Happiness is Earned (Second Chances Book 3), page 81
“I understand,” he says, and there’s a warmth in his voice. Is that… pride that I detect? Is Malachi proud that I’m letting myself feel this way? “You’re allowed to be angry.”
“It’s not just anger,” I say, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “It’s... It’s like this constant ache, this need to make it right, and I don’t know how to do that. Being around them has brought these feelings back up.”
“I know,” Kai says, with a sigh. “It’s so fucking—”
Cevon’s phone rings, and we all startle, hearing the tune to...
“Is that Barbie Girl?”
“No, it’s Atticus,” Cev says, with a smirk. He answers the phone, putting it on speaker, even though we’d hear Atticus just as well without it. “Hey, baby bro.”
“Not the baby of the family,” Atticus replies. “Are you with Mal and Micah? We need to talk.”
“What’s wrong?” Kai asks. Gone is the warmth and uncertainty he was just feeling, and I know that our talk has been delayed.
“Hold please,” Cevon says, pressing the hold button on his phone. “You two were talking.”
“We’ll talk more tonight, or tomorrow before we go back over,” Kai says, giving me an apologetic look.
I wave it off, and he nods as Cevon takes Atticus off hold. Pausing this conversation gives me a little more time to sort out my feelings regarding it.
“Don’t do that again,” Atticus says firmly. “We’ve been discussing the hunters, and we’ve come up with a plan.”
“Without us,” Kai says, with a frown. “Lovely. Exclusionary dicks.”
“Let’s discuss it now. Grab your laptop and give me a call. This needs to be done face to face.”
The line ends, and I shake my head. “We’re not going to like this, are we?”
“Doubt it,” Cevon says.
And how right I was.
“No.” I don’t back down, and I won’t relent. Not on this. Not after yesterday.
“Micah,” Atticus pleads, down the line. “This is how it needs to happen.”
“I refuse to do this,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s going to be devastated.”
“Weren’t you the one who told me we should’ve done this differently on the way up?” Cevon asks, and I nod. “She can’t come along for this. We both know that.”
“Then what? Because I can’t leave here, letting her think everything is fine when we’re going off to fucking battle.”
“Then let’s tell her so she knows,” Malachi says. “If we had done that yesterday, there would’ve been a lot less panic for you both.”
We all pause when we hear her footsteps.
Looks like we don’t need to debate it any further.
She’s here now, and I’m going to make sure she knows what’s going on.
Nora
“What’s going on?” I ask, hearing the shouting from Malachi. My eyes take each of the men in, before I see the laptop screen. I smile, seeing my lion mate sitting on the other side of the screen. “Atty!”
But I instantly know something is wrong because he doesn’t return my smile.
“Hi, little queen. Do you have a minute?” His tone is somber, his expression purposefully blank, and it causes my wolf to pay attention.
I nod and edge closer to the laptop. It’s on the coffee table, between the sofa Micah and Cevon are sharing, and the armchair that Malachi is sitting on. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got two things to say, and I don’t think you’re going to like either of them.”
Micah moves over, opening up more space between him and Cevon. I take the hint and slide in between them. Atticus is just waiting, and I reach up to mess with my hair as he figures out how to word whatever horrible thing he wants to tell me.
“Come here,” Micah grunts, tugging me into his lap. His tiger purrs, an almost subconscious effort to soothe me, and he rubs my back as we sit close together. Cevon’s not impressed Micah stole me first and I smirk as he comes to lay his head in my lap.
“Are you going to tell her or just watch her fawn over these fuckers?” Malachi asks.
The scent of jealousy is strong, but when I beckon him over, he shakes his head.
“Kennedy is still alive,” Atticus says. I freeze, but Atticus remains oblivious to the weight of his words. “The Tribunal had one last bit of information to check in on, and I can’t take my prize until then.” A faint twitch plays at his lips, but I’m not sure if he’s holding back a smile or a sneer “It’s fine. Nothing has changed. I just didn’t want you to be caught unaware upon returning home.”
“Okay,” I reply, dragging out the vowel sounds. I take a deep breath and slowly release it. If that’s what he shared first, that wasn’t the worst news. “So what’s the other bit of news?”
“We’re going to be handling the situation with Cevon’s hunters in the next couple of days.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tomorrow morning I’ll be coming to see you.” Atticus doesn’t seem pleased about that, but what’s more, is none of my other mates do either.
“Okay.”
“And then we’re going to lay out our plan. Cevon will remain behind with you.”
Cevon’s jaw tenses, and I look down at him in surprise. He nudges my hands with his head, and I continue running my hands through his hair. I can feel the tension radiating off of him, and I know he doesn’t support this plan.
“I don’t understand,” I repeat, my frustration leaking into my words. If they’re dealing with Cevon’s fight… why is he not going to be involved? “Why would Cevon be staying here with me?”
If it’s because someone needs to be here in case something goes wrong, then Cevon’s not the man for that job. They’ve all got their role within our relationship, all got a need that they fit for me.
But even in the wider view of things, they’ve all got different strengths and weaknesses.
In the case of something like this, it’s Micah who should remain with me.
“Because they’re going to be launching our attack on my hunters,” Cevon says, angrily. “And Atticus is going to take my place and trick them into thinking he’s me.”
“But… your hair.” Cevon’s lips twitch, and I roll my eyes, realising that I fucked up here.
“If our hair is your primary concern, little queen, don’t worry. The men picking me up are not going to be ones that Cevon knows personally—they’ll have seen a photo and nothing else.”
“Right.”
“Once I’ve been captured… Cevon will come with the rest of the pack to come and save me.”
Cevon sits up and laughs now. “You know what, I actually love this plan.”
“I don’t.”
“Told you,” Micah says, smugly.
“Is it just going to be the seven of you up against… how many hunters?” I ask, looking at Cevon.
“About five hundred.”
“Not even a hundred per person,” Malachi says, with a shrug. “Exclude Micah, since he’s not going to kill anyone—”
“Neither is Fin,” Cevon says.
“Nah, Fin will,” Malachi says. “He just needs the right motivation the first time, and then blood will be his new favourite scent.”
I gag, and Micah’s eyes fly to me in worry. Malachi hands me a glass of water not even five seconds later, and I sip at it. “Excuse my weak stomach.”
“Your stomach is the home for my children,” Atticus says. “Do not insult it by calling it weak.”
I gape at him, but when he doesn’t back down, I sigh and move on. “So basically, Atticus you’re coming here, leaving with Malachi and Micah, going to get captured by the hunters then the six of them are going to come and rescue you whilst taking out all of the hunters?”
“Yes, pretty much,” Atty says.
“Two things. One—five hundred for six people, is too many.”
“We’ll make do,” Atticus says. “And there are seven of us.”
“They’re not going to just knock you out nicely are they?” I hiss, glaring at him. “You’re likely going to be incapacitated.”
Atticus frowns at me. “I’m a fast healer.”
“I’m a fast healer,” I mimic, scrunching my nose up before scoffing. “No. I want you to get more help.”
“That’s not possible, little warrior,” Malachi says, and I look to where he’s sitting. “The coordination is already going to be hard to manage. We can’t bring in a bunch of our people, risk losing them, but also having the handicap.”
“Then don’t use our people.”
Cevon frowns, his tone almost mocking. “Who do you suggest we use?”
“An elite team, like who have gone to get Esme. Or…” I trail off, cringing even as I suggest it. “Tarun and his herd of pathetic men.”
Atticus tilts his head. “I’ll give him a call. That’s not an unreasonable request.”
“That’s his way of saying a good idea,” Micah whispers in my ear, kissing the skin on my neck.
“What was your other thing?” Cevon asks, tilting his head.
“How do you know that every single person is going to be there that day?”
Atticus gives me a small smile. “You’ve got a very analytical brain, little queen, and I love that about you.”
“But I don’t think you want answers to that,” Cevon finishes, bringing my hand up, and kissing it. “Any other concerns or demands?”
“One more,” I say, tugging him forward by the shirt. He lazily raises an eyebrow, and I connect my lips to his. Micah’s erection forms underneath me, and I grind against it as I make out with my lion.
“Ahem,” Malachi coughs, sounding far too amused.
My little peck with Cevon might’ve deviated from that. I pull away with a flush on my cheeks that’s attributed both to embarrassment and arousal.
“What’s your demand, little darkling?”
“Come back safe.” I look at each of my men, before focusing on Atticus. “All of you.”
71
MALACHI
“Are you ready?” Micah asks, and I nod, feigning bravery. He comes and sits in front of me with his own stack of letters, crossing his legs as he undoes the tie that keeps them in place. My heart is pounding, sweat dripping down my back, and I’m terrified that he’s going to hear it.
It’s weird that I’m so anxious right now. My mind is racing with the possibilities, wondering how bad they’re going to be, after the way they treated me. What’s she written in these? What’s he written?
There’s a soft sound in the bedroom, and I smile, feeling the sleepy contentment from my mate. She’s flat out, and Cevon said he needed some extra cuddles with her, which is code for giving us the time to work through this shit. They’re currently knotted together, so there’s no chance either of them will interrupt us—even if Nora wakes up.
“What do you hope to get from this?” Micah asks me, as he looks at his pile of letters. His ebony eyes are filled with unease, and when I feel his emotions through the bond, he’s drowning in his unhappiness.
I frown, looking up at him. “Answers, obviously.”
“But you’ve already forgiven them.”
I snort, and there’s a bit of hope on his face now. “No I haven’t. Marcus... He’s still got a good ways to go at least. Mum just seems empty. Broken. It’s hard to hate her, when she’s still so… lost.”
“She was never the true villain,” Micah says slowly, as he looks down at his pile of letters. He sniffles, before sighing. “I don’t think my letters are going to be anywhere near as nice as yours.”
“Then try one and we’ll see what they say. Want me to read it for you?”
He shakes his head, and grabs a random letter from his stack. He wastes no time in shredding the envelope like a heathen, and he starts to read. I recognise the handwriting as my mum’s, and look away to give him this moment.
I undo my own stack, but rather than choosing at random, I take the very bottom letter. I want to read chronologically. I want to see the changes within her—if there are any. The paper is a bit faded, but there’s still a dash of her usual perfume on it. My eyes water, and I blink away the tears so that I can read properly.
Dear Malachi,
This letter will never reach your hands, so I don’t know why I’m wasting my time writing it.
I’m a terrible mother. I’ve sat by and let you suffer for far too long. I was unable to do anything to help you… or maybe, I was just unwilling to fight my demons to protect you.
The day your stripes changed, I was thrown back to the memory of the man who... of the day you were conceived. As you shifted back to your human form, those blue eyes of yours were focused on me, asking for answers... and I lost it.
That was my first panic attack since I found out I was pregnant, and those feelings I had suppressed over the years, reappeared and took hold of my soul. I couldn’t escape anymore.
Your true form being brought forward triggered a depression within me like no other.
I became blind to you, blind to the life you were living at the hands of your my mate. It was the only way I could survive.
And my ignorance led to you being abused, neglected, and harmed whilst in my care.
I wasn’t a good mother, Malachi.
But worst of all... if I had known back then who your father was... I’d never have been your mother at all.
I read that last line again, and again, the words swirling around my brain. I understand her thoughts, I really fucking do.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, a rush of pain filling me.
I understand.
Or at least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
My tiger is yowling inside my head, clawing at his own face, the horrors of what we’ve read breaking us in ways I never thought they could.
After everything that’s been done to me at their hands, I didn’t think there was anything left for them to destroy.
I was wrong.
The truth hits me like a tonne of bricks, and I can do nothing but silently rage. Tears stream down my cheeks without permission, and it pisses me the fuck off. I hate that she’s still got the power to hurt me.
My breathing becomes erratic and ragged as my chest heaves. I grip the letter tighter, as my heart pounds so loud I think it might burst my eardrums. Micah looks over at me, concern etched across his face.
I just don’t know how to explain. This hurts more than anything else ever has before, and never before have I felt so lost or confused about my place in life.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “What’s wrong?”
I just hand him the letter, and close my eyes as he reads it. I don’t want his pity, I really fucking don’t.
“How could she say that?” Micah snarls, glaring at me. My eyes fly open in shock, but then my lips quirk up. “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t deserve you.”
He rolls his eyes as he crumples the letter up in his hands. The weight of her words are suffocating me, but Micah just wipes their effect away so easily.
“I’m sorry, Kai,” Micah says softly, placing a comforting hand on my knee. “If it helps, in the one I’ve just read, Dad says she tried to kill herself. She clearly wasn’t well, and that letter was a testament to that.”
“Then she should’ve fucking taken it out,” I roar, whacking his hand off my shoulder and launching to my feet. “If she didn’t mean it, it never should’ve been included. It hurt me.” I growl loudly, my tiger struggling just as hard as I am with her words. “She said she’d have aborted me, Micah.”
“If you need an outlet, let’s go outside,” Micah says, jumping up to his feet. He doesn’t approach me, but there’s a firm intensity about him, that shows he’s not going to back down. “Nora’s asleep and we’re not going to wake her up.”
Just the mention of her calms me down enough that I can plonk back down on my ass, some of the anger gone. My mum might’ve aborted me, and wished I was never born, after what happened to her.
But my mate in the next room loves me. She doesn’t see me as a waste of life.
She sees me as hers.
“Pick a different letter or burn the entire fucking pile, I don’t care,” Micah says, a little too harshly. “But do not let the words of a severely depressed woman fuck you up this badly. It’s not fair to you.” And then under his breath he mutters so quietly that I don’t think I was meant to hear it, “Or her.”
I grunt and grab a letter from the pile. I don’t grab the second one, and instead pick one at random like Micah did. If I have to read another piece of shit letter like the first one, I might be the next one to try and kill someone.
And unlike my mum who failed in her attempt, I most definitely won’t.
The letter I’ve got is another one written in her handwriting, but it’s dated only three years ago. Surely this has got to be better.
Dear Malachi,
I hope this is the letter that reaches you, although I hope that about every single one I send.
It’s been so long since we’ve spoken, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I won’t ever stop trying. You deserve a mum who tries, and I’ve already failed you in that regard once. There are so many things I need to say, things I should have said a long time ago but didn’t. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I don’t want you living your life thinking you were a burden.
I let my pain overwhelm me, and I lost sight of who I was, who I should’ve been.
That’s not an excuse.
I cannot even begin to describe the guilt and pain I feel every single day for what I allowed to happen to you—what I didn’t protect you from. You did not deserve the treatment you received from me, and I am so sorry for everything. I know that I cannot possibly make things right, that a few simple words and apologies won’t erase the stain on your soul.
