Here's to the next chapter of our story.
I'm sorry I failed you, but I hope to do better in the future.
Blake KellerCEO and Creative DirectorKeller Industries
18
Luca
The past two days have been perfectly quiet in a way that feels almost surreal after everything we've been through. My routine has settled into something easy, the kind of peaceful rhythm I never thought I'd have again. I spend most of my time lounging around with Grayson and Maceo, watching them work on their computers and take phone calls about legal matters that I don't understand most of the jargon for, but their presence is comforting.
However, my belly feels tighter today, the twins shifting restlessly inside me. I've been having small contractions on and off, nothing regular or intense enough to worry about yet, but definitely noticeable. The babies seem to be running out of room, and I can feel them pressing against my ribs and bladder with increasing frequency. I’m definitely not going to last the week, maybe not even the next few days.
And as much as I love this peaceful bliss, I'm getting a little stir crazy being confined to the house, but I also understand the necessity. The security here is better than anywhere else we could be, and with Hudson still out there somewhere, along with whoever this mysterious buyer is, staying put is the safest option for all of us.
The worst of it all is the separation from Blake. It’s easier than it was a few days ago when we were literally attached at the hip but it still feels like something is missing when he leaves in the morning. We've fallen into a pattern of impromptu calls and video chats throughout the day when he's supposed to be working. Just seeing his face on the screen, hearing his voice reassuring me that everything is okay, helps settle the restless anxiety that builds up when he's not here.
Grayson has asked me once or twice whether I know what I want to do when the babies are born, and honestly, I'm not sure. The whole concept of having choices about my future still feels foreign. For so long, every decision was made for me, every aspect of my life controlled by someone else. Now that I have the freedom to choose, I find myself paralyzed by the possibilities.
So I've been focusing on the nursery instead, channeling my nesting instincts into something productive. Blake gave me a budget—which was more of, spend whatever you want—and a credit card, telling me to go hog wild ordering everything we need.
Grayson has been more than happy to start putting everything together as packages arrive. Which is what he’s been focusing on since he’s all but become a stay at home father to be, prepping the bedroom just off the living room. It's the perfect location, close enough that I can hear them if they need me, but far enough from our nest that hopefully we won't wake them when we're together.
Watching Grayson work has become one of my favorite parts of the day. He usually walks around without a shirt on, his torso slick with sweat as he assembles cribs and changing tables and all the other furniture we've ordered. Maceo helps him, and I always have a beautiful view of them working together, their easy partnership evident in the way they move around each other.
They're getting closer, too, small intimate moments that speak to the growing bond between them. There's something beautiful about watching two people fall in love, especially when they're both mine as well.
Something loud thuds to the floor and steals my attention as I twist around, a half-eaten turkey sandwich dangling from my lips. Laughter follows and then a slap as Grayson lets out a growl. “Jesus Christ, Maceo. Kisses later. Hold that up straight.”
“I’ll hold something straight.”
“Keep your pin dick away from me.”
I snort at their banter, knowing full well that Maceo has anythingbuta pin dick.
“Babe, Gray,love, that’s not what you called it yesterday.”
I just shake my head and curl up tighter against one of my pillows, when my phone buzzes with a text message. My stomach immediately tightens with anxiety, and I hesitate before reaching for the device. I've been getting texts on and off from unknown numbers for the past few days, and I'm pretty sure they're from the buyer.
The messages are always variations of the same threat: the moment I step outside, I'm going to get snatched up and taken to my "rightful Alpha." The words make my skin crawl, bringing back memories of being told I belonged to Hudson, that I was his property to do with as he pleased.
I haven't told the pack about the texts because I don't want to ruin the happiness we've found here. They're all dealing with somuch stress already with the company situation and everything else going on. The last thing they need is me adding more worry to their plates.
Every time I get one of these messages, I just block the number and try to forget about it. But then another text comes from a different number, and the cycle starts all over again.
I take a deep breath and open the message, bracing myself for another threatening note from the buyer. Sure enough, it's the same type of message I've been receiving:You can't hide forever. You belong to me, and I will have what I paid for.
I delete it immediately and block the number, my hands shaking slightly as I set the phone aside. But before I can fully calm down, another message comes through.
This one isn't from the buyer. It's from Hudson.
We need to talk. Meet me at the old diner where you used to work. Come alone.
Terror floods through me, every muscle in my body going rigid with fear. The simple text message transports me back to that house, to those months of abuse and control and pain. I can suddenly smell Hudson's cigarettes and that dark, unsettling scent that always seemed to strengthen when he was about to hurt me.
But there's something else in the memory, something that's been nagging at me for weeks. A voice in the foyer, talking to Hudson while he was abusing me. A familiar voice that I can't quite place, but one that filled me with terror even through the haze of pain and dissociation.
The realization hits me that the buyer was there even then, a scream tearing from my throat.
