Chapter Eighteen
Freid
With our omega and the new life inside him cradled between us, I fell asleep every night in a cloud of bliss.
We didn’t always make love, but we did more often than not—as long as Penn was not nauseated or tired or swollen or otherwise impaired by pregnancy.
His comfort outshone our desire, or maybe his comfort was our ultimate desire.
His scent had changed with the pregnancy, not better or worse, just different, and stronger, although nobody else ever seemed to notice, so it must have been only his mates who could.
On this particular night, I had been in meetings all day and was exhausted.
Nominated for a judgeship, I had been very worried about the implications to our new little family.
I loved my work as an attorney, but the hours were insane and unlikely to get better.
When I first joined the firm, I thought they’d be awful while I paid my dues as an associate, then, as a junior partner, more dues paying.
Now a full partner, I had charge of not only my own cases but juniors and associates under me.
Somehow, I was working even more and being a daddy and a mate—I needed to make a change.
So when the judgeship came up, I researched it. Not a big court, it was at the edge of the city and I would not likely get any important cases. According to the retiring judge, he worked forty to forty-five hours a week, managed to use his vacation time, and loved the job.
I wanted it.
But it meant more than just walk in and sit down.
It was an appointed position, so at least I wasn’t running an election, but I had to prove myself to the official in charge.
Sometimes, I thought I should just quit the firm and see if I couldn’t hang out my own shingle, but research showed that had its own issues.
Plus, after sitting in the courtroom and observing for a few days, I thought I’d like the work.
But getting from point A to point B made my days even longer and my mates had been so patient.
The decision was set to be announced the following week, and as my head hit the pillow, I knew I’d done everything I could to make it happen.
Ready for a night of peaceful rest, I cuddled my mates and closed my eyes.
Vivid, sharp, clean, and, once again in color, a dream flooded my sleeping mind. Even on this plane, my waking self held enough sway to recognize the importance of the second full-color dream I could remember.
My mates and I were living in my home, although it was very different now, with toys and small furniture and fluffy blankets all over the place.
As a single alpha, I’d taken a lot of pride in my neatness, and even having my mates around had made things a little messier, even though none of us were particularly sloppy.
But before, I’d used the place for sleeping, changing clothes and showering, and having the occasional weekend-coffee morning on the porch.
Just cooking and eating and having three times as many people coming and going made it more casual. And I didn’t hate that. Every jacket tossed over a chair with one of my mates’ scent on it, every cup in the sink or empty ice cream tub left in the freezer by accident made me smile a little.
However, in my dream, my home was nothing like what three males might leave around.
Even adding in the fact that we had a baby coming couldn’t account for the little round table set for five, the dollhouse and train set, and at least fifteen stuffies in my vision.
I walked around the room, taking in each item I’d never seen before.
Could it be a hint that our omega might be having twins?
Maybe the five chairs were for our little ones and their friends?
My musing was cut short by a giggle. Before my astonished eyes, a polar bear cub came tumbling into the room, damp hair and jammies indicating she had been freshly bathed to be ready for bed.
Then another, in matching pajamas bouncing off his sister?
They were not in bear form, of course, but I had no doubt what they were.
As they came close to me, the first one, the little girl cried, “Papa, my brother hurt me.”
“No, I didn’t.” The boy’s lower lip thrust out. “I fell and you were in the way.”
As their argument built in volume and speed, I struggled to take it all in and make sense of why our babies, who were dingo, wolf, and or tiger, were suddenly polar bears. What did I eat for dinner that would give me such odd dreams?
Then, before I could resolve anything more than pork and bean burritos with extra hot sauce were not good to eat half an hour before bed, another pair raced in.
Also in pajamas, and also not dingo, wolf, or tiger.
No…these two, if I had it right, were a wren and a turtle.
It didn’t hurt that their animal was displayed on the front of their pajamas.
The polar bears had just been a good guess.
“Kiss me good night, Papa,” cried the little wren. “Dada says we have to go to sleep.”
“I’m not tired.” The turtle wrapped his arms around my knees. “Watch TV.”
“No screens,” chided the wren. “Tell him no screens, Papa.”
“Sometimes, we watch screens.”
The chaos rose around me, the four children apparently calling me Papa and climbing all over me, kissing and hugging, demanding stories and drinks of water and cartoons.
I was speechless, sitting in an armchair I’d never seen before and trying to make sense of the whole situation.
Then my mates strolled in from the hallway that led to the bedrooms, arm in arm.
Penn was swollen and near to giving birth, meaning, he still had the baby or babies we were expecting safely inside him.
“They love their papa so much,” Ty said. “Look at that.”
“It might be a little overwhelming,” Penn put in. “Maybe we should save him.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. How much love is too much?”
The little ones eventually abandoned me to play, seeking “five more minutes” before bed, and my mates came to sit on the sofa, close together, hands linked.
Once again, I took in the scene, seeing my mates looking so proudly at the children, Penn resting his free hand on his belly, and everyone in the room glowing with a subtle joy.
As the images faded and waking awareness returned, I struggled to make sense of my dream. It meant something, as the previous color one had, but what? Darkness still surrounded us, my mates still breathing evenly, lost in slumber. If I couldn’t interpret it, perhaps one of them could?
Not now because they both needed their rest, but in the morning, I would tell them all about the dream. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed out of the room and into the living room to write down all the details before I forgot them.