Chapter Nine
~ Hooper ~
The only warmth in the room came from the woodstove and the half-dead sun dragging itself over the horizon. I sat across from Liam in the farmhouse’s front room, our chairs angled to the window but neither of us watching the view.
My coffee had gone from sweating to clammy to inert, beads collecting around the rim and rolling down the mug in slow surrender. Emilio slept in his bouncy seat on the floor, so quiet it was like he was pulling extra silence into himself to compensate for all the noise we weren’t making.
Liam had taken up the corner of the couch, arms loose across his knees, as if his own body was a field position he’d never quite mastered. The low winter light cut across the shape of his jaw and the pale of his hair, giving him the washed-out look of an old newspaper clipping.
He stared at the knot in the wood floor by my boot, like he was waiting for it to move. I wondered how long he’d been cataloguing the details of this house, running odds on every sound and shadow.
When he spoke, it was in that same careful, present-tense delivery he used when he was loading me up with all the facts I didn’t want. “She’s not coming for me,” he said. “Not really.”
He didn’t look up. “If it was about having a mate, she would’ve just waited for me to come home. But she’s an alpha. A Peterson. She can’t let it go because if she does, everyone will know she lost something that belonged to her.”
I let the words settle, watched the steam finally die off the mug. I’d been expecting a speech, or at least a venting, but this was worse. He sounded like a guy listing out parts for a tractor repair—no inflection, no panic, just the necessary inventory.
He went on, “If she gets here, she won’t try to talk.
She’ll walk through that door with lawyers and muscle and make sure it gets done in a way that looks like I was always going to say yes.
She’ll take me home, she’ll marry me, and I won’t be allowed outside without guards.
Not for my safety, but for her convenience. ”
Something in my head flicked over—like a switch gone bad in the breaker box. I realized I was holding the mug so tight my palm was freezing against the side. I forced myself to let it go.
“She’s not coming to negotiate,” I said.
“No,” Liam said, “she’s coming to correct the record.”
I went very still, the kind of still that comes before a fight. The house around us seemed to quiet even more, like the walls were listening.
I imagined the scenario the way Liam must have: Eleanor in a coat that cost more than most cars, boots crisp and unmarked, lawyers with clean folders and pens that clicked with each new condition.
And behind them, two or three hired Betas who would smile and ask please before making sure you did what you were told.
She wouldn’t even raise her voice. She wouldn’t need to. Not with the legal papers, not with the inheritance, not with the local sheriff’s department on speed dial.
I didn’t want to make it about me, but my mind ran the variables. If she wanted to get Liam, she’d need to take down the whole ranch. She’d need to walk right past Rawley and every single vet he’d ever let work the land, and she’d need to do it without starting a war in the front yard.
But if Liam wanted to go quietly—
He must’ve read it on my face, because he finally looked up and fixed me with those ice water eyes. “I’m not going back,” he said. “But I want you to know what she’ll do if she gets the chance.”
“She won’t,” I said, and I made it sound like I actually believed it.
“Hooper,” he said. The name landed on the table like a file dropped on a desk. “You heard about the lawyers. You saw the post. You think she won’t escalate if this place makes her look like a fool?”
I leaned back, chair complaining against the old floor, and let my hands drift to my lap so he could see I wasn’t tensing up. I tried to keep my voice level. “I think she’s underestimated you before. I don’t think she knows what kind of ranch this is or what it means to the people who live here.”
He ran his hand through his hair, not nervous but trying to find a place for the leftover adrenaline.
“It’s not a fight I want for Emilio. Or for you.
I left because I didn’t want him growing up thinking he’s a tool for someone else’s ambitions.
I left so he’d have a chance to be his own person.
” His voice went flat again. “But if she gets him, he’s just leverage.
A pawn. And I’d be the omega she can parade in front of the neighbors to show that she never lost her grip. ”
I felt my back teeth click together. I hated the taste of that word: leverage.
I hated the idea of Emilio in a house with cameras and rules and scheduled visits.
I hated the idea that Liam would spend the rest of his life as a polite, smiling prop in the Petersons’ weird little museum of bloodlines and legacy.
I set the mug down and looked at him, really looked, and realized that for all the running he’d done, Liam had never stopped being hunted.
“So what do you want to do?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s already made her move. She’ll be here in less than a day, probably with backup. If I run now, I just give her more evidence for her story—that I’m a risk, unstable, not fit to parent.”
There was a long moment where neither of us spoke. The only noise was the faint tick of the stove and the hush of Emilio’s breathing, perfectly even. Outside, the wind rattled a loose edge of the porch roof, then moved on.
I considered every story I’d ever heard about men like me, about omegas on the run, about the kids who got dragged back and the ones who disappeared and were never seen again.
I pictured the fight: the lawyers, the sheriff, maybe even the Feds if Peterson made the right calls. I wondered how many ways there were to lose before the house was nothing but smoke and memory.
I said, “She’s going to be disappointed.”
Liam gave a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “That’s the only thing I have left to give her.” He looked at me, eyes hard now, and said, “Hooper, if it comes to it, don’t let them take the baby. Please.”
I nodded, and I meant it.
I stood, hands braced on the knees, and let my eyes fall to Emilio, still asleep in his cocoon of blankets and bouncy seat straps. Then I looked at Liam, who was so pale now he seemed to give off his own kind of cold light.
“Stay here,” I said. “I need to talk to Rawley.”
He nodded, just once, and went back to staring at the knot in the floor, like maybe the answer was down there if he looked hard enough.
I walked out before he could ask what I was going to do.
The cold was sharp enough to peel paint, but I didn’t feel it crossing the yard. The sky had gone from gunmetal to battleship in under an hour, the promise of new snow hanging over the valley like a loaded threat. Each boot step sounded like a punch, ice crystals shattering under the weight.
The barn’s warmth was more suggestion than reality, but it was still better than the yard. The air was heavy with hay and old diesel, the kind of air that lived at the back of your throat for hours after you left. Sawdust drifted in the sunbeams and caught in the cracks of my knuckles.
The barn was a tangle of repairs and half-finished projects, but Rawley was easy to spot. He stood at the workbench, smoothing his palm over a length of new post, testing the grain for splinters. I got the impression he’d been there longer than the post had.
He looked up, eyes narrowing with the kind of calculation you only saw in career military or men who’d survived a family like his. He didn’t say hello, didn’t ask what I needed. Just set the post down and waited.
“I need an escort into town,” I said. “And someone to watch the baby while we’re gone.”
He didn’t blink. “Who’s the escort?”
“Burke and Macon,” I said. “You’ll stay here and keep eyes on the house. Make sure nobody gets clever.”
He rolled a splinter between his thumb and forefinger. “You want soft hands or do you want muscle?”
“Both,” I said. “Burke can charm a snake and Macon doesn’t leave loose ends.”
He nodded, as if he’d come to the same answer himself. “You going armed?”
“Not unless you think we need it.”
He gave a short laugh. “If it comes to that, you’ll know before I do.”
The barn quieted for a second, just the soft whine of the wind working through a crack in the boards. He put the splinter in his pocket, a little detail I’d have missed if I wasn’t looking for it. I liked the way he did that—kept the evidence on himself, nothing left for anyone else to find.
“Jojo can take the baby,” he said. “He’s got a sixth sense for those meltdowns.”
“I’ll text him,” I said. “We leave in five.”
He nodded, then grabbed the post and set it upright against the workbench, careful not to let it fall. “You want to tell me what this is about?”
I hesitated. “We’re going to get married.”
He didn’t even smile. “Good. That’ll fuck up their legal case.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the point.”
He nodded again, the decision locked in place. “I’ll call Burke and Macon. They’ll be at the truck in five.”
I turned to leave, but Rawley stopped me with a single word, “Hooper.”
I paused.
He looked at me, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something that wasn’t calculation in his eyes. It was something older, like regret or relief, but not enough of either to slow him down.
“If it goes bad in town,” he said, “call the ranch and hang up. Once. I’ll know.”
I nodded. “Copy that.”
I left the barn and walked back to the house. The wind had started to pick up, flinging crystals of snow at my face, but I didn’t bother with the hat or the scarf. I let the cold do its work.
Inside, the kitchen was empty except for a bowl of baby bottles and a sticky note with a list of feeding times. I climbed the stairs, boots thumping hard enough that the old pine boards barked a complaint.