Chapter 3 Wyatt
Wyatt
I push through the front door, my shoulders aching from a long day of consulting work with the local PD. The case had been straightforward enough, but sitting in those uncomfortable plastic chairs for hours while going over evidence reports has left my back stiff and my patience thin.
I roll my shoulders a few times before chuckling at the state of the living room as it greets me with its usual chaos.
Toys are scattered across the floor like a minefield.
Action figures sprawled in death poses, building blocks creating hazards for bare feet, and a coloring book is splayed open with crayons rolling loose.
But it's the scene on the couch that makes me pause, my emotions settling a little.
The kids are passed out on either side of Hunter, their small bodies slumped against him in complete abandon. Isaac's mouth is open slightly, a small wet spot forming on Hunter's shirt where he's drooling. Riley has her arm thrown over Hunter's lap, her long dark hair falling across her face.
Between them, Hunter is sitting back against the cushions, studying a blueprint spread across his thighs, his reading glasses perched on his nose. He's still in his work clothes, suit jacket discarded somewhere but his dress shirt is still buttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
When I take another step forward, mercilessly crushing whatever lego structure that was, Hunter looks up, those hazel eyes finding mine over the tops of his glasses. "How was the day?"
I shrug, toeing off my boots by the door and lining them up neatly against the wall. It's one of the few organizational habits that's survived the past year of barely keeping our heads above water. "Normal. Routine case, nothing exciting."
"Good," Hunter says, but his attention is already drifting back to the blueprint. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself rigid even with two sleeping kids using him as a pillow.
My gaze sweeps the living room again, really taking it in this time.
The toys are just the beginning of the chaos in our house.
There are juice boxes on the coffee table, half-empty and probably warm by now.
A bowl of what looks like cereal sits abandoned on the arm of the chair, the milk long since absorbed by the soggy flakes.
Someone's backpack has exploded near the stairs, papers and books and what might be yesterday's lunch container spilling out.
We need to do laundry. The hamper in the hallway is probably overflowing again.
We need to make dinner, though looking at the time on the microwave clock, it's already past six-thirty and none of us have started anything.
No doubt all three of us are overworked, running on fumes and stubbornness.
It'll probably be takeout tonight because we all need the rest, even if none of us will admit it out loud.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders again, the satisfying crack of my spine popping in three places making me relax a little. The sound makes Isaac stir slightly, but he just burrows deeper into Hunter's side without waking.
"Where's Silas?" I ask, though I already have a pretty good idea.
Hunter nods toward the study without looking up from his blueprint. "See if you can get him to take a break."
My shoulders droop at the confirmation. The study. Of course. Where else would he be?
We're all still healing in our own way, I know that.
But God, our ways are so unhealthy it keeps me up at night sometimes.
Hunter doesn't, correction, won’t talk about it.
He bottles everything up inside until I'm surprised he doesn't just explode from the pressure.
He throws himself into work, into being the strong one, into making sure everyone else is okay while completely ignoring his own grief.
Silas buries himself in work at the base, bringing home files and case reports and photographs, disappearing into the study for hours at a time.
The military has been gracious about it, understanding even, giving him extensions on deadlines and letting him work from home more often.
We all have the same security clearance, so it's not against protocol.
But it's killing us anyway. It's almost a death sentence to the pack because now Silas is always in that room, hiding away from the inevitability of Evie being gone.
And me? I spend all my time focusing on everyone else.
Making sure Hunter eats. Checking on Silas.
Reading to the kids every night even when I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open.
I schedule playdates and doctor's appointments and parent-teacher conferences.
I handle the logistics of our broken little family while carefully avoiding looking at my own grief too closely, either.
Over the last year, losing our Omega, Evie, wrecked us. Completely and utterly wrecked us.
We haven't functioned the same since the night Silas got the call from the hospital.
Since we rushed there to find out she was already gone, that the car accident had been so sudden and that she never had a chance.
Since we had to figure out how to tell Riley that Mommy wasn't coming home and watch her little face crumple as she tried to understand something that none of us could make sense of.
Isaac had been too young to really understand.
He'd been three, just barely verbal enough to ask where Mama was, not old enough to grasp the concept of forever.
Now he's four and his memories of her are already fading, and sometimes I catch Silas watching him with this devastating expression, like he's watching Evie disappear all over again.
We were a strange pack, to say the least, three Alphas in a pack but not romantically involved.
At first. I’m not even sure how I fell into Silas’ arms or maybe he fell into mine and then Hunter’s sister started hanging around.
We weren’t even scent matches. It was just pure fate bringing us together.
The rest was history. Well, it was a lot of proving to Hunter that we wouldn’t hurt his baby sister and that we’d take care of her forever.
When he finally gave in, he stayed, still watching over us, taking care of us, and making sure we had everything needed.
And then, in an instant, that bit of happiness was stolen from us.
I let out a heavy breath and look at the kitchen. From here I can see the sink, and there are dishes piled in it, but it's not a total disaster. The counters are mostly clear. No food left out to rot. We're managing, barely.
But it might be time to revisit the whole maid or nanny conversation again.
The thought makes my stomach twist with anxiety and something close to dread. Our last nanny had been a disaster that turned into a nightmare. Raven. Beautiful and charming and so wrong for us it's almost funny in retrospect.
She'd seemed perfect at first, good with the kids, and helpful around the house. But she'd wanted nothing to do with actually raising Isaac and Riley. She had wanted Alphas, us, and the status of being with a pack, having a nice house and the financial security that came with it.
The kids had been an inconvenience to her at best. At worst, I'd caught her being cruel.
Ignoring Isaac when he cried, snapping at Riley when she asked too many questions.
The final straw had been finding out she'd locked Isaac in his room during one of his tantrums instead of actually dealing with it.
He'd been hysterical when I found him, red-faced and choking on his sobs, and I'd seen red.
We'd told her to leave that night, although she'd turned it around on us somehow, trying to make it seem like we were the problem.
Even with her gone, though, the damage was done.
Riley had nightmares for weeks. Isaac developed separation anxiety that we're still working through.
And all three of us Alphas had felt like failures, like we'd brought a threat right into our home.
So we're all wary about bringing someone else in. Terrified, actually. What if we make the same mistake? What if we let someone in who hurts our kids again? What if we're such bad judges of character that we can't even keep our own children safe?
But fuck, we need help. We're drowning. The house is falling apart. The kids need more attention than we can give them. We're all exhausted and short-tempered and barely holding it together.
I drag a hand through my hair, feeling the tangles catch against my fingers. I need a haircut. Add it to the list of things I don't have time for.
"I'll put an order in for the diner," I say to Hunter, already mentally running through what the kids will actually eat. "Anything in particular other than that broccoli casserole for Riley?"
Riley has decided she's obsessed with broccoli lately. She won't eat it any way except smothered in cheese sauce in that casserole the diner makes. At least it's a vegetable. I'm not going to question it.
Hunter shifts slightly under the weight of the kids, careful not to wake them. "Isaac's on a noodles kick right now. Something like that." He pauses, then adds without looking at me, "Just get something for you guys. I'm not hungry."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Yeah, don't make me force feed you, Alpha."
I say it jokingly, keeping my tone light, but we both know I'm serious.
Hunter has lost weight this past year. Not a lot, but enough that his suits hang a little looser and the sharpness of his collarbones when he's shirtless are more pronounced.
Someone has to make sure he takes care of himself, and that someone is usually me.
"Let me go find Silas," I say, turning toward the hallway.
I pull out my phone as I walk, already looking through the delivery options from the diner. The app loads slowly on our ancient WiFi, and I make a mental note to call the internet company. Again.