Page 138 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“Damien is coming next week.”

Her face changed, but not as much as I expected. “To London?”

“England. Holidays. He texted Lincoln. He wants to see him and Hudson.”

Sienna’s attention shifted from her phone, though she didn’t interrupt.

Maeve stroked Mila’s back. “Does he know about you and them?”

“They never found the opportunity to tell him.”

“About the babies?”

“Or me.”

“That could get messy.” Maeve’s eyes softened. “Are you frightened?”

“I’m worried,” I said.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I’m aware.”

“Mary.”

I looked at her then. Maeve waited.

“I’m afraid he’ll hate me,” I said.

“Damien?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” I pressed my thumb into the blanket. “I’m afraid he’ll hate them. Or make them hate themselves. Or make it so painful that they look at me and see the whole mess instead of...” I stopped.

“Instead of what?”

My throat tightened.

“Instead of me.” I pulled the blanket tighter. “I’m frightened of Hudson’s face when he has to pick his words carefully around a boy he loves. And Lincoln’s guilt, which he’ll carry and never once mention.”

Mila stirred against Maeve, making a small sleepy sound. Maeve kissed her head and waited until she settled.

“You’re not the mess,” Maeve said.

“Tell my heart that.”

Maeve smiled faintly. “Your heart is dramatic.”

“It was raised by Callum McCarthy.”

She nodded as the fire sparked in the grate.

Maeve’s gaze moved to the hall, where Hudson’s voice carried briefly and Lincoln answered with a rougher yet quieter sound. I didn’t catch the words, only the tone.

Maeve looked back at me. “How do you feel about them? You called them your alphas.”

I reached for my tea because my hands needed an occupation and my mouth needed a delay. “They’re very tall.”

“Mary.”