CHAPTER 32
WINDY
I really shouldn’t have done that.
Three days have passed, and I still can’t stop thinking about what happened at dinner. The way Finian toyed with me was both beautiful and scary, breaking down my guard until I remembered where I was and who I was with. That memory hit me hard.
I keep reminding myself to focus on who they used to be, not who they are now. What they did. How they treated me. I was just another nameless omega they tossed aside because I didn’t fit into their world.
I keep repeating it to myself: “No sane person would take them back.” And I like to think I’m sane.
But no matter how much I try, the thought won’t go away. It sticks around—unwanted and risky. Maybe sanity can slip away in an instant.
Since they broke through my family’s defenses, they’ve changed.
Forcing themselves back into my life isn’t what I wanted for us.
We’re different now. Everything is different.
I hate that I notice the changes in them.
I hate that it matters to me. I hate that some part of me, some aching and disloyal part, keeps looking for proof that they’re just pretending and haven’t really changed.
I don’t know what to trust anymore—my memories or my instincts, my pride or my longing. I don’t know what to do.
All I know is that right now, I’m stuck between who they are and who hurt me, and I can’t tell the difference. I want the real version of them, not the mask. I don’t know which one to trust. Did they really change, or are they just pretending for some other reason?
The den is dark.
It’s so dark it feels like a pocket of shadows behind my front window. The glass is fogged at the edges, with soft white halos where the cold pushes in. It’s almost beautiful, but there’s a loneliness to it.
Winter is coming quickly. Fall is fading with every cold breath. The air feels brittle and still, the way it always does before the first real freeze.
I feel like I’m by myself in my own little world.
I sit here, sinking into my old couch, my hands resting on the curve of my swollen belly.
I keep my eyes fixed on the street. It’s the only thing that feels like it can steady me tonight.
The only thing I can track is the baby in my belly, and I can focus on growing this little darling for a few more weeks.
Across the street, the house in front of mine goes dark room by room.
I smile, knowing their two kids are probably giving them a hard time about bedtime.
In the summer, those kids throw fits when playtime ends.
I love watching that couple herd their kids inside.
First, the living room light goes out, then the hallway, then the upstairs window where the curtains flutter before the light turns off.
It’s like watching someone slowly close their eyes.
To my right, my neighbors are gathered by their house, a small fire sending flames into the cold air.
Their laughter drifts over, muffled and warm.
Bottles catch the light in their hands. Someone adds another log, and sparks rise like little fireflies.
Their heads are thrown back in laughter, probably sharing scary stories.
Then my gaze shifts again, drawn to movement farther down the street.
A house with a flashy sedan parked out front—sleek lines, glossy paint catching the faint glow of the streetlamp.
A man steps out of the house, moving with a kind of deliberate ease, like he’s not in any hurry.
Something about the car tugs at me, a faint pull in the back of my mind, like a memory trying to surface but not quite making it.
I watch as he walks to the sedan’s back door. He stops and looks up, eyes fixed on my house. It feels like he’s staring straight at me.
I know he can’t see me. I’m hidden in a dark room, just a faint outline behind the fogged glass. Still, he stands there, unmoving, his face turned toward my house. Toward me. A strange feeling rises in me. It feels like fear, though I don’t really know why just from looking at him.
From this distance, I can’t see him clearly. He’s too far away. I can make out the set of his shoulders, the way his body angles toward my house, and the way he looks stiff as a board. Recognition stirs again—soft, slippery, refusing to settle. I can’t place him, no matter how hard I try.
The car, though.
The car looks familiar enough to make my skin crawl.
After a few long seconds, he finally opens the door and gets into the back seat. The sedan pulls away from the curb, rolling down the street at a slow, creeping pace.
Too slow.
Like it’s looking.
I follow it with my eyes, holding my breath without even realizing it.
Footsteps behind me break the silence.
I glance over my shoulder and see Amos coming into the room, his presence filling the space before he says a word. He stands behind me, close enough that I feel his warmth at my back. His eyes follow mine, locking onto the sedan as it passes the house.
Only when it continues down the road does he speak.
“Do you know who that is?”
I shake my head, rubbing my belly in a slow, absent circle. “No.”
He steadies the chair with his hand. “That car looks familiar.”
“Whoever it is,” I murmur, eyes still on the empty street. “They just moved into that house a few weeks ago.”
“Seems pretty convenient they just moved in a few weeks ago.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “People can’t move into houses now, Amos?”
He leans in closer. My eyes close as he whispers near my ear, “Not if it means you’re in danger.”
His words tug at something inside of me. “I’m not special.”
He speaks so softly I almost miss it. “You are,” he murmurs, then gently brushes my hair aside, moving slowly as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away. His lips touch the side of my neck, and his next whisper goes straight to my heart. “You’re special to us.”
His words hit something raw in me. Tears sting my eyes, like they’ve been waiting for any excuse to spill over. My throat tightens and my chest aches. I don’t know if I should cry, push him away, or just fall into him. I don’t know anything anymore.
They treated me like this.
They broke me.
But now they’re treating me like I’m their whole world, like I’m something precious. They’re treating me like I’m someone they’re terrified of losing.
I don’t know which way is up or down anymore.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, or if I’m even allowed to. None of this makes sense. My emotions swing wildly, crashing into each other until I can’t tell them apart. I’m tired of fighting and trying to figure it out.
They keep showing up.
Every hour.
Every minute.
Every second.
They bring me dinner in bed, setting the tray down as if it’s made of glass. They run every errand without complaining—groceries, prescriptions, even things I didn’t know I needed until they showed up. They hover but never smother. They’re always here, but never too demanding.
The only thing I’ve had to do since I was released from the hospital is lie here and heal up.
Rest. Breathe. Recover. The pepper-spray and its effects have long since vanished.
But they haven’t. They’re still here. They still take care of me like I’m their fragile being, and it’s their sworn duty to take care of me.
They’re the alphas I wanted when I first paired with them.
Even Wolf—stubborn, prideful that he is—is going to Carmichael Enterprises every morning, stepping into the CEO role like it’s nothing.
He handles everything, along with Luscious, that I can’t handle right now, and has access to everything since they’re my scent match mates.
He comes home late, shoulders tense, eyes tired, but he never once complains.
If anything, he gives me that bright smile of his that completely melts my insides.
He always checks on me first thing when he comes home, like I’m the only thing that matters.
Everything is being taken care of.
Everything except this mess inside me.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
I sigh and lean back to look at Amos. His face is close, his eyes shining in the streetlamp’s glow. “Why wasn’t I special enough at the start?”
His eyes turn sad. He whispers, “You’ll never know how sorry we are for not throwing everything away to take you as our mate. We wanted you even when we thought you were a Michael. We just couldn’t, because Wolf would lose everything. If we couldn’t care for you, what kind of alphas would we be?”
His words crack something inside my chest.
“You were enough for me,” I manage, but my voice is thick, clogged with everything I’ve been trying so hard not to feel. My words come out smaller than I intend, like I’m a frightened child or something.
He leans in without hesitation or fear and kisses the tip of my nose. It’s so gentle and tender that my eyes fill with tears and my breath catches.
“You are enough for us, too, Windy,” he murmurs, his forehead brushing mine. “Please, believe that. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.”
A tremor runs through me. I shake my head, not to say no, but because I feel helpless. I’m helpless with these alphas, and they know it. I don’t know how I’ll ever keep my guard up around them.
“It’s hard to believe anything you say,” I whisper. “After everything ... it’s hard to trust any of it.”
Amos doesn’t pull back. He just stands there, so close that I can feel the warmth from his body. Close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know we earned your doubt. But we can also earn your forgiveness if you let us.”
My throat tightens again as emotions overwhelm me. My hands curl in the blanket over my lap, trying to ground myself, trying to keep from unraveling completely. It’s so easy to lose myself with these alphas. So easy to forget everything that happened and just start anew.
“You treated me like I didn’t matter,” I say, the words trembling out of me. “And now you’re acting like I’m … like I’m everything. I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to feel.”
His hand finds mine, like he’s asking permission with every inch of movement. When his fingers lace with mine, it’s warm and steady and unbearably sincere. He’s holding me like I’m precious and the entirety of his world.
“You don’t have to know,” he says. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”
I close my eyes because seeing him hurts.
Wanting to believe him hurts even more.
“You keep showing up,” I say. “You bring me food, you run my errands, you take care of everything. Even Wolf is stepping into my job like it’s nothing. You’re all doing everything, and I’m just … lying here. I don’t know how to feel about any of it.”
He squeezes my hand, firm and certain. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he says. “You’re pregnant. You’re breathing. You’re here. That’s enough.”
My breath shudders out of me, and I feel the tears finally spill over. He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it with a reverence that makes my chest ache.
I’m lost when it comes to these men, and I’m not sure I want to be found.
“We can’t undo what we did,” he inserts, voice low, steady, aching with a truth he desperately wants me to believe. “But we can spend the rest of our lives making it up to you … if you’ll give us the chance to do it.”
If I give them this chance, will they make a fool of me? That’s what I worry about most—being left alone when they promised me forever.