Page 92 of Reckless: Chaos

“I think...” I look at the nursery plans, at the future I can’t let myself want. “I think I need to know if I’m really his daughter before I let myself be anyone else’s family.”

“Stop.” Theo’s hands slam on the keys, a discordant crash that makes me jump. “Let’s examine this brilliant logic, shall we? You just learned he’s your father—what, two days ago? From a prisoner under duress?”

“But—”

“No.” He turns on the bench to face me fully. “You couldn’t have known about the tracking program. You couldn’t have known about any of it. You were trying to save people while he was hunting them. How exactly does that make you responsible?”

“I still led him to them?—”

“Unknowingly! While actively fighting against everything he stands for!” His composer’s calm cracks completely. “Do you think any of those betas would blame you? Do you think we blame you?”

“That’s not?—”

“And now your solution is to, what? Walk right into his hands? Face a man who’s been playing this game longer than you’ve been alive? A man who let your mother run while pregnant rather than give up control?”

Put like that, my plan does sound somewhat lacking in strategic merit.

“He’s still my father,” I whisper, but the words hold less conviction.

“No.” Theo stands, all omega grace turned to steel. “Biology doesn’t make family. Choice does. And you’ve already chosen—every time you tried to save someone. Every time you put yourself between danger and the innocent. Every time you showed us who you really are.”

His hands cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You want to know who you are? Look at what you’ve done, not what blood you carry. Look at who you choose to be, not who gave birth to you.”

My chest constricts as his words process, each syllable bypassing firewalls I didn’t know were vulnerable. My vision blurs at the edges, breath coming quicker as logical arguments infiltrate emotional barriers with the efficiency of a zero-day exploit. Because he’s right. Of course he’s right. I’ve spent two days letting the wordfatherrewrite everything I thought I knew about myself.

“I just...” My voice cracks. “I feel like I’m corrupted. Like everything I am is somehow tainted by his code.”

“Interesting theory.” Theo’s hands drop to my shoulders. “Let’s test it, shall we? When you saw that omega being harassed at the club, did you stop to check your genetics before stepping in?”

“That’s not?—”

“When you took that bullet for me, was that Sterling’s daughter acting? Or was that just you, being exactly who you’ve always been?”

“Theo...”

“When you learned betas were dying, did you thinkoh, I better check my DNA before I try to help?Or did you just act, because that’s who you are?”

My lips twitch against my will, the pressure in my chest releasing in a sound that surprises us both—part hiccup, part surrender, escaping past defenses I thought impenetrable. “Are you actually using logic right now? I thought that was Finn’s job.”

“Sometimes we have to speak beta to be heard.” But his smile holds warmth. “Is it working?”

I sink back onto the piano bench, letting my head rest against his arm. “Maybe. But people are still dying. The tracking program is still active. Sterling is still?—”

“Still a problem we can face together.” His fingers find the keys again, something soft and sweet replacing the minor keys. “With a pack that happens to include military intelligence, professional security, and a beta who’s probably already analyzed twelve different ways to approach this.”

I listen to him play, letting the music wash over me while my mind runs contingencies. He’s right—logically, mathematically, strategically right. A team would have better odds. Resources. Support.

And that’s exactly why I can’t risk it.

Because I’ve seen the way Jinx breaks when he talks about Emma. Watched Ryker’s hands shake when he thought I was bleeding out. Felt how Finn calculates every risk to the pack, and how Theo...

Theo, who draws nursery plans and composes lullabies and believes in happy endings.

“Your music is beautiful,” I say instead of arguing. Let him think he’s convinced me. Let them all think I understand.

“Just remember something for me?”

“What’s that?”

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