Chapter 7 Hunter
Hunter
The coffee in my mug has gone cold, a film forming on the surface that I should find disgusting but can't bring myself to care about.
The kitchen is quiet now that the kids are down for their nap, the kind of silence that used to be peaceful but now just feels empty, like the house is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
I'm staring at a photograph that sits on the kitchen table, one I pulled from the living room about an hour ago and haven't been able to put back yet.
It's from two years ago, back when everything was still whole.
The five of us were at the park, Evie in the center, my sister's smile so bright it could power the whole city.
She's pressed between Silas and Wyatt, their arms around her, and she looks so damn happy it makes my chest ache to look at it.
Riley is on my shoulders in the photo, her little hands tangled in my hair, laughing at something off-camera. Isaac is just a baby in Wyatt's arms, chubby-cheeked and drooling on Wyatt's shirt. We all look so carefree, so certain that that was how it would always be.
We had no idea we were living on borrowed time.
My finger traces the edge of Evie's face in the photograph, careful not to smudge the glass.
She was so happy between Silas and Wyatt.
They'd built something beautiful together, the three of them.
And I'd been honored to be part of it, to be the head Alpha of a pack that included my baby sister and her two perfect Alphas.
It was perfect. My niece and nephew were happy, thriving in the love their mother and fathers poured into them every single day.
And then everything fell apart.
One drunk driver running a red light. One moment of someone else's recklessness. That's all it took to shatter everything we'd built, to tear apart the family we'd created, to leave two kids without their mother, two Alphas without their Omega, and a brother without his sister.
And then that Omega walked through our doors this morning looking every bit as terrified as Evie used to be when we were younger. Back before she met Silas and Wyatt, back when she was still figuring out who she was and what she wanted.
She'd been skittish and shy of the world, anxious about everything, jumping at shadows and second-guessing herself constantly. It had taken time for her to come into herself, to become the confident, radiant Omega she'd been before the accident.
Evie used to call me her big bad protector.
She'd say it with this teasing smile, usually right after I'd scared off some Alpha who was getting too aggressive or too pushy at a bar or a pack gathering.
She'd known I'd do anything to keep her safe, that I'd tear apart anyone who tried to hurt her.
That I'd stand between her and any threat, no matter how big or how dangerous.
But I couldn't protect her from that.
My throat tightens and I have to look away from the photograph, blinking rapidly against the burn in my eyes. Grief is an old companion at this point. It comes in waves still, usually when I'm tired or caught off guard by a memory or a smell or a photograph I haven't been able to put away yet.
The sound of footsteps tears me from my thoughts and makes me look up.
Silas appears in the entryway to the kitchen, a beer in his hand despite it being barely past lunch.
His glasses are slightly askew, his hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. The guy looks like he hasn’t slept all week, which, he probably hasn’t.
He drops into the seat beside me with a heavy sigh, the chair scraping against the tile floor.
I raise an eyebrow at the beer. It's not judgment, exactly, but it's close enough that Silas catches my meaning immediately.
His mouth quirks in something that's not quite a smile.
"You can judge me after you start eating regular meals," he says, taking a swig and meeting my eyes with a challenge in his own.
He's got me there. I can't remember the last time I ate breakfast, and lunch is usually whatever I can grab between meetings or on a job site.
Dinner happens when I remember it exists, which isn't often enough, according to Wyatt's increasingly worried looks and pointed comments about me needing to take better care of myself.
"Touché," I concede, leaning back in my chair and wrapping both hands around my cold coffee mug.
Silas sets his beer down on the table next to the photograph, staring at it for a long moment.
His expression softens in the way it always does when he looks at pictures of Evie.
"Wyatt said Amelia’s coming back. Said she just freaked out this morning.
Maybe we should just give her some space to do everything with the kids and at least try to make this work. "
I nod slowly, relief washing through me despite everything that happened this morning.
One moment, I had been ready to introduce Amelia into our little slice of a nightmare and then her scent was filling my nose.
I couldn’t focus on it, though, not with the terror in her eyes and the way she bolted out the door.
Wyatt walks in a few moments later, looking just as disheveled as Silas.
God, we’re a mess. "Isaac was already asking for Amelia," Wyatt announces, heading straight for the refrigerator.
"Wanted to know when Miss Sterling was coming back so he could show her his trucks. I think this might actually work."
He pulls out a container of leftovers from last night's takeout, then another, setting them on the counter with more force than necessary.
Both Silas and I start to get up, reading the signs of an impending Wyatt lecture about taking care of ourselves, ready to escape before he can really get going.
But Wyatt whirls around before we can make it out of our chairs, pointing at us with the kind of authority that makes it clear he's done playing around.
"Sit," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"We're going to eat, like normal, healthy adults, and we're going to start doing better for our kids.
We're going to hope that Amelia works out and we're going to figure all this shit out.
But that starts with us actually having food in our stomachs. "
His blue eyes blaze with a determination I haven't seen in months, something both reassuring and slightly terrifying about it.
Wyatt's been the steady one, the one holding everything together while Silas buried himself in work and I built walls around myself and pretended I was fine.
But there's an edge to him right now, a barely contained frustration that says he's done watching us slowly destroy ourselves through neglect and grief.
I settle back into my chair, knowing better than to argue when Wyatt gets like this.
Beside me, Silas does the same, though there's a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth underneath the exhaustion.
We're both aware that we've pushed Wyatt too far and that we've been relying on him to be the functional one while we fell apart.
Wyatt starts pulling out plates from the cabinet before bringing them to the table.
"We've got less than twenty-four hours before that woman is coming back," he continues, spooning food onto the plates.
"And I don't want her to run off again. So figure out what you two need to do to pull yourselves together, and I'll clean up a bit so she's not walking into a fucking pigsty. "
The observation is fair, even if it stings.
The house isn't a complete disaster, but it's not great either.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, an abnormal response to the whole situation.
By Wyatt's drill sergeant routine, by the absurdity of three grown Alphas needing to be ordered to eat and clean like we're children instead of functioning adults.
"Yessir." I throw him a horrible salute, maintaining a crooked grin.
Silas snorts into his beer, the sound somewhere between amusement and agreement, Wyatt's stern expression cracking just slightly. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips despite his obvious frustration, some of the tension in the room easing just a fraction.
We’ll get there.