomplished out there—on a rundown farm in the middle of nowhere—it’s nothing compared to what you’re giving up. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this family?”
The words hit like a cluster bomb, shrapnel flying. I watched Carter absorb it, hands now gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
That was my cue. I moved forward—two steps, just out of sight of the camera—and laid my hand on his shoulder. Not hard, just solid. A reminder.
He took a breath. “There’s no ‘situation’ to handle,” he said, the tremor in his voice evening out as I pressed my thumb to the ridge of his scapula. “I’m having this baby. I’m staying here. And I own the Hargrove property now. There’s nothing left for you to leverage.”
For a second, the great Harrison Steele looked almost reacted. His face twitched—barely—but I saw it.
“You will do no such thing,” he said, the words clipped, dangerous. “You’re a Steele. You don’t get to shed your obligations just because you’re… confused. Or—” a quick, contemptuous glance at the belly, “—compromised.”
I could feel Carter’s pulse through his shirt, rapid and hard. But he didn’t flinch.
“Don’t call me confused,” Carter said, and for a second his old bitterness flared. “I’m more certain than I’ve ever been.”
Harrison’s face went flat, shark-like. “Your mother would be devastated to see you like this.”
That was low. Carter’s hands trembled, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might fold.
I squeezed his shoulder, just a little harder. “You don’t have to do this alone,” I murmured, low enough that only he could hear.
He lifted his chin, eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m not alone,” Carter said. “And you can stop pretending you’re worried about me. This is about the name, about keeping up appearances.”
Harrison’s composure broke. He slammed his fist down on the desk, the noise so sharp it made the laptop jump. “You are a Steele,” he roared. “You do not get to opt out of the consequences of your actions. I raised you better than this.”
Carter’s breath caught. For a second, I saw him at seventeen, hunched in a too-big suit, eyes wide and pleading. But then he squared his shoulders, and the line of his mouth went hard.
“Means nothing to me anymore,” he said. “I’m a Steele in name only, and soon I won’t even be that.”
Silence, thick and electric.
I let go of his shoulder, pride burning through my chest like whiskey. He had done it. He had faced the monster and not blinked.
Harrison just glared at the camera, then leaned in so close his face blurred into a mask of rage. “This isn’t over,” he said, voice like a threat. “Not by a long shot.”
He disconnected. The screen went black, leaving only the reflection of Carter’s face, pale and hollow-eyed in the glass.
He stared at it for a long time. I watched the emotions flicker over him—relief, terror, disbelief.
Then I pulled him out of the chair, cradled him in my arms like I’d planned it all along.
He came apart in my grip, the adrenaline leaking out of him until all that was left was the raw, shaking animal at the heart of every person.
“You did it,” I said, burying my face in his hair. “You fucking did it.”
He laughed, a wild, broken sound, and buried his face in my shirt.
“We’re free,” he whispered.
I stroked his back, feeling every tremor. I wanted to tell him it was over, that the war had been won, but I knew better. This was just the first fight, but I also knew that, whatever came next, we’d face it together.
I looked down at the laptop, at the dead screen, and thought of all the ways a man could be dangerous. Harrison Steele had never gone up against an alpha who loved someone more than his own skin.
Let him come.
We’d be waiting.
* * * *
It took less than an hour for the war to escalate.
We’d barely finished the postmortem—me sitting at the kitchen table, Carter wrapped up in my arms, both of us breathing like we’d just sprinted a mile in full gear—when the next email dropped. A single line, no salutation. “We need to speak further. Now.” Below, the link: video call, immediate.
Carter didn’t want to answer. I could feel it in the way he leaned into me, his whole body radiating fuck this, but I knew that if we didn’t face it, Harrison would just keep coming. He always did.
So I stood, squared my shoulders, and hit “accept.”
This time, I took the chair next to Carter and made damn sure I was in frame when the video connected. I braced one hand behind him, resting it on the back of his neck, thumb stroking slow. If Harrison wanted a show of force, he could fucking have it.
He came onscreen even colder than before. Whatever mask he’d used to hide his disgust was gone; in its place was a sharp, glittering contempt.
“So this is the infamous O’Reilly,” Harrison said. Not a question. A dissection.
I watched his gaze take me apart—height, weight, haircut, scars. He recognized a fellow predator, but it just pissed him off more.
Carter’s voice was a little steadier this round. “What do you want, Dad?”
Harrison ignored him. “You think this is real, O’Reilly? You think you can stake a claim on my son, on my name, and just walk away?”
I grinned, teeth bared. “Wasn’t your name I wanted, sir.”
Carter choked back a laugh. I squeezed the back of his neck, pleased.
Harrison’s nostrils flared. “Let’s be clear. You will not marry him. You will not disgrace this family any further. If you persist in this… farce, I will cut you off, Carter. No inheritance. No trust. You’ll be left with nothing but the dust under your boots.”
I leaned forward, letting my shoulders take up the whole right half of the frame. “He doesn’t need your money. He doesn’t need your approval.” The words felt good, clean. “And he sure as hell doesn’t need to be chained to your misery.”
For a beat, I thought Harrison would pop a vessel. But he reeled it back, steepling his hands with deliberate calm.
“You’re Rawley’s subordinate,” he said, voice low and venomous.
“The one he vouched for. You think I don’t know who you are, O’Reilly?
I read your file. Decorated, yes. But there’s also a history, isn’t there?
The Navy was only too happy to see you retire, as I recall.
A little too volatile for officer track. A little too eager to break the rules.”
Carter went still. I could feel his pulse pick up, that old fear of being outed for a failure he didn’t even own.
I smiled at Harrison, slow and deliberate. “Never broke a rule that wasn’t worth breaking.”
Harrison’s voice dropped to a whisper, all silk and arsenic. “You’re nothing but a hired gun with PTSD and a—”
Carter slammed the laptop shut. The room went instantly silent, except for the blood hammering in my ears.
His hands shook. I took them both in mine, just holding. It was like trying to absorb lightning, but I didn’t let go until he looked at me, eyes wide and stinging.
“He knows about you,” Carter said, voice shaking. “If he knows about your record, your past…”
I stopped him with a kiss, soft at first, then harder until he let go of the breath he’d been holding. I brushed his hair back, searching his face for any cracks. There were none that I couldn’t fix.
“Let him dig,” I said. “Let him threaten. There’s nothing in there that can take me away from you. Nothing I’m ashamed of. And nothing I wouldn’t do again if it meant keeping you safe.”
He crumpled against me, body curling in tight. I wrapped both arms around him, careful of the belly, careful of every part of him that needed to be kept from harm.
We stayed that way for a long time. I listened to his breathing, let it slow to something manageable, then pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
“He’s never going to stop,” Carter whispered. “He’ll try to buy out the county. He’ll threaten Rawley, maybe even Jojo—”
“He can try,” I said. “But we’re not the same scared kids you left behind in Texas. We’ve got each other. We’ve got friends who’d die before letting him win.”
He laughed, a real one this time, watery and bitter and alive. “You always have to be the hero, huh?”
“Not a hero,” I said. “Just a man who knows what he wants.”
He sniffled, wiped his face, then pulled back enough to look me in the eye. “What if he’s right?” he asked, soft. “What if I can’t do this without the safety net?”
“You already are,” I said, meaning every fucking word. “You stood up to him. You claimed the land, the future, the baby. You chose it all, Carter. That’s more than most men ever do.”
He looked at me, searching for a lie and finding none.
I grinned. “And if we get desperate, I hear the goat cheese business is about to boom.”
He laughed for real then, head thrown back, the tension finally breaking. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that sound until I heard it, bright and clear and free.
We let the day pass in a blur. I called Rawley, told him to expect trouble.
He just laughed and said, “Let the old bastard try.” Jojo baked a cake, of all things, and brought it over with the baby in tow.
Carter held the kid for an hour, cooing and making faces, the shadows under his eyes slowly fading.
That night, we lay in bed, his head on my chest, the weight of him grounding me to the world. I traced the curve of his spine, memorizing every inch.
“You scared?” I asked.
He shook his head, then nodded, then laughed again. “Yeah, but only a little.”
I thought of Harrison’s face, the way it had gone brittle with rage when he realized he couldn’t win. I thought of all the men I’d outlasted, all the fights I’d survived, and I knew this one was already over.
“Let him come,” I said.
Carter smiled, pressed a kiss to my chest, and drifted off.
In the dark, I watched the shadows play across the ceiling and felt a new kind of calm settle into my bones.
Harrison Steele had never met an alpha who knew how to love.
But he was about to.