Chapter 9 - Yvonne
Highly aware that I need to be quiet, not banging around pots or breaking any dishes, I tiptoe around the kitchen, trying to be as nimble as possible.
I know I should wake him up, but I’m not ready to face Dawson just yet. It’s enough that he caught me checking him out last night. It’s even worse that he decided to fall asleep on the couch while he chatted with Gio.
I’d been eavesdropping from the kitchen last night, listening to Dawson recount tales of his past to my son. There was a moment of disappointment when he left out the part about meeting me in the library, and visiting often when he discovered it was my hideout.
Actually, I was left out altogether, as if I were wiped from his past. Then again, he didn’t quite get to that part of his life before his snores joined Gio’s when they both fell asleep on the couch.
Maybe I’m being a little ludicrous, expecting Dawson to put our time together on a pedestal. What was I expecting, anyway? That he’d suddenly change his mind after all these years, and declare that he made a mistake back then?
How am I supposed to tell him that his mistake is now a five-year-old boy named Gio?
It’s why I left Snehvolk in the first place—to avoid the conflict of bearing the child of the alpha who’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want me as his mate when he rejected me.
He would have rejected Gio, too. The only reason Dawson is remotely interested in being good to my son is because Gio strokes his ego every time he’s around.
Dawson couldn’t care less that the child is his, and is under the impression that Gio’s father is someone else.
It needs to stay that way.
My determination sets off in my fingers when I’m about to crack an egg, and instead, crush the shell. Muttering a string of curses under my breath, I grit my teeth and purse my lips when I feel a familiar presence lurking behind me.
It’s Dawson; I can tell by the distinct scent of sandalwood overpowering the aroma of the crispy fried bacon I’d already cooked for breakfast.
My breath catches when I lift my eyes and see the faint silhouette of his reflection in the kitchen window.
With his hair tousled from falling asleep on the sofa, and blue eyes soft from just waking up, his morning look is a charm of its own; it’s impossible to ignore how much charisma he exudes without even trying.
Even after all these years, I feel heat rising in my core, spreading out through every nerve in my body just by the awareness that he’s behind me.
I remember what it felt like when I’d anticipate his arrival in the library, sensing his presence long before he approached the window where I’d be nestled in the chair.
My knees would weaken the moment I caught the whiff of his rich, masculine scent.
Just as they’re weakening now. My disadvantage right now is that I’m sitting down.
Bracing my hands on the edge of the counter, I turn around slowly, internally building up my walls so that I can remain indifferent to Dawson’s being here this morning.
If I had it my way, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity for a sleepover. Mentally, I chastise myself for allowing my compassionate side to get the best of me last night, leading me to offer to tend to his injury.
What was I thinking? That it would be easy to remain oblivious to his otherworldly good looks? That I could possibly train myself to be a brick wall without feeling when he oozes a natural charm that would make any she-wolf weak in the knees?
Who was I kidding?
Despite my natural response to the dominant male’s presence, there’s a small part of me that believes I can be neutral, even as I turn fully and set my eyes on him.
But it’s worse when I come face to face with his fresh look, his aura so primal that I can’t stop the rolling waves of lust that come over me.
If I thought deflecting and denying my body’s natural response to him was hard last night, I’m in for a treat this morning when he smiles, showing off the painfully undeniable allure he was born with.
A dimple in his left cheek caves in, and I’m about ready to cave and—
“Ooh! What’s for breakfast?” Dawson asks, his morning voice strikingly similar to the one he’d drawled all over my skin when he made passionate love to me in the library.
Without waiting for a response, Dawson pads across the kitchen floor and approaches me, peeking over my shoulder as he simultaneously lifts my hand.
The heat of his touch is enough to set me alight with the awareness surging through me.
He discovers that I have raw egg dripping from my fingers and chuckles.
“Why don’t you get that cleaned up?” he suggests calmly as he steps to the kitchen counter and picks out a new egg from the basket. “I’ll finish this up. How does Gio like his eggs?”
Blinking disbelievingly at Dawson, who casually turns the stove on, I mumble, “Sunny side. And I like mine—”
“Over-hard,” Dawson cuts in, throwing me a wink over his shoulder. “I know.”
I shake my head dubiously, not willing to believe that Dawson remembered a casual passing conversation we had in the library six years ago.
It was a silly thing, talking about our likes and dislikes, all because Dawson came in fuming because the kitchen staff overcooked his steak that afternoon.
But being relieved from kitchen duties allows me to wash up and check on Gio, who’s just woken up, and I don’t need to dwell on the smaller details.
The first thing Gio asks me is if Dawson is still around—referring to him as the “superhero dude.”
Giggling lightly, I feel a sense of deep regret. Gio will never know that the man he looks up to is his father, but it’s probably for the best.
“Yes, baby,” I reply coolly as I help Gio get out of bed. “The superhero dude is in our kitchen, making eggs for breakfast.”
“Breakfast?!” Gio’s eyes light up, and he bolts out of the room before I can remind him to brush his teeth.
I make no protest. He’s usually not so enthusiastic about breakfast. For a werewolf pup, he hasn’t always had the biggest appetite, like one might expect. I know it has to do with being the child of an alpha; he’s supposed to grow a progressively bigger appetite as he gets older.
When I return to the kitchen, Dawson has already spread the table with the breakfast items, and Gio’s at his seat, kicking his feet in anticipation as Dawson heaps his sunny-side up egg onto his plate.
“There ya go, Champion!” Dawson chimes as he fluffs Gio’s unruly black waves at the top of his head.
“Thank you!” Gio beams before digging right into his meal.
A pang of guilt grips my chest as Dawson goes back to the stove to retrieve my egg. Deep down, I know that keeping this secret from both of them is going to backfire eventually, but I just can’t risk facing the consequences of revealing the truth right now.
I still have a hard time trusting Dawson when he has the power to hurt me again. I’ll never recover from the heartbreak if he rejects his own son.
But when Dawson returns to the table and takes his seat, the scene is too domestic for my liking, especially since this is exactly how I pictured our lives would be, even long before that fateful night in the library.
While he and Gio pick up where they left off last night, I can’t help but wonder if things could be different this time.
No.
I can’t risk breaking a heart I spent years patching up.
The torturous rejection I faced was enough to have me considering ending it all, and I’d only stayed alive for my child’s sake.
If Dawson rejects him, I’ll be torn, with no way to escape the deadly clutches of a life where both my son and I have been shunned.
So, it comes as a relief when Rissa comes by to pick Gio up for the day. Another relief is that Dawson had excused himself to use the bathroom, so Rissa has no idea that one of the alphas is in my cottage after spending the night.
I can only hope that Gio doesn’t say anything while he spends the day with her. I kiss him on the cheek before he runs off down the path and thank Rissa for offering to take him to the daycare center so I can fulfill my volunteer duties in the library.
“Have an awesome day, Yvonne!” Rissa says as she turns to leave.
As I watch her chase Gio toward the village, I realize that I have opened myself up to trusting some of the pack members who’ve been nothing but kind to me.
Rissa is one of them, along with Aurora, who’ve taken it upon themselves to ensure our comfort while we’re back in Girdwood.
I’ve surrendered enough to let them take turns taking Gio to daycare and back, and that must count for something.
Is that enough reason to start trusting Dawson?
Hell no!
I can’t risk suffering that heartbreak all over again. I just wish I didn’t have to be back, but I know the walls I’ve built will suffice to keep me protected.
What remains unsettling is that Dawson is still in the cottage, and we’re alone now that Gio has left for the day.
I’ll have to muster up the courage to tell him to leave, and fight my own baser urges that have my body fawning over him like the helpless omega that I’ve fought hard not to be anymore.
This restless heat will be my undoing, and I have to ensure that he leaves.
Besides, I need to get ready for the day ahead.
I walk up to the bathroom door, about to knock, when I hear the gush of water pattering against the tiles in the shower stall.
“You can’t be serious…” I mutter irritably under my breath, proceeding with an urgent knock on the door.
“Dawson! What are you doing in there?!” I call out at the top of my lungs, hoping my voice can be heard over the shower spray.
“I’m taking a shower! I’ve healed fully, and I—”
“You’re taking a shower?!” I exclaim, perplexed at how cool and collected he sounds. “You could have done that at your place!”
“Might I remind you that this is also technically my place?” Dawson titters, his voice muffled by the shower.
Groaning, I stomp my feet outside the bathroom, pacing the floor as I wait for him to finish his shower.
What does he think he’s doing?!
I can hear everything, and my mind begins to wander … even though there’s a door between us, I can picture him naked in the shower, his body drenched in fresh water that must be gleaming on every inch of his skin, magnifying those muscles that I would love to trace with my—
“I’m done,” Dawson whistles behind me to get my attention, snapping me out of my sinful stupor.
As I spin around, it’s like a punch in the gut when I come face to face with his gleaming chest. Droplets of water slip down his skin, and just as I suspected, his chiseled muscles are enhanced by the light sheen left by the shower.
Tight skin pulls taut over the veins that map his chest with hot blood coursing through them.
I can imagine that his blood is as hot as my body is for him right now.
Snapping out of my daze when his lips curl into a smirk, I shake my head and clear the thoughts from it.
“You need to leave, Dawson,” I almost plead, spinning on my heel and marching toward the front door. If I stay ogling him any longer, Lord knows I’ll do something I’ll regret.
It’s almost as if my hormones are raging too strongly to be controlled, my body hot to the touch when I feel how cold the door handle feels beneath my fingers. I close my eyes and try to gain a semblance of control over the heat that rises in my body, but it’s pointless.
My senses are all over the place, heightened now that Dawson is in close range. They’re so strong that I can hear every step Dawson takes as he pads toward me barefoot.
“Dawson, you must leave,” I whimper, turning the handle and pulling the door open.
Suddenly, it’s shut with a firm, deliberate thud. Startled, I gasp when I see Dawson’s veiny arm beside my face, his strong hand flattened on the door.
What is he doing?