Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Patrick
Iwouldn’t say I’m overly surprised to learn Malachy sunk his teeth into Charlotte. If nothing else, I’m relieved that it will begin to heal his mind.
We spend the next few days in a holding pattern of sorts.
Wilder is unreachable. Likely due to his own omega’s heat. The last time I spoke to him, he mentioned Lacey was having erratic waves of heat.
Charlotte is experiencing her own heat spikes. It’s more complicated with Lucky around. He’s easily distracted, but it weighs on Charlotte to be away from him. Going into heat is a biological response. It’s not something she can plan or force or even stop at will.
The little guy will understand that better when he’s older, but I spend extra time getting to know him while Malachy and Charlotte slip away any time her fever spikes.
Missing those doses of suppressants seem to have had a lasting effect on her system. Or perhaps it could be that she and Mal bonded.
Either way, Lucky is hardly traumatized by Charlotte needing a few hours to herself.
Cormac joins them occasionally, but he’s been focused on breaking his guest. Apparently McCarthy is more stubborn than Cormac suspected.
My brother doesn’t like it when something doesn’t go the way he expects it to, and he’s developed a bit of a hyperfixation on proving McCarthy isn’t unbreakable.
I’ve upped security at the gate to the neighborhood, those who patrol the area, and the soldiers stationed outside the house.
The Jacksonville Demons have to know by now that everyone they sent to Boston was obliterated. The smart thing for them to do would be to move on.
I don’t see that happening, but a man can dream.
Even before Malachy sunk his teeth in, Charlotte and Lukas were ours.
Now?
She’s going to be our wife, and that’s a connection I promised myself I would protect above all else. I have no desire to make my way through multiple marriages as my fathers did.
The first time I get married, it’ll be my last.
I don’t care who we have to kill or how dirty we have to play… The Jacksonville Demons will find out exactly how brutal my family is about protecting our own.
“Patrick,” Lucky says, squinting at me. It comes out sounding more like Pat Wick, but he’s cute enough to get away with butchering my name. “It’s your turn.”
“Sorry, kid.” I chuckle, grabbing the small plastic fishing pole. I don’t have the first clue what the rules of the game are supposed to be, but I allowed Lucky to teach me how to play.
Apparently he gets a minute to catch as many fish as he can, and I get about ten seconds per turn, but he’s still small enough that it won’t hurt to let him cheat.
I’m fairly confident that at this age it’s all about teaching them self-confidence and keeping them busy.
“Are you going to count it out for me and let me know when my turn is over?” I ask.
He nods solemnly. “Yes, I will.”
The Christmas tree lights twinkle in the background. The mass of presents under it has grown exponentially in the last two days. If someone sat me down a month ago and told me how drastically life would change in such a short period of time, I would have told them to get their head examined.
Yet, here I am playing a fishing game with a toddler on Christmas Eve while my brother rails the omega I’m obsessed with but have yet to slip inside.
Hmm.
I might need to stop being so thoughtful of Malachy’s time with Charlotte before I find myself left behind.
Christmas Eve dinner is a big deal with a kid in the house.
Lucky knows Christmas is tomorrow, and he’s already pointed out the importance of leaving out cookies and milk for Santa Claus.
That just means one of us will have to sneak out later tonight to make sure to leave bites of the cookies and remnants of milk in the glass.
I found this set of footprints you can leave throughout the house as additional proof Santa made it inside.
It might be overkill at his age—I imagine kids that age are naturally predisposed to believe—but I’m still going to set it up once he’s in bed.
It’ll be a nice surprise for him and Charlotte come tomorrow morning.
We stuff ourselves full of some type of glazed chicken breasts with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Asparagus is not my favorite vegetable, but luckily, there were carrots and green beans. Those are edible vegetables. Asparagus is not, at least not in my book.
“The chicken was good. Huh?” Charlotte asks her son, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
“Mmm, I liked it,” he says, grabbing her face and holding her in place as he smacks a kiss on her lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, you sticky child,” she says, laughing as she pulls back. “You need a bath.”
“I gots new bath toys.” His small head bobbles up and down. “They squirt water really far, and a book I can take in the bath.”
“Someone must not have realized what a mess you make.” Charlotte smiles, running her hand through his hair.
It’s a bit surreal at times to watch them engage. She’s a good mom. That’s easy to see in how the two interact, and how used she is to doing everything alone.
It makes me feel like a bit of a selfish prick.
I just hit thirty earlier this year. Before spending time with Lucky, I legitimately couldn’t imagine having to care for a child twenty-four hours a day, and that’s knowing we have resources.
There are four of us to split responsibilities, and Miriam is around if we need an extra set of hands.
I’m genuinely baffled how Charlotte ever got a moment to herself before coming to stay with us. Perhaps she didn’t, unless he was asleep. That’s a sobering thought, and it makes it easier to understand why she’s struggling.
Malachy’s claiming bite on her neck taunts me with the distance between us. Although, it also signals to my instincts that she’s ours. And Jesus fuck, do I ever want to make her mine.
Even watching her smile at her kid as she lifts him out of his high chair thingy makes my chest feel some type of way. Something is seriously fucked in my head because my brain chooses this exact moment to conjure images of her big and round and pregnant with baby number two.
“We’ve got to wash your hands, do bath and bedtime, and get you to sleep before Santa makes his rounds. If you’re awake, he won’t stop,” Charlotte says, lying her ass off.
“I don’t mind,” Lucky says with more enthusiasm than I’ve felt about anything in years. “I can shut my eyes. He won’t know.”
I chuckle.
I had no idea children could string so many sentences together at such a young age. His pronunciations occasionally make me stop and think because I’m not sure what he means, but we’re successfully able to communicate around ninety percent of the time.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but we have a tradition in this house.” Cormac shoves himself out of his chair, making his way into the kitchen. “I’m going to get you a washcloth for your hands. Then I have one gift for each of us.”
My head tilts.
What traditions do we have?
It’s been so long since we’ve done more than give Miriam gifts that I spend the entire time he’s wetting the rag thinking about what he could mean.
I snort as it dawns on me. “You didn’t.”
Cormac chuckles as he makes his way back to the table. “I did, but don’t ruin the surprise.”
We spread out around the living room, and I fight an unreasonable amount of jealousy when Malachy pulls Charlotte to sit in his lap in one of the club chairs.
To a certain extent, I get it. I’d be selfish with her if I could, and I understand that they’re just settling into their bond. That doesn’t make me want to stab Malachy any less.
Cormac hands out the packages, but rather than opening mine, I pull my phone from my pocket to snap pictures of Lucky as he tears into his box.
Though I might currently be battling a ridiculous level of animosity toward my oldest brother, I still take pictures of him and Charlotte. We’ll want to remember our first Christmas as a pack.
Lucky squeals, then frowns. “It’s clothes.”
Cormac laughs. “It’s matching pajamas for the five of us. They’ve already been washed. We’ll wear them to bed tonight and we’ll all match in our pictures tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Lucky says, pulling the long sleeve pajama top from the box. “It’s fine, I guess.”
Charlotte frowns, leaning forward to point at her son. “What do you say when someone gives you a gift?”
“Thanks, Cormac,” he says.
“I forgot that your mom used to do this every Christmas,” Malachy says.
“Me too,” I agree, lost to the onslaught of memories.
She was very different before her addiction took hold.
It’s always difficult not to blame my fathers, but I know the blame lies equally on her.
She knew they’d already lost one wife to suicide due to their philandering ways.
She just believed she could change them.
In reality, no one could because they had no desire to.
Charlotte raises a hand, crooking a finger at Cormac. He hops off the couch, making his way over to the chair she and Mal are in.
“He’s a tough crowd, but I absolutely love this gift. I hope we can continue this every year.” She grabs him by the front of his T-shirt, pulling him down for a quick kiss.
“Eww, Mommy, don’t do that.” Lucky tosses his box aside and runs across the room, shoving Cormac out of the way as my brother pulls back from their kiss. “Pick me up,” he says, trying to hoist himself into her lap. “Why you kissed him?”
Malachy stretches an arm down, helping the boy up.
“I kissed him because I like him,” Charlotte says, hugging her son.
“I like him too, but no more kisses,” Lucky says, pouting.
“Well, I can’t promise that, but how about I kiss you too?” She tickles his sides and kisses his forehead.
Lucky laughs, but I’m seeing a theme.
We’re all damn jealous any time she shows one of us attention. Just for very different reasons.
Charlotte handles bath and bedtime for the little one while Cormac and Malachy head out to the workshop. It must be serious if Cormac is calling in reinforcements to aid in breaking his prisoner.
I waited until the last moment humanly possible to wrap my gifts, so I’m stuck at the kitchen table in wrapping paper hell.
Charlotte did bring Lucky down to set out cookies before she went up to tuck him in. I just need to remember to pour out the milk and take a few bites of the cookies as well as figure out how to do the footprints.
I didn’t think I purchased that many items, but by the time I get to the end of the pile, I’ve just finished my third beer. I’m excited to see what Charlotte and Lucky think when they rip into them in the morning. I finish the last couple of boxes and carry everything to stuff under the tree.
It seems like a good idea to take a picture before the aesthetic gets ruined, but I pat my pockets, only to realize I changed into the reindeer pajamas that Cormac purchased for us. They’re soft, so there’s that, but I’m sure I look ridiculous.
I head back into the kitchen, swipe my phone off the table, and head back to the living room. While I was gone, Charlotte came down, and she has three or four presents in her arms.
She spots me and smiles. “I had to bring down the Santa gifts.”
I laugh. “I just added a few from Santa Claus myself.”
She adds them to the massive pile and comes to stand at my side. “Lucky has never had a Christmas like this. He’s going to freak out.”
“We probably did go overboard this year, but next year, we can plan accordingly.” I hold my phone out, snapping a few pictures before turning it to the selfie camera. “Smile for me.”
I toss my arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple. She cheeses for the pictures, and I’m once again blown away by how truly beautiful she is.
My nostrils flare, breathing in her cherry limeade smell.
A low growl rattles out of my chest, and I step back, shaking my head. “Shit, sorry. Your suppressants don’t seem to be doing much.” I back toward the kitchen, tossing my thumb over my shoulder. “I need to do the footprints and toss the milk.”
I’ve never run away from a beautiful woman in my life. After all my bitching and moaning about how Malachy and Cormac have been hogging her attention, even I’m confused why I’m doing that exact thing right now.
The instructions on the footprint kit are easy enough, although the maids will hate me if I don’t clean up this disaster myself.
Charlotte leans against the wall just inside the kitchen, watching me work.
Once I’m done, I head over and take a bite of each of the cookies.
My mouth is too dry to swallow them, so I spit them into the trash can and pour most of the milk down the sink, leaving a small amount in the bottom of the glass.
My mother used to say that Santa couldn’t eat and drink the full portion at everyone’s house or he would make himself sick. Making it back to the counter, I put the glass down and check the bite marks on the cookies to ensure they look realistic enough to pass muster with a three-year-old.
Charlotte crosses the room, coming to a stop behind me, and I spin around, tilting my head down to study her face.
She brings a hand to my chest and says, “Have you been avoiding me?”
I bark a laugh. “No.”
“Did you change your mind about being interested in me?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I growl, sliding my hand around to cup her ass. “You’re just settling into things with Mal and Cormac.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, staring up at me from behind her thick blonde lashes. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you too.”
Goddamn.
I’m in so much fucking trouble.