Epilogue Valek
Three months later, the Ghosts win the fucking Cup.
Whiskey is the first to cry, denying it while sobbing into Wraith's shoulder while the seven-foot feral alpha who scored the winning goal pats his shoulder awkwardly. Wraith is the only alpha Whiskey could hang off of without ending up flat on the ice.
He barely seems to notice.
"WE FUCKIN' DID IT, brO," Whiskey bellows, directly into his ear.
Wraith winces.
Thane cries next, although he does it with dignity, as he does everything else. He makes it through the handshake line, the photos where his brother looms like a shadow behind us with his head slightly down, and through the first interview with nothing more than the twinge of his jaw.
But then, Ivy reaches him on the ice, wraps herself around him, and whispers something I can't make out.
And the captain folds.
Plague, of course, claims he never cries.
And I reassure him he is certainly not crying at all when I drag him behind the bench to kiss him, our lips still tasting of Ivy, and his of Whiskey, and the salt of the tears rolling down his cheeks.
Whiskey is never allowed to choose a restaurant again.
It's a steakhouse, which is fine, but it's fucking noisy enough I could barely hear him until we reached our private dining room, which is saying something.
It's louder than the arena.
He hasn't stopped bellowing once, and now his laugh is booming through the room as he straps the shining Cup into the chair at the head of the table with equipment belts.
“Champ gets the head chair,” he announces, setting a dinner roll on its plate.
"Why does it need bread?" Plague asks him.
"She. She needs bread. She deserves to feel like part of the pack tonight."
Plague closes his eyes.
I rest my hand against the back of his neck and squeeze lightly. “Don’t engage. It feeds him," I purr.
Whiskey twists around to glare at me. “Bro, you make me sound like a fuckin' haunted doll.”
"If the haunted doll shoe fits," Plague mutters.
Whiskey jabs a breadstick at him. "This is why Champ gets the bread and you get shit."
"Oh? Are you going to try to prevent me from ordering because I've offended 'Champ'?" Plague asks him, arching an eyebrow.
"No, I'm gonna eat your fuckin' food."
My mother whistles for attention from the middle of the table, waving her splinted hand around, already bossing a pack of professional alpha athletes.
"Caleb, pass the rolls down the table. Rae, get off your phone.
Finn, sit up straight. You're not a shrimp, but you'll have the back of one before long if you don't correct your posture. "
Caleb sets a fork and knife in front of the Cup with a bow. Whiskey nods at him in solemn approval. They're already best friends.
My worst nightmare, truly.
Rae's kids came in earlier and it went sideways fast. Her youngest took one look at Wraith and burst into squealing tears on the spot, setting off the other. Wraith backed up fast in a panic, trying in vain to hide in his hood, and crushed a server against the wall.
Drinks went everywhere.
Ivy crouched down to eye level with the wailing four-year-old and said, "This is my mate, Wraith. He looks scary, but he's the sweetest person in this whole room. He just won that big shiny cup. Did you watch the game?"
The kid nodded, sniffling.
"He's shy," Ivy had added. "Can you wave at him? He'll wave back."
Now the kid won't stop waving at him.
Every thirty seconds, a tiny hand goes up, and Wraith's huge scarred hand rises to wave back from where his arms are wrapped around Ivy in his lap. His hood is pulled so far forward I can barely even see his eyes.
"This has been going on for twenty minutes," Rae says, but she's grinning. "You've made a friend for life. I'm so sorry."
Wraith's shoulders shake with a uncertain huff and a wary glance at the kid.
The food arrives in waves. Ivy gets crab legs, which she guards with her life from Whiskey.
He's soon distracted by my blue rare steak, which has him eyeing it sideways while he's halfway through cutting pieces off his own for the Cup's plate, as if he's thinking about replacing his missing portion with mine.
"I'll eat you instead," I warn him, flashing a hint of fang.
That seems to frighten Thane's mother further down the table.
Maureen is a bit of a nervous wreck. She clearly loves Wraith, and she doesn't seem to mind his scars anymore, but when he opens his jaws and sinks his teeth into a burger made of mushrooms while using our mate as a visual shield of sorts, Maureen's voice rises several octaves.
They mean well.
They clearly have no idea what to do with him.
Wraith notices. He burrows further into his hood, still shy, even after being plastered all over countless magazines and social media posts. I can't blame him. Most fans like him, but I've seen the comments, and seen firsthand how most of the public reacts as if he's a monster.
My mother didn't so much as blink.
Ivy reaches back and runs her fingers through his hair under it, munching on her own roll, and he settles.
He makes me think of Ilya, all the time.
I wonder if he was separated from Cosima.
Surely she was adopted. He wouldn't have been. The evidence is right here before my very eyes, however much I try to lie to myself that perhaps someone who wanted the omega badly enough would accept the feral alpha that would follow her into hell itself without blinking.
The only reason my parents gave me a chance is because they're masochists.
One of said masochists watches all of this over the rim of her wine glass.
I know that look.
It's the look she had when I arrived on her doorstep.
She's concerned about a stray, and she wants to fix it.
My mother slowly lowers her wine glass.
Wraith catches her watching him and immediately ducks his head. His hand rises toward his hood, tugging it another inch forward. It doesn't take much to set him off. Frightening a small child is one of several guaranteed ways.
Ivy squeezes his forearm where it's banded across her middle. His eyes drop to her, and his shoulders ease slightly.
My mother watches that, too. "Wraith?"
His gaze snaps up.
“Is that your legal name?” she asks him.
He pauses, perplexed by the question, then nods.
“And Belmont?”
Another nod, glancing toward Thane this time, then Thane's parents, awkwardly.
“And you're Thane’s brother, right?" my mother asks, pointing her fork between them.
I'm already sighing. She's in full-blown investigation mode now, and there's no getting her off it when she's started.
Wraith's eyes flick back to Thane, then to her, and his hands lift slowly, fingerspelling.
F-O-S-T-E-R… B-R-O-T-H-E-R.
Thane frowns. “Just brother," he tells my mother.
Wraith signs again without looking away from him. N-O-T… L-E-G-A-L-L-Y.
“That doesn't matter,” Thane says, loudly enough to draw eyes. Even Maureen's eyes, though they go quickly back to the conversation Arthur's having with my father.
My mother turns back to Wraith. “So you were placed with the Belmonts?”
Wraith’s arms wrap a little tighter around Ivy, and he gives a subtle, cautious nod.
My mother's eyes soften. She doesn't miss anything. It made living under her roof incredibly inconvenient when I was a teenager who already had multiple fake identities he could hide from the law, but not from her.
“And your parents?” she asks gently.
Wraith doesn't respond, but his eyes end up on the table, somewhere.
Thane’s mouth pulls tight.
My mother makes a soft, regretful sound, her shoulders sinking slightly. “You don’t need to answer that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
His scarred hands rise before she can move on.
M-Y… M-O-T-H-E-R… A-L-I-V-E.
“Oh.” My mother smiles carefully. “Do you see her?”
His fingers stall.
S-O-M-E-T-I-M-E-S.
Ivy covers his other hand with hers, giving it a squeeze.
S-H-E… H-A-T-E-S… M-E.
My mother’s smile vanishes. “And your father?”
Wraith shakes his head.
“Anyone else?”
Another shake.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says to Wraith. “That sounds terribly lonely.”
His gaze drops again.
U-S-E-D… T-O… I-T.
My mother presses her hand flat against the table. “No. I don’t care for that answer at all. You shouldn't be used to that.”
Wraith glances at Thane, then Ivy, apparently checking whether he has committed some unknown offense.
Ivy looks delighted.
I see exactly where this train has left the tracks.
“Mother,” I warn.
She waves me away with her splinted hand before turning pointedly back to Wraith.
"Well. I'm your mother now. Consider yourself adopted."
My family all looks up at once.
Caleb snorts, shoulders bouncing. Finn gives Wraith a solemn nod from two seats down, welcoming him to the inevitable. My father looks around, chewing a mouthful of chicken and frowning.
Wraith looks at me.
I shrug. “Too late. She has selected you.”
His hands rise as if to sign something, but they stop halfway there. They hover for a second, empty, before he lowers them back to Ivy's waist. His eyes look a deeper, mistier blue before he drops them toward Ivy’s hair and disappears back into his hood.
Maureen squeezes Arthur's leg, her eyes shining.
Thane glances at his parents, his face briefly unreadable before a slow smile spreads across his face as he turns back to Wraith, then me. "Guess I've got two brothers, then."
"Yes, you do." My mother lights up with a triumphant smile. It's the smile of a woman who just successfully brought the stray inside. “You’ll give me your phone number before you leave.”
Wraith nods.
“Good. Done.”
“Hey, wait a fuckin’ minute.”
Every head turns toward Whiskey.
He has one arm thrown across the back of Plague’s chair and his other hand resting near Champ, guarding it from anyone who might disrespect it. Her.
“I don’t got parents either,” he says. “What about me?”
He's grinning, as always, but it's a little too wide. He isn't completely joking. I caught him looking out at the crowd as he roared on the ice, as if he was hoping to see someone who wasn't there.
Plague groans. “Whiskey…”
“What? I don’t.”
My mother studies him for half a second. “You too.”
Whiskey lights up. “Fuck yeah!”