The Luna’s Peak

8

I stared down at an empty box of condoms in the trash can in the bathroom, and I frowned.

Just walk away, Natalie, my Wolf said slowly. It’s fine.

I didn’t answer her.

Reid respected me and my fears and my trauma enough to tell me no, once he found that this stupid box was empty.

He had enough self-restraint to tell me no.

Me! He never told me no, especially not in this context.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and I recalled the moment that brought our wild, passionate night to a screeching halt.

“f**k, I didn’t realize—“ Reid had tossed the box aside with a sigh of plain frustration, and he’d run a hand down his face.

“It’s fine, Reid, just pull out,” I’d insisted.

He’d seemed troubled. “I-I want to.”

“Then do it. Please, please, I promise, it’s fine.”

The way he’d eyed me only confirmed it—he certainly wasn’t done with me. But still, he scowled at the empty box of condoms. “I can’t.”

He took care of me. He still made sure I was satisfied. I wasn’t upset, of course. And, we’d had hours of unadulterated, passionate bliss before we ran out. We took a shower, and he washed my hair. I fell asleep wrapped up in his arms as the sun was rising.

This sort of treatment following a night like the one we’d had was to be expected. But this time, it was different. He was being extra gentle with me, and I knew it was because we both knew why he was right in saying no.

The last time we went without protection, months ago, I was gripped with very unwelcome fear the next morning. I took as many Plan B pills as I could open—only three or four—standing in the middle of the hospital’s pharmacy with silent tears streaming down my cheeks, before Reid stopped me.

I’d never forget the look on his face as he stood by and watched me swallow those pills—equal parts confused and concerned, and entirely heartbreaking.

That time, he hadn’t even finished inside me. He pulled out, just like I’d told him to do the night before.

But f**k, I was petrified of another pregnancy. And that awful fear came with the all-too-familiar rage at my own body, bubbling up inside me like boiling acid. I gripped the edge of the counter as I stood at the sink and I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut again. Hot, bitter tears stung them.

Fuck, I never wanted to be pregnant again. I just wanted my boy back. How could I go on to love and nurture another child when I failed him, in the worst possible way?

And then the bathroom door opened. I exhaled heavily.

“f*****g telepathy,” I grumbled, as I opened my eyes.

Reid scooped me up bridal-style and I didn’t fight him. “Not telepathy,” he said. “Just the Mate-bond.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder and I wiped away a stray tear with the back of my hand. We entered the bedroom, and he set me down on our bed. He reached to the side, to the bedside table. As promised, he presented me with two muffins on a plate.

I took the plate and leaned against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, crossing my legs. I sniffled. “Thank you.” Goddess, I hated how meek I sounded.

He’d already taken the muffins out of their wrappers for me. They were buttered and my mouth was watering. I picked one up and took a bite.

“Any good?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “You know they are,” I said, through my mouthful.

For someone who didn’t eat, Reid made absurdly good blueberry muffins.

He’d become quite skilled in the kitchen over the years, just for me. These muffins were my favorite—fresh, made-from-scratch, gigantic blueberry muffins. These were what he used to bribe me to get out of bed, just about fifteen minutes earlier.

He stood by and stared at me for a moment as I ate my muffin. He didn’t speak. I glanced up at him once. His brow was furrowed in concern, and I knew why. He’d come to my rescue many times before, when that particular kind of grief had been strong enough to translate via our bond. It felt like now, he was waiting for me to burst into tears or something.

When I didn’t, though, he turned and crossed the room to the door, where there was a plastic grocery bag hanging on the handle. He returned to stand next to the bed, and he reached into the bag and pulled out three boxes of condoms, tossing each one onto the bed in front of where I sat.

I chuckled. “Muffins and condoms? How sweet.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said dryly.

I set my muffin down and looked back up at him. “Reid,” I said carefully, “it isn’t your fault I was triggered by an empty box of condoms.”

He shrugged one shoulder. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry anyway.”

I set my plate back down on the bedside table next to me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Nat.”

“Do you..resent me? For losing him?”

Reid’s brow furrowed again. “What?”

“Do you?”

“Absolutely not. If I’ve ever made you feel that way—”

“You haven’t,” I assured him, shaking my head. “Just…I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

He sighed. “Natalie, you know it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.”

“Do you feel like having another baby would be like replacing him?”

“No, Nat, I don’t. Do you?”

“Yes.” My vision clouded with tears once more. “I don’t want to replace him. I want him back.”

Reid scooted closer to me, close enough to reach out and cradle the back of my head with his hand, to pull me even closer and kiss my forehead. He leaned his forehead against mine, and fighting the tears was useless.

“I want him back, too.”

I pulled away to hastily wipe at my cheeks with my hands. “I’m scared that if we have another baby, I’ll forget him.” I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. “And all the firsts we’d have with another one? Just learning how to be parents? That was all supposed to happen with him first.”

“You won’t forget him, Nat,” Reid said softly.

“What if we have another boy?” I asked.

“He’d be his brother. Not a replacement.” He paused. “And it’s not what if. We’d have another boy.”

My heart clenched painfully. “I’m sorry, Reid.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached out and picked up my plate from the bedside table. “Eat your muffins.”

I sighed and did as I was told. I hadn’t eaten the night before—there was no time. Before our very abrupt end, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Neither of us could get enough. There was no point at which we would’ve paused for me to eat.

My whole body was deliciously, sinfully sore, and I did relish it, despite my emotional turmoil. In the bathroom, before I’d noticed that empty f*****g box, I’d run my fingers over a series of bite marks that marred the skin across my chest and shoulders, as I stood before the mirror and brushed my teeth. I swore I could still see a handprint-shaped red mark on my right ass cheek, hours later.

Reid was shirtless, clad in nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. He left the house at some point while I was asleep for condoms, but his hair was still tellingly unkempt.

His multicolored eyes were trained on me. Every time we talked about him, I wondered if he’d have inherited Reid’s eyes. I had finally Googled it, back when we were trying to get pregnant—heterochromia was “usually not inherited”, but it could be.

Reid broke our comfortable silence. “What would we name another boy?”

My heart sank. “Reid, I don’t—”

“Just humor me,” he interrupted, and although he maintained his relaxed demeanor, now his eyes were pleading.

A small smile played on my lips, discordant to the emotions swarming in my belly like angry butterflies. “Do you remember how long it took us to agree on Milo’s name?”

Reid smiled, too, but it was the same as mine—slight, wistful. “It would probably take just as long with another one.”

“I still like the name Rory,” I mused.

“I still don’t like Rory Culkin.”

“You don’t think the names Milo and Rory sound nice together?”

“Nope. Rory Culkin’s brother is Macaulay.”

I laughed, but at the same time, Reid’s eyes glazed over, and both of our faces fell. I turned my attention to what was left of my breakfast, which wasn’t much.

Sure enough, after a brief telepathic communication, he asked, “Can you guess who that was?”

I smiled at him again. “Yes.” This early in the morning? It was almost always Silas.

“I love you, Natalie.”

“I know. I love you more.”

•••

Reid gave me a big hug after our short talk about our boy. He wiped my face clean with a cool, wet washcloth. He brushed my hair for me, and he braided it. I sat on the counter next to the sink and we talked about something lighter—we gossiped about Ellie’s relationship with Copeland—while Reid shaved his face. I enjoyed the excuse to do nothing but stare at him.

We left the house, hands clasped together, and we headed in the direction of the packhouse, to meet up with Silas.

I hated anything financial. Reid didn’t need me to assist with financial reports, or anything related to money, really. He didn’t necessarily need Silas’s help either. I believed that he himself hated handling our pack’s money. The sole reason he was doing it was because we were in between accountants.

Reid knew the ins and outs of our previous accountant’s role, of course. Black Summit’s money was old money, and it continued to grow through investments. I was never good with numbers, but I could operate a calculator well enough.

About halfway to the packhouse, we turned a corner and came face-to-face with Grady. Her obsidian hair, streaked with gray, and her long, flowy, navy blue dress billowed behind her as she walked, taking long strides.

She smiled when she saw us and chirped, “Good morning, loves.” She held a Tupperware container in her hands, and she held it up as she informed me, “I had to fight Copeland off to save this for you.”

I smiled back at her. “Thank you, Grady.”

She turned her attention to Reid and said, her tone accusatory, “I told her to come to my house for dinner last night. I suspect you’re the reason why she never showed. You’re overworking your poor Mate.”

Reid chuckled, and my cheeks flushed.

“You can have her now,” Reid offered.

“She can?” My brows rose. “What about the reports?”

“Please, princess, you’re so overworked. Go have some soup.”

I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm. Before I could shoot back some smart remark, his phone sounded in his back pocket. With his free hand, he retrieved it, and he frowned when he looked at the screen.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s Tessa.” His frown deepened when his phone sounded again. “She says she needs to talk to us.”