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That happy bubble bursts when my phone rings an hour into the lunch rush. I signal to Margaret that I’m taking a break and slip outside to answer.
“Trent, I’m at work. What do you need?”
“I’d forgotten how snippy betas could be. It will only take a moment of your time to talk aboutourkids,” he barks.
I sigh and let my head sag against the block wall. “Since when are you interested in them?” I’ve noticed Trent likes to play this game where we mean nothing to him until it’s convenient. He expects me and the kids to be at his beck and call.
“Don’t start with me,” he grumbles. “Veronica wanted me to call and let you know we’ll come pick up the kids Thursday.”
“Thursday?” I ask.
He’s never once asked for them early. When he used to get them, he picked them up on Friday evening and dropped them off by noon on Sunday.
I roll my eyes so hard. Well, if Veronica wanted, we all better jump to it.
“Yeah. We looked up the calendar, and it’s the last day of school. We’ve rented a family room at one of those lodges with the pools. We’re meeting Veronica’s family pack and mine there. We want them to have a real family vacation. We told them all about the kids when her family stayed. They’re really excited to meet them. That should make up for the weekends I missed.” He says this as though I should crown him the king of fatherhood and beg forgiveness for ever having doubted him.
“How long?” I ask, my tone devoid of the celebration he’s expecting. I refuse to let him hear my hurt either.
“Until Monday night,” he says, either not hearing or not caring about my lackluster response. “And don’t worry much about packing. We’ll buy all new things for the kids before we head to the lodge.”
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat. I’ve never met Trent’s family. We never took the kids on a vacation. Not once in all the years we were together. Nor did we ever go on a shopping spree. A part of me is grateful anyway. That will be nice for the kids. Maybe they’ll finally connect with Veronica and repair their relationship with their dad. But my throat burns along with my heart, knowing it wasn’t that he couldn’t but that he didn’t want to. Not for me and not even for the kids, not before.
I think about being petty, sending him a picture of my necklace and the new address, nothing else. It would be satisfying. But I don’t do what feels good. I do my best to do what’s right. “I’ve met an alpha and omega pair, Trent, and I plan to bond with them. We moved into their house about a week ago. You can pick the kids up at our new address. Maybe you and Veronica can come up a little early and meet them first.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” he growls, the sound so rough it pierces. “Where the fuck have you taken my kids?”
His kids? Now he cares? He didn’t care when he brought home his “real” mate without discussion or when he left us to fend for ourselves with almost nothing. Where was the care when he skipped holidays and birthdays and visits? When I struggled to pay the bills and feed his kids? He treats them like they’re his toys, playthings to control and show off. He doesn’t want anyone else to have us, even after he discarded us. He can choke on a dick.
“I haven’t taken them anywhere. I’m inviting you to meet our pack,” I explain, trying to make my way out of this conversation calmly even though I’m seething.
Margaret pokes her head out the door, signaling at her wrist.
“I have to go, Trent. It’s lunch rush.”
Trent’s breathing is low and angry. His voice is a storm of menace when he speaks. “You can’t simply decide to move my kids to some strange alpha’s house. I’m your alpha. Those kids belong to me?—”
“You don’t get to decide. Not when you left. You aren’t my alpha, not anymore. I’ll text the address,” I say in a rush, not really believing those words slipped out of my mouth, and hang up.
If that had happened before he left, I would have been tiptoeing around a pissed-off alpha for days. But I’m done rearranging my life for someone who never even saw my worth.
I sigh and bang my head against the wall. The calm I felt at the house during my sick-cation is over.
“Sugar, beat yourself up later. I’m too old and pretty to be running around this restaurant by myself,” Margaret hollers.
“Coming,” I groan, heading back inside.
“Mom, look at my dirt pie.” Em giggles, running over to show me her bowl. While I made dinner, she and Finn made cookies and cream ice cream. They added gummy worms to make the whole thing look disgusting. “Knights and dragons need worms and dirt to give us a ‘mune system.”
“An immune system? I don’t think that’s gonna come from gummy worms and ice cream,” I say skeptically.
“Sure, it does. It gives extra padding to the heart, which always helps,” Finn says, handing me two bowls of ice cream without the worms. “One is for you. Take that one to Reid for me. I’ve got one for Ben.”
Finn holds a special dog treat out for Waffles, teasing him until he can set it on the patio.
We walk through the big yard to a wooden deck made into an outdoor nest tucked between a cluster of old trees. It’s like the magazine-porch with big pillows, glowing solar candles, and loads of blankets. It’s hard to believe people have these in real life, let alone that a place like this is mine.
I sit, Em at my side, and the others pile in. The kids devour their ice cream, chatting back and forth. Em lets Waffles lick her hands and the spoon to everyone’s groans.
