Chapter 21 #2
"What about you?" I ask, deflecting. Desperate to turn the focus anywhere else. "How are things with you? With Richard?"
Her expression shifts. Softens. The worry doesn't disappear entirely, but something else rises up beneath it—something warm and genuine and painfully bright.
"Good." She says it simply. Like it's the easiest thing in the world. "Really good, Max."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She takes a breath. Lets it out slowly. "I know it hasn't been easy. This move, this house, these boys. It's a lot. For all of us. But Richard..." She shakes her head slightly, smiling. "He makes me happy. In a way I wasn't sure I could be again. Not after Daniel. Not after everything."
I swallow. The ache in my chest deepens. Her husband who passed away before she adopted me.
"I'm glad," I manage. And I mean it. I do. Because she deserves this—the big house, the kind husband, the sense of security she's didn’t have before. She deserves someone who looks at her the way Richard does, like she's precious, like she matters.
"And this family," Margot continues, her voice going soft.
"I know it's unconventional. I know it's complicated.
But I really believe we can make it work.
All of us. Together." She reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
Her hand is warm. Familiar. The same hand that was always kind, never raised to me in anger.
"I want you to be happy here, Max. I want you to feel like you belong. "
The guilt hits me so hard I nearly choke on it.
She's standing here telling me about her happiness, her hope, her belief in this fragile new family—and I'm keeping secrets that could shatter all of it. My existence is a threat to everything she's built. My body is a ticking time bomb. And the longer I stay, the more damage I'll do.
"I'm trying," I whisper. It's not a lie. It's not the truth either. It's something in between—a desperate, fraying thread of intention that doesn't mean anything when I can't control what's happening to me.
"I know you are." Margot cups my face in her hands. Looks at me with so much love it makes my eyes sting. "That's all I ask."
We stand there for a moment. Mother and son. The lake lapping softly against the dock pilings. The moon casting long shadows across the water.
Then Margot shivers slightly and wraps her arms around herself.
"It's getting cold," she says. Then, with a small smile: "I bought a gallon of cookie dough ice cream at the store today. The good kind, with the big chunks. Want to come inside and split it with me?"
The offer is so normal, so purely Margot, that it makes my throat tight. A month ago, I would have said yes. Would have sat at the kitchen island with her and eaten ice cream straight from the carton and let her warmth chase away whatever shadows were creeping in.
But I can't. Not tonight. Not with everything churning inside me.
"I think I'm going to stay out here a little longer," I say. "Clear my head."
Her face flickers—a tiny frown, quickly smoothed. She studies me for a moment, and I can see her weighing whether to push. Whether to insist.
She doesn't.
"Okay, sweetheart." She steps forward and raises up to kiss my forehead. Her lips are warm against my skin. "Don't stay out too long. You'll catch a cold."
"I won't."
She squeezes my arm once, then turns and heads back up the path toward the house. I watch her go—her silhouette getting smaller, the sliding glass door opening in a rectangle of warm light, then closing behind her.
And then I'm alone.
The night has gotten colder. I should go inside, but I'm not ready. The chill feels right somehow. Clarifying. Something real to focus on that isn't the chaos in my head.
I lower myself onto the weathered planks—carefully, so carefully, the ache between my legs still sharp enough to make me wince—and let my feet dangle over the edge. The water is black beneath me, shot through with ribbons of moonlight. Somewhere across the lake, a loon calls. Mournful. Lonely.
I run my hands through my hair. Press my palms against my scalp. Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I can't keep doing this.
The thought rises up clear and cold, cutting through the noise.
I can't keep hiding in my room, avoiding the brothers, waiting for the next explosion.
I can't keep watching Margot's happy oblivious smile while I know that I'm the thing that could destroy everything she's built.
I can't keep existing in this house like a ghost, like a secret, like a bomb waiting to go off.
Something has to change.
I have to change it.
The water laps against the dock pilings. Steady. Patient. The same rhythm it's kept for decades, centuries, long before this house existed, long before any of us were born.
I think about Margot's face when she talked about Richard. The softness in her voice. The light in her eyes.
I think about Zero's dead-eyed stare across the living room.
I think about Atlas taking the blame, lying smoothly, protecting a secret that isn't even his to keep.
I think about Bane's guilty silence. The way he won't look at me. The way he looked at me in the library, like something had cracked open inside him.
Three alphas. One secret. And me in the middle of it, the omega who shouldn't exist, the complication that keeps making everything worse.
I have to face them.
Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Soon. I have to look them in the eye and figure out what the hell we're going to do, because this—the tension, the fighting, the lies—it's not sustainable. Someone is going to get hurt. Margot is going to get hurt. And I won't let that happen.
If it means swallowing my fear, I'll do it.
If it means having a conversation I've been avoiding, I'll do it.
If it means leaving—walking away from this house, from this family, from the only stability my mother has ever known—so that she can have the life she deserves without me ruining it...
I'll do that too.
I stare out at the dark water. Feel the cold seeping into my bones. And for the first time since I walked into this house, I stop waiting for someone else to fix it.