Chapter 9 - Lola
Sam let out a sigh so tiny it barely stirred the air, then curled closer into her chest with a sleepy grunt.
He was warm and heavy against her, a solid weight that felt like both a responsibility and a comfort.
Lola adjusted the blanket tucked around him and gave the rocker a gentle push with her foot, the chair creaking softly beneath them.
The late evening light cast the living room in a mellow glow, golden threads sliding across the floorboards. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear the faint hiss of running water, Dane in the shower, scrubbing off another long day of patrols and brawling teenagers. Again.
She looked down at Sam’s scrunched little face and smiled.
“Your father is a menace,” she whispered, “you’ll learn that eventually. Might as well prepare yourself now.”
Sam made a hiccupping noise and wiggled one socked foot out from the blanket. She adjusted it gently, tucking it back in.
Her book was lying forgotten beside her on the coffee table, but her laptop sat open on the arm of the chair. She reached for it with one hand, careful not to jostle him, and tilted the screen.
Her thesis glowed in pale white text against a deep gray background.
“Okay,” she murmured, settling back, “where were we?”
She scrolled to the paragraph she’d left off at.
“The cross-cultural symbolism of blood rites in alpha crowning ceremonies in pre-Imperial Northern Europe is often overlooked due to the late-day moral panic of the Roman Empire…”
Her voice was soft and even, and to anyone else, probably mind-numbingly dull. But Sam didn’t seem to mind. He liked the sound of her voice. Or maybe he liked the gentle rhythm of the words, the low hum of her chest as she spoke.
“…but such rituals are as indicative of the naturalistic connection of shifter species to their regions, as any scholarly reports indicate, and reveal a greater degree of homogenic cultural tendencies than previously assumed…”
Lola glanced down.
His eyes were fluttering closed again. She smiled.
“Don’t worry, Sam. Most adults find this stuff unbearable, too. But you’re going to grow up knowing all about it. Poor thing.”
She looked at him longer this time.
At his impossibly tiny eyebrows, his soft hair, and that adorable little dimple in his chin.
He was growing faster than she’d expected.
He was nearly double the weight he’d been when she first met him, his cheeks fuller, his movements more coordinated.
He’d started tracking her with his eyes when she walked into the room.
He smiled now, a real smile. Not just the reflexive gas bubble grins, but honest-to-god recognition.
She’d never expected to love him this much.
And yet here she was, completely undone by an eight-week-old with a terrible sense of timing and an uncanny talent for peeing during diaper changes.
“You’re going to break hearts someday,” she whispered, “just like your father. Only…maybe with less smirking.”
Sam wriggled, his little nose twitching.
She exhaled slowly, tipping her head back.
It was strange how much had changed. Two months ago, she’d still been arranging books alphabetically by century and swearing she’d never touch a cock-sure alpha playboy with a ten-foot pole.
Now she was sharing space with one and looking after his baby.
Eating his food. Folding his laundry. Heating bottles at three a.m. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And it wasn’t just convenience. She knew that now.
She liked it here.
She liked him, too.
That was the problem.
She didn’t know when it had started. Maybe the first time he’d fallen asleep on the couch with Sam asleep on his chest. Or the night she caught him humming under his breath while he rocked the baby in the early hours of the morning, completely unaware she was watching.
Dane was…not what she’d expected. He was blunt, cocky, maddeningly attractive. But underneath that, there was a quietness she hadn’t anticipated. A depth.
And he was trying. He was trying so hard to be a good father.
The fact that he didn’t think he was good at it just made her want to wrap him in a blanket and make him tea.
Lola looked down at Sam again, who was now sound asleep, little mouth slack, hand fisted into the fabric of her shirt.
“You and me, we’ve got him covered,” she whispered.
The shower cut off in the background.
She stiffened immediately.
Dane would be out soon. And as much as she’d gotten used to him being around, his scent in the hallway, his socks in the laundry, the permanent dent his body made on the right side of the couch, there were still moments where her nervous system short-circuited at the mere sound of him moving around shirtless in the hallway.
Which he always was, because apparently, he had a vendetta against wearing actual clothes.
She glanced down at herself, milk-stained hoodie, leggings, and fluffy socks with a hole in one toe, and winced.
Dane would walk in, looking like a literal Greek god who’d just finished bench-pressing the moon, and she’d be sitting here looking like a failed art student on her sixth cup of herbal tea.
“You’re not helping my confidence, you know,” she whispered to Sam.
Sam snored lightly in response.
She heard the soft creak of the bathroom door before she saw him, bare feet on the floorboards, the faint scent of pine soap and heat rolling ahead of him like a wave.
Lola looked up just in time to see Dane round the corner into the living room, towel slung over one shoulder, joggers low on his hips, and a threadbare black top clinging to his chest like it had been personally tailored to ruin her composure.
Her brain stalled.
Every exposed inch of him looked carved from marble, broad shoulders, arms inked from shoulder to forearm, the kind of bulky muscle you didn’t get from casual gym memberships.
His long dark hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.
And the tattoos…she’d never seen all of them up close, not really.
Most of the time, he wore a shirt or hoodie.
But now, with his skin still flushed from the shower and the faint glow of lamplight catching the lines and sigils winding over his collarbone…
Her throat went dry.
Dane stopped when he saw her. His brow lifted slightly.
“Is this baby torture or academic brainwashing?” he asked, nodding at her laptop.
She blinked. “What?”
He gestured lazily, “Didn’t know your thesis was part of infant enrichment programs now.”
“Oh,” she said, heat rising in her cheeks, “I…I wasn’t trying to…I mean, it’s just… he…he likes the sound of my voice.”
“Does he?”
“Yes! Probably. I think. I mean, he didn’t cry…”
Dane smirked and crossed the room, muscles rippling with every lazy step. He peered at the screen. “Blood rites and ancient Roman judgment. Fascinating.”
“It’s actually very important,” she said, flustered.
“Sure it is.”
She narrowed her eyes, “You’re just jealous no one’s written a thesis about you yet.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dane said, flashing her that crooked smile, “no one could publish that without at least three restraining orders.”
She snorted despite herself, then panicked, trying to recover her composure. Sam was still dozing, thank God, or he’d be startled by the way her pulse had tripled.
She tried to play it cool. She always did around him. It was easier to pretend she was above it all, detached and composed, far too clever to be distracted by a man with abs like sin and a voice that belonged in expensive whiskey commercials.
But tonight, she felt unsteady. Tired. Off-balance.
And Dane was being nice. Teasing, yes, but soft around the edges. That was harder to deflect.
“You know,” she said, voice too high, “maybe if you read more books instead of getting punched in the face by teenage wolves, you’d understand what I’m talking about.”
She meant it to be light. Playful.
But the moment the words left her mouth, she knew.
Too sharp.
Too defensive.
And Dane blinked.
Lola winced, “That came out wrong.”
He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her. Steady. Quiet.
She started to panic.
“I didn’t mean…I know you’re doing your best. I just… ugh.” She pressed her lips together and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “This is why people don’t like me.”
Dane tilted his head, “Who said people don’t like you?”
“I didn’t say they said it. It’s just…obvious. I always say the wrong thing, or I say too much, or I sound like I’m lecturing someone when I’m really just nervous, and then I get defensive, and I—”
“Lola.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
Dane was still looking at her, but the sharp edge had faded from his expression.
What was left was something far softer. Almost amused.
“You really think I’d be letting you live in my house, care for my kid, and talk my ear off about werewolf sociology if I didn’t like having you around?”
She blinked.
Hard.
“I…I mean…I figured it was just a necessity. You were desperate. I was…available.”
“That sounds like a bad dating ad,” Dane said dryly.
She groaned, burying her face in the crook of Sam’s blanket. “I am not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Talking. Interacting. Being normal.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Dane crossed to the arm of the chair and sat on it, close enough that she could feel the heat of him beside her.
“You don’t have to be normal,” he said. “I like you exactly how you are. Even when you’re reading academic theory to my son like it’s a bedtime story.”
Her heart did something very stupid.
He meant it casually, she knew that. A joke. Maybe even kind of a compliment. But it still lodged itself somewhere beneath her ribs and refused to budge.
She looked up at him, words caught behind her teeth.
But he didn’t look away.
And for once, neither did she.
The silence stretched between them like a tightrope.
Lola wasn’t sure who was going to fall first. Her, with her heart thudding behind her ribs like an idiot, or Dane, with that unreadable look on his face that wasn’t teasing anymore. It was something else. Something quieter. He looked…like he was thinking.
That alone was alarming.
She glanced down at Sam to break the tension, brushing her fingers over his blanket. He let out a soft sigh, his tiny face smushed into her chest.
“He’s asleep again,” she murmured.
Dane didn’t reply right away.
Then, voice low, he said, “You’re really good with him.”
It wasn’t teasing. Not even a little bit.
She blinked. “Oh. I…I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” he said.
She looked back up. He was watching Sam too now, his expression soft. Uncertain. Like he didn’t quite trust himself to enjoy the sight too much.
“I was terrible at this at first,” he added, “didn’t know how to hold him. Couldn’t change a diaper without swearing. Felix had to walk me through the first bath over speakerphone like I was defusing a bomb.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s hard to imagine.”
“Me panicking?”
“You needing help.”
He huffed a breath. “Believe me. I’ve needed a lot of help.”
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache.
She shifted Sam slightly and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t great with people, growing up. Still not, I guess.”
Dane’s brow lifted slightly, inviting her to go on.
“I was the quiet one. The weird one. Everyone else in my old pack wanted to shift, hunt, and spar. I wanted to read. Catalogue things. I was always left behind. Too slow, too small, too…not enough.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug, “Eventually, I just stopped trying. I kept to myself. It was easier that way.”
Dane tilted his head slightly, eyes steady on hers. “That why you ended up in academia?”
“I guess. Books are easier than people. They don’t interrupt or roll their eyes when I get excited about migration patterns or historical pack hierarchies.”
“I wouldn’t roll my eyes.”
“You raise your eyebrows.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when you do it like that.”
He gave her a small grin, barely there, but warm enough to make her chest squeeze.
Then, he sighed, sitting back and looking up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t like that here. Growing up, I mean. We weren’t allowed to be soft. Curiosity wasn’t something that got nurtured. Especially not in boys.”
Lola looked at him again. Really looked.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tightness in his jaw. A slight clench in his hands. Like the memories were muscle-deep.
“You grew up under the old guard, didn’t you?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
“Before Felix took over.”
“Yeah.”
She waited, sensing there was more.
Dane exhaled, running a hand over his face. “It was brutal. Rigid. Everything was a lesson, and every lesson ended with blood. I was groomed to be one thing: a weapon. Not a thinker. Not a father. Just a soldier. A killer, if I had to be.”
“But you’re not just that.”
“Aren’t I?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Violence is the only thing I was ever really good at. It’s how I got respect. How I kept it. Even now, it’s what I do. Enforcer. Protector. Punch now, ask questions later.”
“You protect people,” she said fiercely, “that’s not the same as hurting them.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Still feels the same, sometimes.”
Lola hesitated, then reached across the space between them and gently touched his arm.
His skin was warm under her fingers. He looked at her, surprised, but didn’t pull away.
“You’re good at this,” she said softly, “not just the fighting. The baby. The…the being human part.”
He let out a low breath. “I don’t feel good at it.”
“Neither do I. Most days I feel like I’m just…treading water. Hiding in plain sight. Waiting for someone to figure out I don’t belong.”
“You belong here,” he said, quiet but firm.
She blinked.
He didn’t say things like that. Not lightly.
Her voice wavered, “You mean with Sam?”
“I mean here.” His gaze held hers. “With us.”
Her breath caught.
Neither of them moved.
The baby stirred faintly in her arms, a soft sigh bubbling from his lips.
It broke the spell, just enough.
She lowered her eyes and smiled faintly, brushing a thumb over Sam’s forehead.
“I never thought I’d be part of something like this,” she whispered. “Not really. Not without pretending to be someone else.”
Dane didn’t respond with words.
Instead, he reached out and gently touched the back of Sam’s head. His hand brushed against hers, warm and solid and sure.
And they sat like that, hands tangled, breath shared, quiet surrounding them like a blanket.
Together.
For now.