Chapter 8 #2
Sure, a kid complicated things. But they had just promised they wanted to keep me here, and standing in the middle of their kitchen, looking at this tiny girl, I realized the feeling was mutual.
I still didn’t want to leave. I’d never been the kind of girl who dreamed of some perfect happily-ever-after.
If there was one thing I’d learned growing up in the family I had, it was that life was often messy.
I would never reject a pack just because they came with a child.
She was so obviously a part of them. Between the wild golden curls, those warm amber eyes, and the rambunctious energy she’d just carried into the room, there was zero doubt she belonged to Ransom or River.
It was clear they were waiting for me to recoil, to march my ass right back out of their house and back onto the jet I’d rode in on.
Instead, my guard evaporated entirely. Hell, I was a Cristenello. I grew up surviving a house full of loud, messy brothers. As the youngest of them all, this was my element.
I dropped straight down to the floor, crossing my legs so I sat exactly at her level. No hovering. I kept my posture open.
“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice conversational, ditching the high-pitched baby talk so many people used. “I’m Julia.”
She inched out a fraction more.
I tipped my chin toward her chest. “Who’s your friend? He looks like he’s having a messy morning.”
She stepped fully out from behind River’s protective shadow, holding the stuffed animal up for my inspection. “Bun-bun.”
“It looks like Bun-bun loves jelly as much as I do,” I noted. Reaching up, I snagged a damp dishcloth resting on the edge of the center island. “Can I help clean him up?”
She nodded, closing the distance between us without another second of hesitation. I gently wiped the worst of the sticky strawberry jam from her chin and fingers, then took the corner of the cloth and playfully scrubbed the bunny’s stitched nose.
A bright giggle bubbled out of her.
I glanced up. River and Ransom stood paralyzed, staring down at us like they had just watched me perform a magic trick.
More footsteps echoed in the front hall, heavier this time.
“Appreciate you driving them back, Mary,” Stetson’s deep voice rumbled.
A boy stepped into the kitchen archway ahead of the adults trailing behind.
He couldn’t have been older than six or seven, but he carried himself with the maturity of a much older kid.
He wore faded jeans and a neatly tucked-in shirt, looking exactly like a miniature, deadly-serious version of Stetson.
He stopped dead, and his dark green eyes locked onto mine.
Right behind him, Stetson walked in carrying two small, brightly colored overnight bags.
The Pack Leader stilled the second he saw me sitting on the floor with his pack’s youngest member.
Over his shoulder, an older woman with greying hair and warm light brown eyes—the twins’ mother, if I had to guess—gasped softly.
Her hands flew to her mouth in shock and delight.
I gave her an easy smile, and I could’ve sworn a gentle knowing passed between us, Omega to Omega.
As if she didn’t want to interfere, she ducked back out into the hallway, giving us this moment together as a pack.
The boy didn’t retreat or hide behind his father’s legs.
He simply squared his small shoulders and crossed his arms, the movement both protective and guarded.
His scent was faint and undeveloped—like rain hitting dry earth—but I was certain this kid would grow up to be an Alpha someday.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his little chin jutting up.
“Who are you?”
I smiled softly, unperturbed by his display of attitude. Again, I was the youngest of four brothers. This I could handle.
“Hi there. I’m Julia.” I stood slowly, my instincts telling me he wouldn’t want to be coddled. “What’s your name?”
“Wyatt. This is my house.”
“Our house…” Stetson corrected, then under his breath, “Be polite.”
“You’ve got a beautiful house, Wyatt. I bet you have an awesome room. Do you have to share it with your sister?”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes, assessing whether I was trying to butter him up. “No,” he hedged. “I get my own room.”
“You’re lucky. I have four big, stinky brothers, and I had to share a room for years.”
The little girl leaned against my knee, the crown of her tangled curls bumping my thigh. “I have sleepovers,” she announced in a bright chirp and pointed toward the boy. “In Wyatt’s room.”
I smiled down at her, gently tapping her stuffed bunny’s ear against her nose. “A sleepover with your big brother? That must be really special.”
Wyatt shifted his weight. A faint flush touched his cheeks, but he refused to break eye contact with me. He defended his softness with a dismissive shrug. “Sunny gets bad dreams sometimes,” he confessed. “If she sleeps in my room, she gets sweet dreams instead.”
His unintentional honesty hit me right in the center of my heart.
Did he even realize the instincts he was showing at such a young age?
He wasn’t just playing big brother, he was guarding his own, taking care of his pack.
Knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it if I cooed at him or tried to talk at him like he was adorable—which he was—I just gave him a single, definitive nod.
“Good man,” I praised, matching his level of gravity. “Keeping the pack safe and happy is an important job.”
Wyatt went still, then tilted his head like I’d thrown him off guard.
Those dark green eyes were a perfect miniature mirror of his father’s as they searched my face.
He spent three long seconds weighing my honesty, looking for a crack in expression or a condescending smile.
But he wouldn’t find one. I knew how important respect was to kids like Wyatt.
My brothers Dimitri and Giovanni had been the same way growing up, wanting to be seen as responsible and earning their place in the pack, whereas Marco and Tommas had been keen on stirring up trouble and creating fun in every situation.
Whatever invisible test he’d been running, I apparently passed.
The defensive line of his shoulders eased. He dropped his arms, letting them hang at his sides. “Are you an Omega?”
“I am,” I answered simply.
His attention flicked briefly toward his dad, then locked right back onto me. “Are you their Omega?”
I felt six distinct pairs of eyes on me. “It’s a little complicated, and we’re still working it all out, but yeah.” I tilted my head, keeping my tone perfectly neutral. “How do you feel about that?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Are you going to leave like my mom?”
The question blindsided me, stealing my air.
Silence slammed down on the kitchen, so deafening no one even breathed.
I didn’t have to look to feel the mix of panic and devastation from the six men surrounding us, but I shot a look above Wyatt’s head anyway.
My gaze swept over Stetson’s tight features, making sure he knew we were going to talk about all of this later before I dropped my focus back to the little boy.
I refused to offer him a fake, pitying smile. “I don’t plan on leaving. But no matter what happens, I promise I will never lie to you.”
Wyatt held my stare for another long second. Then, he reached up, lightly tapping the brim of his small hat. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
I let out a soft laugh and dropped into a crouch so we were perfectly eye-to-eye. “None of that. You can call me Julia. Or even better, why don’t you call me Jules. That’s what all my friends call me, and I’m hoping we can be really good friends.”
Sunny leaned her messy head against Wyatt’s arm. “Jules,” she echoed, her face breaking into a dreamy grin. “That’s pretty.”
I smiled back. “I think Sunny is a very pretty name, too.”
“Alright, you two little mudbugs,” a warm voice interrupted. Mrs. Beaumont stepped fully into the kitchen, her hands clapping together to break the spell. “Upstairs. Baths, both of you, while the adults talk.”
As she corralled the kids toward the hallway, she paused next to me. The older Omega reached out, giving my forearm a gentle, grounding squeeze. “Oh, honey,” she murmured, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears. “It is a true blessing to finally meet you.”
I barely had time to offer her a genuine smile before she was ushering a giggling Sunny and a stoic Wyatt up the stairs and out of sight.
Then, they were gone.
The kitchen was dead quiet. Just me, and six massive men who looked like they were waiting for a firing squad.
I pushed slowly to my feet. I didn’t yell.
Didn’t run. Instead, I walked over to the center island, filled a mug with coffee, and fixed it until it was sweet enough to take the edge off my Omega.
I wrapped both hands around the heated stoneware, gripping it hard, using the solid weight of it to steady myself before the floor could drop out from under me.
I turned to face them.
“I think it’s time for another conversation, boys,” I told them in no uncertain terms. The words came out every bit as harsh and edged as I meant them to. “Is there a woman in your lives I need to be aware of?”