The Single Father Upstairs (Omegas of Moonridge Place #1)

1. Stellan

STELLAN

The apartment was silent, and that was unusual.

Living with an eight-year-old, silence signaled something was wrong.

“Indigo?” I was wiping my hands on a dishtowel as I came out of the kitchen.

“I’m okay. Don’t be angry.”

Forgetting about my wet hands, I raced toward my daughter’s bedroom. She was sitting in her room with the remains of what had been her dresser, except now it had gouges on one side, and she was surrounded by splinters of wood.

“I couldn’t control my beast, Dad.” She took a deep breath before letting out a stream of words. “I’m just learning, and I have a long way to go before I meet her and we work together.”

Indigo’s hands were trembling as I took hold of them and kneeled in front of her.

“I’m not angry. Making mistakes with the beast you’ve yet to meet is part of a young shifter’s life.” I kissed the top of her head. “I’ll fix the dresser.”

This push and pull between a young shifter and their beast was common at this age. Not for the first time, I wished I had someone to talk to and share this with. I had no idea if I was managing these growing pains right with Indigo.

I got her back to bed, but when I moved the dresser, part of the wall came away, and the outlet behind it sparked.

That’s not good, my bear pointed out as I put Indigo in my bed and I got on the sofa.

The next morning, I phoned our building manager and explained what happened.

“How big of a hole are we talking about, Stellan?” Jon asked. “Is it a hole-hole or something tiny?”

The shifters in our building had a tendency to repeat words like that to emphasize how big or important something was. Not that I had a clue what the former was but gave him the approximate measurement.

“That doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll be there by nine.”

Indigo left for school after telling me about a new student who insisted she could talk to fairies. My daughter was skeptical because she’d seen no evidence they existed.

“Ahem.” I rapped the kitchen counter with my knuckles. “You have a beast inside you that humans would say was make believe if you told them.”

Indigo made a face. “You’re right. I’ll ask to see the fairies.”

I was about to say something but decided against it. My daughter had to make her own mistakes, and I started paperwork in the small nook designated as my office.

Jon turned up at 9:40. He managed all twelve of the apartments in the building, and there was always something or someone needing his attention.

“Sorry, sorry. Mrs. Munro’s cat, Blizzard, was stuck in a tree and I had to get him down.”

He held up his arm and showed me the scratches. How did a domestic cat injure an arctic fox shifter? Again, I stopped myself from interfering. Thank gods Indigo didn’t see the cat or she would have skipped school and climbed the tree herself.

Jon scraped his toolbox on the wooden floor, and I winced, imagining the damage he’d done. He was always a little wary of me, though there was no need. Neither my bear nor I had an issue with him. He was sweet and kind, though a little befuddled.

He capped the outlet and said an electrician would be here Thursday. That probably meant next week some time.

“There’s a new tenant on the second floor. He’s arriving in the next few days.” He hefted his tool box out the door. “Thought you might like to know.”

I didn’t see how a new person in the building had anything to do with me, and I headed out. One of our neighbors who’d met Indigo this morning said they heard about the incident with the dresser.

“It happens.” She had her infant son on her hip. “You get through it.”

I managed a smile and a nod before spending the day on a kitchen remodel. I was an independent contractor, and after Jon’s visit this morning, I contemplated fixing the wall in Indigo’s room myself and the outlet, even though the building regulations stated I couldn’t.

Solo contracting was the type of work that gave me the freedom to attend school events, pick up my daughter if the weather was stormy, and make dinner every night. The downside was there were no sick days, paid vacations, and my income varied, depending on how much work I got each month.

But I loved working with wood, and it had little to do with my life as a shifter and single father. I could fix Indigo’s dresser or build her a new one, but that still left me waiting on an electrician who might follow a schedule as haphazardly as Jon did.

I made a mental list of the lumber I’d need for the dresser as I was measuring the client’s kitchen and forgot about the damage to the wall.

When I collected Indigo, she flounced into the car and slammed the door. I waited for her to tell me what she was steamed up about, and I’d barely driven a hundred yards when she burst out, “Someone in my class says they’ve done a full shift. That’s so unfair.”

It was possible though highly unlikely that one of her classmates, at eight years old, had met their beast. I suspected Indigo had told them what happened last night and the other person tried to outdo her.

But if the story was true, the school had to be informed because someone that age couldn’t wrangle a beast, even if it was the size of a mouse.

“They were hustled off to the principal’s office.”

Ahhh, there was no need for me to contact the school.

“One more chapter, please.”

It was after nine and my daughter was in bed—mine, not hers, because I didn’t want her in her room until the outlet was fixed. We were negotiating what time to turn off the lights.

“Dad, does it get easier? Controlling the desire to shift before I meet my bear?”

“Yes, once you can talk to her and reason, saying she can’t take her fur in public where humans might see, it’s much easier.”

“Were you scared the first time it happened to you?”

“Oh yeah. I broke the fence, and my dad had to spend the weekend fixing it.”

Indigo laughed.

“Night, kiddo.” I turned off the light, but when I reached the doorway, I paused and glanced back at my daughter. She was my everything, and I remembered when she was smaller, I sat beside her crib, watching her chest rise and fall.

After making a peppermint tea, I stood at the window, sipping it.

“It does get easier,” people had told me, and “You’re doing a great job with Indigo.”

Maybe they were right, but there was no one else to shoulder the responsibility.

I did a walkthrough of the apartment before bed, or before my head hit the pillow on the sofa. The deadbolt was on the chain, and I checked the window latch in the living room that needed a jiggle before it locked.

But after inspecting Indigo’s damaged dresser, I decided it couldn’t be repaired and hauled it downstairs to the dumpster.

The courtyard was quiet, but me dragging the dresser that was now a pile of jagged wood over the rough concrete disturbed the silence. The motion sensor lights over the dumpsters flicked on and banished some of the shadows.

I glanced up at our apartment on the third floor. My bedroom was in darkness, but I’d left the light on in the living room. Below our place was the empty apartment that, according to Jon, would be occupied soon. Maybe the new tenant had been here already, measuring the rooms and the windows.

After dumping the drawers into the dumpster, I bent over to retrieve the rest of the dresser and froze. A scent that hadn’t been here previously wafted around me on the breeze.

What’s that? My bear had been snoozing, but he was alert as the enticing scent circled us.

A gust of wind took hold of the scent, and it scurried past the parked cars and down the street. I was tempted to run after it and demand what it was. But I couldn’t leave Indigo. Besides, who chased down an intriguing smell at night, trying to discover its source?

I do. Let’s go.

No. I pulled my bear back as he surged to the surface, wanting to take his fur.

But I remained where I was and breathed in what was left of the scent, wishing I could capture it. There was no one else in the courtyard, and no cars were pulling in or out, so the source of the scent remained a mystery.

I’m tired. That has to be it. Why would I get excited about a smell near the dumpsters? One of the tenants had thrown away some perfume or a bouquet from an unwelcome admirer.

I checked on Indigo one last time. She’d kicked off the covers, and I pulled them up to her chin.

Trying to get comfortable on the sofa, I scrunched the pillow in half and turned to the right before rolling to the left.

My mind was on that scent as I tried to fathom its origin.

I could ask Jon, but he’d take a day to get back to me and then assume I’d been dumpster diving because Indigo had accidentally thrown away her favorite childhood toy.

Whatever it was, it didn’t hang around, and it was unlikely it’d be back. I had to put it out of my mind.