2. Nate
Chapter 2
" S hhh, shhh, it's okay, William. It's okay." I bounce the tiny, crying bundle in my arms, trying to offer comfort, but it's useless. He tries to arch his back, his face screwed up and red, fists flailing. I nudge the bottle's nipple against his lips, but he turns his head, his crying escalating to a wail that grates on my nerves.
He's only three months old, yet he's endured a lifetime's worth of pain, even if he doesn't understand it yet. It's been a week since the accident, since Dad and Stacy were killed. In the midst of my own grief, I became William's guardian. The reality feels unreal, like some bad dream. Them, gone. And me, responsible for this fragile life. There was no one else; our family is scattered, and none of them are able to care for a baby. Foster care? I couldn't. Not to my brother.
I try the bottle again, rocking him gently. "Come on, buddy, you gotta eat." He only cries harder, his body rigid. My chest tightens, anxiety and helplessness knotting together. I'm failing. I'm a hockey player, an Alpha. Strength and control are supposed to be my thing, yet this baby has me completely undone.
A glance at my watch; thirty minutes until the nanny interviews start. The league gave me two weeks—family emergency and bereavement they called it. Two weeks to bury my father and stepmother, sort through their things, and figure out how to be a single parent. Then it's back to the ice, back to the NAHL, back to the Vipers. How can I balance it? How can I be there for William when my life is all training, travel, and games?
The nursery door creaks open, and Calvin peeks in, his short, curly red hair a mess. Worry lines his freckled face, his brown eyes soft. "Everything alright in here?" He steps in, his presence a bit of calm in my storm.
"He won't eat. Been crying for an hour." My voice is rough.
Calvin, my goalie, my packmate, and the resident baby expert, approaches. He's the one with the touch, thanks to his six younger siblings. Even with an Omega mother and a pack of Alpha fathers, Calvin often helped—changing diapers, making formula, soothing babies. He's a natural, which I envy.
He reaches out, slow and steady. "Mind if I try?"
Pride, Alpha stubbornness, makes me want to say no, to insist I've got it. But I'm losing it, and I know it. The word, "Please," is heavy as I pass William over.
Calvin settles the baby against his shoulder, one big hand supporting his head, the other rubbing his back in slow circles. He hums, low and deep, filling the room with something steady and soothing. William's cries soften, losing their edge. He still whimpers, but he's relaxing.
Calvin pats his back, gentle, rhythmic. "Sometimes they just need a good burp."
William lets out a surprisingly loud burp and nestles into Calvin's shoulder, his fists unclenched.
I watch them, a mixture of relief and resentment churning inside me. Relief that William is finally quiet, but also a bitter resentment that I wasn't the one who could make him stop crying. I'm his brother, his guardian—I should be able to comfort him. Doubts creep in, whispering questions I don't have answers for. Can I really do this? Can I be the guardian, the father figure, that William needs? Can I give this kid what he deserves?
Calvin shifts William, maneuvering him so he's still supported with one arm while he reaches for the bottle. He takes it from my outstretched hand, offering it to William with a gentle nod, he latches on. The sight should bring further relief, but it only makes the knot in my stomach tighten.
I sink into the rocking chair, watching them both. Calvin looks so calm, so in control—everything I'm not. He glances at me. "So, the nanny interviews," he begins. "Nervous?"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Nervous is putting it mildly. I have no idea what makes a good parent, let alone a good nanny. I just want to keep him alive and happy. So, you know, no one who's going to be cold and stern."
Calvin chuckles under his breath, adjusting his hold on William as he finishes the bottle. "You're doing better than you think, Nate. This is... a lot. For anyone." He gently pulls the bottle away, and William doesn't protest, his eyelids already drooping. "But yeah, I get it. It's a big decision. What kind of person are you looking for, besides, you know, 'not cold and stern'?" He pauses, then adds, a bit more seriously, "You did make it clear we only want a Beta, right?"
I rub my hand over my face. "Yeah, I made sure the agency understood. Betas only. Last thing we need is some Omega going into heat or an Alpha trying to... I don't even know." I shake my head, then try for a lighter tone. "Easy for you to say all that, Mr. Natural. You practically came out of the womb knowing how to change a diaper."
He shrugs. "Lots of practice. Six younger siblings will do that to you." He starts to pat William's back again.
I shift in the rocking chair, my gaze moving from Calvin and William to the window, my voice dropping. "Has Peter said anything about hiring a nanny?"
The mention of our other pack mate seems to deflate Calvin slightly. He avoids my eyes for a moment. "Not much. He's... not thrilled about the idea of a stranger living here." Calvin holds up a hand before I can interrupt. "He's not thrilled about a baby in the house either, to be honest. But," he sighs, meeting my gaze again, "he understands."
My jaw tightens. "This isn't about him; it's about William. It won't change us, who we are as a pack. We need help, Calvin. I need help. I can't do this alone, not with the season starting back up."
Calvin nods, his gaze focused on William, who's now sound asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling. "I know, I know. It's just... he's worried. About bringing someone new in, even temporarily." He glances toward the door, probably wondering if Peter's listening in.
I push myself up from the rocking chair. "We'll be fine. It won't change us at our core."
He doesn't look convinced, but he carefully moves toward the crib, lowering William gently onto the mattress. He stirs for a moment, then settles back into sleep. "He's out."
We both stand there for a moment, watching William sleep. A strange, unfamiliar feeling, a mix of protectiveness and awe, washes over me. This tiny, helpless being is my responsibility. And I'm terrified of failing him.
Calvin turns to look at me, his expression serious. "We will find someone good. We have to."
I take a deep breath, trying to center myself as I sit at the dining room table, a stack of résumés and application forms in front of me. Calvin offered to stay, but I needed to do this on my own. This is my responsibility. The first applicant is due any minute, and the knot in my stomach is back with a vengeance.
A sharp rap on the door makes me jump. Okay, here we go. I smooth down my shirt, probably already looks wrinkled from nervous fidgeting, and go to answer it.
A woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a Victorian-era portrait stands on the porch. She’s older, maybe late sixties, with gray hair pulled back into a severe bun so tight it looks painful. Her clothes are dark and stiff, and her expression is... well, let’s just say it doesn’t exactly scream warm and cuddly. She’s a Beta, that much is clear from the neutral scent wafting off her; no Alpha dominance, no Omega sweetness. Just bland.
"Mr. Blake?" Her voice is sharp, clipped.
"Yes, come in." I step aside, trying to offer a welcoming smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
She strides inside, her back ramrod straight, and surveys the living room with a critical eye. I follow her to the dining room, feeling like a schoolboy being inspected by the headmistress.
"Please, have a seat, Ms...." I gesture toward the chair opposite me, scrambling to find her application in the pile. "Ms. Henderson, right?"
"Indeed." She sits down, placing a large, worn leather handbag on the table between us. It looks like it could double as a weapon. "Agnes Henderson. I’ve been raising children for over forty years, Mr. Blake. Alphas, mostly. I have excellent references, all of whom will attest to my methods."
"Methods?" I echo, a slight tremor in my voice.
Ms. Henderson fixes me with a steely gaze. "Children need discipline, Mr. Blake. A firm hand. None of this modern coddling. Spare the rod, spoil the child, as they say."
My stomach sinks. This is exactly what I didn’t want. "Right. Well, William is only three months old, so I’m not sure how much discipline he needs at this stage."
She waves a dismissive hand. "It starts from day one, Mr. Blake. Instilling respect, obedience. Building character. The sooner you establish the hierarchy, the better."
Hierarchy? He’s a baby, not a recruit in boot camp. I try to steer the conversation back to something a little less terrifying. "So, your application mentions experience with infants?"
She nods, a sharp, jerky movement that reminds me of a vulture. "Extensive. I've even guided Betas to become Alphas."
"You guided them to become Alphas?" What is she even talking about? You present as what you are. It’s biology, not a choice. You can’t guide someone into being an Alpha.
She gives a tight, humorless smile. "Encouraged their natural tendencies, shall we say. A firm hand, a strict schedule, and absolutely no tolerance for weakness."
I swallow hard. This is a disaster. "And what about nurturing them? Affection?"
Ms. Henderson sniffs. "Sentimentality is a weakness, Mr. Blake. Children need structure, not hugs and kisses. Those are for Omegas."
My hands clench into fists under the table. "William needs love. He needs to feel safe and secure."
Her eyes narrow. "He needs to learn his place. And you, Mr. Blake, need to learn yours. An Alpha should not be so... soft."
I take a deep breath, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Ms. Henderson, I appreciate you taking the time to come, but I don’t think this is going to be a good fit."
She stands up, her movements stiff and abrupt. "Clearly, you are not ready for the responsibility of raising an Alpha heir. Pity. With the proper guidance, that boy could have amounted to something." She picks up her weapon-like handbag. "Good day, Mr. Blake."
She marches out, leaving me staring after her, a mixture of relief and utter exasperation swirling inside me. I run a hand through my hair. What the hell was that? If that’s what forty years of experience gets you, I’d rather hire a teenager with a babysitting certificate. I slump back in my chair, feeling a headache coming on. Five more interviews to go... This is going to be a long day.
I heave a sigh, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Ms. Henderson and her unique views on child-rearing. I glance at the clock. The next applicant should be here any minute. Please, let this one be normal. Please.
Another knock, less aggressive this time. I open the door to a woman who is the polar opposite of the previous candidate. She’s middle-aged, maybe mid-forties, dressed in a flowing tie-dye dress and enough beaded jewelry to outfit a small tribe. Her hair is a riot of colorful braids, and she smells strongly of patchouli and something vaguely floral. Another Beta. But... different. Very different.
"Mr. Blake?" Her voice is airy, almost sing-song. "I’m Willow Moonbeam. So delighted to meet you!"
I manage a weak smile. "Come in, Ms. Moonbeam."
Willow Moonbeam? Seriously?
She practically floats into the living room, her bracelets jingling with every movement. "Oh, please, call me Willow! We’re all connected together. No need for formalities."
I lead her to the dining room, trying to ignore the way she’s gazing around with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. "Have a seat, Willow."
She settles into the chair, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Such vibrant energy in this space! But I sense a blockage. Perhaps a smudging ceremony is in order?"
I clear my throat. "Maybe later. So, your application..."
"Oh, the application!" She giggles, a high-pitched, tinkling sound. "Such a formality, really. I believe in connecting with children on a soul level. Resonating with their inner light."
I try to keep my face neutral. "Right. But you do have experience with infants?"
"Oh, absolutely! I’ve been a spiritual guide for many little ones. Helping them to align their chakras and embrace their cosmic destiny."
My eye twitches. Chakras? Cosmic destiny? This is going from bad to worse. "So... you’ve changed diapers?"
Willow waves a hand dismissively. "Details, details! It’s all about the energy exchange. Nurturing the spirit, fostering creativity. I often incorporate crystal and aromatherapies into my childcare routine."
Just then, a wail erupts from the nursery. William. I wince. "Excuse me for one moment."
I rush upstairs to the makeshift nursery—it used to be a guest room, but we’d hastily thrown in a crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair two days ago. William lies in his crib, his face red and screwed up in distress.
Before I can even reach for him, Willow is suddenly beside me, her bracelets clattering. "Oh, the poor little star seed! His aura is clouded with distress!"
She reaches into the crib, but William recoils, his cries intensifying. He turns his head away from her outstretched hand. He’s never reacted to anyone like this before, not even me.
"Perhaps a cleansing chant?" Willow pulls a small, oddly shaped crystal from her pocket. "It helps to dispel negative vibrations."
"I think he just needs a diaper change." I gently push her hand aside. I pick up William, who immediately starts to calm down, snuggling against my shoulder; the first time he's ever done that, it fills me with joy. Even at three months old, he clearly knows who he doesn’t want near him.
I carry him back to the dining room, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. I keep my voice even, fighting to not let my tone betray my growing panic. "Willow, I appreciate your... unique approach, but I don’t think this is going to work."
She looks surprised. "But I haven’t even shown you my collection of healing stones! Or demonstrated my intuitive baby massage techniques!"
"I’m sure they’re lovely, but I’m looking for something a little more... conventional."
Willow sighs dramatically. "The world is so closed off to the higher frequencies. It’s a pity, really. You’re missing out on a profound connection." She gathers her many belongings, the scent of patchouli intensifying. "May your path be illuminated, Mr. Blake. Even if it’s a bit... dim now."
She sweeps out of the house, leaving me staring after her in stunned silence. I look down at William, who’s now calmly sucking on his fist, his eyes wide and alert. He seems remarkably unfazed by the whole encounter.
"Well, buddy," I murmur, "at least you have good taste."
I slump back into the chair, wondering if it’s even possible to find a sane, competent nanny in this town. Two down, four to go. I brace myself for the next interview. How can people like Ms. Henderson and Willow Moonbeam even exist, let alone be entrusted with the care of children? It’s a terrifying thought.
Five interviews. Five complete and utter disasters. After the iron-fisted Ms. Henderson and the aura-cleansing Willow Moonbeam, I thought I'd seen it all. I was wrong.
Applicant number three, a burly, middle-aged Beta named Barry, spent the entire interview talking about his "proven system" for building character in young boys, which seemed to involve a lot of push-ups, cold showers, and shouting. He kept referring to William as "the little soldier" and suggested that I invest in a miniature obstacle course for the backyard.
Number four was an Omega, despite the agency's assurances. She arrived smelling strongly of perfume, batted her eyelashes at me, and spent more time complimenting my "Alpha physique" than discussing her childcare experience. When I firmly reiterated the Beta-only requirement, she pouted and accused me of discrimination.
And then there was number five. A painfully shy and young Beta woman who looked like she was about to faint the entire time. She barely spoke above a whisper, answered most of my questions with a nervous "I don't know." And jumped a foot in the air when a dog barked in the neighbor's backyard.
I'm starting to lose all hope. I'm this close to calling the agency and demanding a full refund, along with compensation for emotional distress.
Just as I'm about to pick up the phone, another knock echoes through the house. The final applicant. I take a deep breath and open the door.
Standing there is a mid-twenties woman, a stark contrast to the day's previous encounters. She's petite, but there's a quiet strength about her. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, revealing a delicate jawline and clear, blue eyes that seem to hold a hint of sadness. She's dressed simply, jeans and a soft, gray sweater. She offers a small, hesitant smile. The most unnerving thing, however, is the complete absence of scent. No Alpha dominance, no Omega sweetness, not even the mild, reassuring scent of a Beta. It's like a void.
"Mr. Blake?" Her voice is soft, but clear. "I'm Daisy Johnson."
"Come in, Ms. Johnson." I step aside.
I lead her to the dining room. She sits, her posture relaxed but not slouching, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. There's a calmness about her, a quiet stillness.
"So," I take my seat. "Tell me a little about yourself. Your experience."
"Well, I'm twenty-six. I have a bachelor's degree in Child Development and another in Early Childhood Education. I worked as a live-in nanny for the Miller family for three years, starting when their youngest was a newborn, until they moved overseas."
"The Millers." I glance at her resume. "They gave you a glowing review."
A small, fond smile touches her lips. "They were a wonderful family. I grew very attached to the children." She pauses. "It was difficult when they left."
"That must have been hard."
She looks up, meeting my eyes. "It was. But it reinforced my preference for live-in positions, particularly with infants. It fosters a stronger bond, a deeper understanding."
I lean back, studying her. "And what about your presentation?" I blurt out and immediately regret sounding like an ass.
She blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"Are you a late presenter?" I need her to be a Beta. I need her to not smell like nothing.
She looks confused. "I'm a Beta. Why do you ask?"
I sigh. "I can't smell your scent. It's odd. Even Betas have a scent."
She looks surprised by this comment. "Oh. I didn't have pheromones when I tested at sixteen."
I didn't know that was possible, but I'm not a doctor. "So," I clear my throat and change the subject, "tell me why you think you'd be a good fit for this position."
She takes a breath. "Because I love children. I understand them, I respect them, even the very young ones. I believe in creating a nurturing, stimulating environment where they feel safe and loved and free to explore." She meets my eye. "And because I know what it's like to lose that connection, that family. I understand how important it is to build it back, to create a new normal."
Her words hit home.
A silence lingers for a second before she meets my gaze. "And William? What is his situation?"
I swallow hard. "His mother was my stepmother, Stacy. My dad remarried a couple of years ago, to a much younger woman. They..." I let out a breath. "They were killed in a car accident three days ago. William was at home with a sitter."
Her expression shifts, not just with sympathy, but with something deeper, a pain that seems to echo my own. Her blue eyes well up, and she takes a shaky breath. "I'm so incredibly sorry. That's devastating. For you and for him, so small, to lose both his parents at the same time." She can't seem to meet my eyes.
A cry pierces the quiet.I rise instantly. "Excuse me."
I hurry to the nursery. William wails, his face red and contorted with distress. I check his diaper; it's clean. I just fed him, it wasn't easy, but he got a bottle down, before Daisy showed up. I try to burp him, which only makes him more upset.
There's a soft knock, and I look up to see Daisy standing in the doorway. Her brows knit together with concern and sadness. "Is he alright?"
I shake my head. "I don't know what's wrong. He won't calm down."
Daisy looks at William. "He's grieving," Her voice comes out soft, tears glisten in her eyes. "Even at this age, they know. They feel the absence. His mother; her scent, her heartbeat. It's all gone. He doesn't understand why, but he feels it, this huge, terrifying loss, a void where she once was always. It's not only about being fed or changed. His world, her, has changed and there's no way to explain to him why it happened."
She's right, and I was only assuming he was functioning purely on survival instinct. "Can you help?" The words escape me.
She nods as she steps closer, her hands outstretched. "May I?"
I all but thrust William into her arms. She takes him and sits in the rocking chair, settling him against her chest. She holds him, one hand stroking his back, the other cradling his head.
"It's okay, little one," she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. "It's okay to be sad. To miss her. She loved you so, so much. She'll always be a part of you. It's okay to cry. You're safe. You're not alone." She begins to rock him, slow and steady, and then softly sings a lullaby, her voice gentle and clear.
My racing heart calms some as well, her voice like a balm for my anxiety.
And, slowly, William begins to calm. His cries subside to whimpers, then to soft sighs. He nuzzles into Daisy's shoulder.
I stand there, watching them. This quiet, unassuming Beta, who smells like nothing—that's unsettling—but there's something about her, about the way she holds William, her demeanor. She didn't come in here expecting things to change. She's just here to help.
I clear my throat. "You're hired. When can you start?"
Daisy looks up, startled. "Tomorrow. If that works for you."
"Tomorrow would be perfect."
She hums for a few moments, then rises and lays William down in his crib, tucking a light blanket around him. He stirs, then sighs.
We both stand there, watching him sleep.
"He should sleep for a while now."
I nod. "We should probably talk more. About things." I gesture toward the door.
We return to the dining room and take our seats.
"So," I begin, hesitating for a moment. "Living arrangements. We have a room. It’s… well, we were saving it in case we ever found an Omega for the pack." My face heats as I realize how that sounds. "But that’s not likely to happen anytime soon, so it’s yours if you want it. There’s a bed, but that’s about it for now. You can decorate it however you like."
"Thank you." She licks her lips, drawing my gaze to them and how full they are. "That’s very generous."
I clear my throat and force my gaze back to hers. "Food. We usually order in, or Calvin cooks; he's good at that. But you can make whatever you and William need. You aren't expected to cook for us or anything, only if you want to."
"Of course." Daisy nods, her gaze steady. "And my schedule?"
"Well," I exhale. "I and one of my pack mates are hockey players. My schedule is unpredictable with games, practice, and travel. I need you to be flexible."
"I understand." She holds up a hand. " Not a problem. I’m used to adapting."
Relief washes over me. "Good." A silence falls between us, just long enough to feel awkward.
I clear my throat. "I think we’ve covered the important parts for now. Peter is the one who figures out payments. He'll be in touch with a contract, and if it's all up to your standards, we'll get started tomorrow. Don't hesitate to call him out on his bullshit if he low balls you. You should've gotten my number in the request for in-person interview email. Feel free to use it if you need backup." Standing, I extend a hand. "We can go over the smaller details—days off and everything else—once you've settled in."
She rises and takes my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "That sounds good, Mr. Blake."
I walk her to the door. Just as she steps outside, she pauses, turning back.
"Thank you, Mr. Blake. For trusting me."
I run a hand over my hair. It's getting shaggy, but I haven't had time to get it cut. "Nate. Please, call me Nate."
She smiles. "Nate," she repeats, and something about the way she says it sends a shiver down my spine.
Then she’s gone, walking down the driveway and leaving me standing in the doorway, unsettled. My inner Alpha doesn’t want her to leave. It wants to protect her? The thought is absurd. She’s a Beta, and she smells like nothing. It makes no sense.
I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to reality. I have a nanny. I got one fast considering shit hit the fan three days ago. A good one, too, it seems. William likes her. That’s all that matters.
Closing the door, I lean my forehead against the cool wood and heave a sigh. I need to focus—on William, on getting through this next two weeks: the funeral, cleaning out my dad's house. At least with Daisy here to help us through this transition, it feels mildly doable. She understands his emotions better than I do. At the very least, she can offer the female presence he needs right now.