16
REINER
Precisely thirty minutes later, Becks made her entrance into the restaurant – of course, with Wayne hot on her heels. I did not expect anything different: it was clear that she was absolutely terrified of meeting me, and therefore asked him to escort her.
As soon as he saw me, Wayne shot me a glare of pure hatred – which only added to my suspicions. At the end of the day, it was Rebecca who had left me: what reason could Wayne possibly have to hate me?
There were two possibilities: either she had lied to him about the reason behind our divorce
(and I doubted that – after all, he was her best friend and would support her in anything), or
there was actually something going on.
Even though that blatant defiance made my blood boil, I decided to keep calm and not
respond to the provocation: if I wanted any chance of getting to know my children, I had to
convince Becky (and evidently Wayne) that I was a trustworthy person – and growling and
threatening someone in a restaurant was not a good idea.
“Wayne” Becky called him, giving him an unmistakable look – and one that left me stunned: it
was her calm down look.
He huffed. “Listen …”
–
Becky only needed to barely raise her left eyebrow for him, however reluctantly, to obey: shooting me another dirty look, he headed towards the counter – a spot, I realized, from which
he could safely overlook the whole place, and thus monitor Rebecca and me.
Take it easy, I reminded myself, trying to mask my nervousness and walking over to Becks. While waiting for her, I had repeated those words to myself at least countless times, along
with a list of topics to absolutely avoid: our divorce, why she hadn’t told me about the children.
anything that would make her clam up.
…
Luckily, I knew my mate well enough to know what to avoid.
“Hey,” I said, greeting her with a half–smile. Nothing exaggerated.
Just keep her calm. Make sure she feels safe.
Becks swallowed. “Hi, Reiner,” she murmured.
It took me all of my self–control to keep my composure: it was the first time I had heard her
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* Brinte
say my name in four years. And in seeing her there, in front of me, as beautiful as the last time I’d seen her, with that bond between us stronger than ever… my goodness, it took all my
fortitude not to brush her cheek. I knew exactly how her skin would feel against my fingers –
the softness, the freshness… I could almost feel it.
Goddess – I would have kissed her.
And in doing so, I would have ruined any slim chance I had of not only getting to know our
pups, but of being able to approach her and figure out what the hell had happened between us four years earlier.
Luckily, a server arrived to break that impasse.
“Table for two?” she smiled, motioning for us to follow her.
I let Becks go ahead, as good manners dictated: the girl guided us to a table not far away, secluded but with a good view of both the street outside and of the restaurant.
So Wayne can stand watch, I thought, but I kept it to myself.
The truth behind that sarcasm was that knowing Becky
Was so afraid of me hurt like hell. I loved her – despite everything, I had never stopped loving her: knowing that I scared her, that
I
she felt so unsafe around me to ask her friend to keep an eye on us, was just awful.
“So?” she began. “Why are you in New York?”
Straight to the point as always, I see.
Nevertheless, her question had provided me with an opening that I would have been a fool not
to exploit.
“You’d never believe it if I told you,” I chuckled. Those had been the same words I’d told her the night I asked her to marry me – I’d been late because my father had held me back to give me a long lecture on marriage, and she had asked me what had taken me so long. My cryptic had made her laugh – I could still vividly remember the sound of that, as well as her smile, and the
way she’d shaken her head.
Gotcha, I thought when I saw her eyes widen for a moment. It was brief, almost imperceptible, because she immediately regained her cool, calm look, but the corner of her mouth had lifted.
Not that there was anything funny about the reason I was there: after all, I was in exile.
I didn’t really want to speak about it – even thinking about it made my blood boiled with anger, and the idea of having to tell her felt humiliating, but I knew it was my best chance. She was
afraid not of me, but of my title, and knowing that I no longer had it – that I was now just
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Reiner, and no longer the Alpha Reiner – would reassure her.
“Basically because I had nowhere to go,” I admitted, trying to keep an easy and cool tone. “Garrett, obviously with Mommy dearest’s help, stole the… company from me” I certainly couldn’t yell “Alpha” or “pack” in the middle of a room full of humans, after all.
“What?!”
and there she was.
*8 Point:
My Becks – the Becks who raged at the slightest injustice, the Becks who would set the world on fire if anyone dared to twist a hair on the head of those she loved.
She was genuinely angry – and I could see it, there was something else underneath that anger another emotion, perhaps even more intense, but one I couldn’t quite define. Pain, perhaps – or something like that.
I certainly avoided investigating through our bond: she would have ripped my head straight off.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, at the end of the day, Garrett was always her favorite.”
“That’s not the point! Your father chose you, not…‘
“And she was never okay with that, nor was Garrett,” I interrupted her, trying to smooth over her fury. “Let’s not talk about it – it happened, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Not even
the kids,” I added.
Rebecca gave me a dirty look. “I wasn’t thinking about it,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“I know,” I reassured her. “But I wanted to make it clear -so you know I have no intention of
taking them away from you, nor any reason. Garrett’s the eldest, he has a son, the support of
my mother and the Elders he has everything. Anyway, I’m staying with Mark until I find a
place.”
…
Becks swallowed, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t quite know how to respond: after years without her and after the absolutely not warm
welcome she had given me both at the stadium and that morning, I was no longer used to her
warmth, her kindness. Luckily, however, our waitress came to take our orders: clearly, she had
a sixth sense for awkward moments.
“I’d like a pasta alla gricia and some meatballs,” I said quickly: I’d had plenty of time to
analyze the menu while waiting for Becky.
“I’ll just have a carbonara, thank you,” Becky smiled at the girl. “I’ll add something later if I’m
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+8 Points
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hungry.”
Rebecca not devouring the entire menu in an Italian restaurant? I definitely hadn’t seen that coming.
“We had quite a late breakfast this morning,” Becks explained once the waitress left. “And then Violet wanted a sandwich and … eventually, we all did.”
I was acutely aware of the silly smile that had formed on my face.
Violet.
Our daughter’s name was Violet – the first one on our girls‘ names list.
And if that was her name …
“Violet and James,” I tried to guess.
Becky nodded, smiling – and then pulled out her phone.
I instinctively knew what she was about to do, and I felt a lump form in my throat: I knew that,
within seconds, I’d see them.
It took everything I had to hold back the tears in front of that picture: two children sitting on a
bench, happy and smiling as they devoured two ice cream cones. They were so … Goddess, they were so beautiful.
I had seen James before, but not clearly: he had been on the stadium screen for maybe a
second, and then Becky had done her best to keep him well hidden. Now, however, I could look
at him all I wanted, count and spot every resemblance I found to his mother and me, to his
sister.
The twins were mirror images of each other, and of Rebecca and me: if James had my
features with Becky’s colors, Violet was the opposite – a little Becks with my colors.
They were gorgeous. Wonderful.
Simply perfect.
–
I might have never seen them – never met them or held them close, but I already loved them
immensely.
My pups.
“They’re beautiful,” was all I could say.
“Ah, I don’t think you’d say that at bedtime,” Becky joked as our food arrived.
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And with that comment of hers, a lighthearted comment that meant both “let’s not talk about the past” and “there’s hope,” the conversation unlocked.
All of the anxiety, fear, and dread… left. Suddenly, we stopped walking on eggshells, and… goodness, it was like going back in time – as if those four years had never happened, as if nothing had ever happened and we were as happy as ever. She answered every single question I had about the kids – about their character, what they liked to eat, what cartoons they preferred… about everything.
We talked so much that, eventually, the owners of the restaurant had to invite us to leave: luckily, there was an ice cream place next to the restaurant, and we took refuge there to continue chatting.
Eventually, however, the questions ended – to the point that there was only one left, one I couldn’t help but ask.
“Becks,” I asked her. “What do they know about me?”
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