Page 162 of Broken Bonds
In the future.
Well, now that future is here.
I rest my head on the steering wheel, close my eyes, and take several long, deep, slow breaths to steady myself.
Did I know Shawn catching would be a possibility?
Sure, a remote one.
I never expected it to be this time.
Not to mention poor Mal. As if that kid didn’t have enough worries on his plate, now he’s pregnant.
At least he’s got Todd, and if I am sure of anything in this world, it’s that I know Todd will be an amazing dad. Knowing him, he’s likely already trying to talk Mal into going shopping for baby stuff and making lists of names.
I owe Mal an apology, too, even though I know it’s not my fault he caught. It’s not anyone’s fault it happened. Well, yeah, okay, it is Todd’s fault, technically, but none of us expected that to happen. There was no intent for this outcome for him.
I don’t know how or when we’ll handle initiation for him, but I know now, at this moment, there won’t be a single damned member of this pack who won’t surround him as pack to help protect him if needed.
Goddess, you have a fucking twisted sense of humor.
I finally pull back onto the road and make it home about fifteen minutes later. Shawn’s already got something delicious cooking, and that heaps more guilt on me because I’d planned to call for take-out and have it delivered so he could rest.
He sticks his head out from the kitchen doorway when he hears me walk in, and the beaming grin he wears lights not just his face, but his entire soul.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so…joyful.
Walking over, I pull him into my arms and kiss him. “So how many are you going to want, hmm?”
He grins. “How about we survive this one first and then let the Goddess decide? I wouldn’t mind having them close together.”
I rest my forehead against his, close my eyes, and just…
Breathe.
He always centers me, grounds me, makes me desperate to be a better man.
He kisses me again and then disengages. “Sorry, this is great, but I need to stir the sauce.”
“What are you making?”
“Fettuccini Alfredo.”
I follow him into the kitchen and realize he’s boiling water in one of the large pots that’s usually only utilized for making massive amounts of food for pack gatherings and potlucks, or for feeding a group of people doing community projects, like storm cleanup. The other pot, that he’s currently stirring, is the 2-gallon pot we usually use for making chicken stock.
From the empties on the counter, it looks like he’s dumped three large boxes of fettuccini, two of ziti, and two of tri-color rotini pasta in the water of the biggest pot. “Uh, babe?”
He grins. “You’ll thank me later tonight when I’m not sending you down to Brooksville in the middle of the night for groceries.”
On a third burner sits a 4-quart pot where he’s boiling broccoli, and in the oven are two sheet pans full of chicken tenderloins.
“Do we even have any groceries left?” I tease.
“We’ve been talking about eating down the freezer contents so we can get fresh stuff.”
“I didn’t mean all in one night.” My work cell buzzes with a text, so I give Shawn a kiss and head to the living room to check it.
It’s from Morning.
