Chapter 250
Chapter 250
ELENA
Jacob and I had just finished going over the last of the moving logistics when Alden flopped–very dramatically onto the Moonstone Packhouse rug, sighing as though life had wronged him personally.
“You good?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder as I tucked the last checklist into my folder.
“No.”
I arched a brow. “Care to elaborate?”
“I’m bored,” he groaned, staring at the ceiling like it was responsible.
Jacob chuckled from where he was leaning against the banister. “We’ve only got one more hour of planning, buddy. Think you can hang in there?”
“No.”
Jacob, undeterred, pushed away from the railing and crouched next to him. “We’re doing some pretty cool stuff here, you know.”
Aiden gave him a skeptical side–eye.
“Helping wolves. Building programs. Changing the future.” Jacob gave a dramatic shrug. “No big deal.”
“I’m still bored,” Aiden muttered.
Jacob tried again. “Well, what would you rather do?”
Aiden sat up, eyes narrowing as he clearly mulled over his options. You want to do something with me?”
Jacob nodded, as eager as I’ve ever seen him. He’d been trying to connect with Aiden for weeks to no avail.
Once my son’s mind was made up about something, it wasn’t going to change. And my son had decided that he didn’t like Jacob Stormvale.c
That, however, didn’t stop Jacob from trying. “Sure. Name it,” he said.
There was a pause. And then Aiden smiled. Slowly. Deviously.
“Let’s have a bike race.”
Jacob blinked. “A bike race?”
“You said anything,” Aiden pointed out.
“I did,” Jacob said carefully.
Aiden hopped to his feet like a switch had been flipped. “Great. I’ll get the bikes. You get ready.”
Before either of us could respond, he was already darting down the hallway toward the garage.
Jacob looked at me with faint apprehension. “Should I be worried?
“Almost always,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “Let’s go.”
***
By the time we got to the front of the estate, Aiden had somehow rallied a full–blown audience. Mason and Erin stood at the base of the steps, clearly amused, while two of our junior warriors leaned against the porch railing, casually pretending not to be invested. Chad, bless him, had brought snacks–cheddar popcorn and a can of soda he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“I hear we’ve got ourselves a race,” Mason called out, one brow arched, clearly trying not to smile too widely.
Erin grinned and nudged him. “Who’s the lucky challenger?”
I opened my mouth to explain–but stopped mid–breath.
Aiden was already rolling confidently into position on the paved drive, astride the sleek mountain bike Derek had given him after the accident in Barbados.
It was still too big for him, teclinically, but he handled it like a pro le wore his helmet like a crown and had a determined glint in his eye that said he’d been planning this.
His “super–speed bike,” he called it. He looked like he was preparing for the Olympics.
And Jacob?
Jacob was crouched next to the garage, clearly struggling to mount a very tiny, very green bike with wobbly plastic training wheels and faded stickers peeling off the frame.
Aiden’s old bike.
A preschooler’s bike.
I took one step forward, already wincing. “Aiden, maybe we should-”
“ONETWOTHREEGO!” Aiden shouted, and took off like a bullet.
Jacob jerked upright, startled. “Wait-‘
”
But Aiden was already halfway down the drive, his legs pumping like a machine, a blur of motion and confidence.
The crowd went silent for half a beat–and then exploded.
Jacob launched himself forward with a burst of exaggerated determination. The little bike screeched in protest, the seat too low, the frame groaning with every pedal stroke.
His knees stuck out awkwardly, wide as a grasshopper’s, almost parallel to the ground. Every wobble of the training wheels sent him veering sideways like a poorly designed shopping cart.
Chad nearly choked on his popcorn. “Oh my goddess-
“”
“Someone get a picture!” Erin gasped, wheezing with laughter as she fumbled for her phone. “This is a historic moment.” Jacob didn’t falter. Not once. He pushed through the awkwardness, pedaling as hard as he could, tongue between his teeth like a kid trying to win the moon.
Aiden, of course, coasted into the “finish line“. off the handlebars and a victorious howl.
-a chalk line I didn’t even realize he’d drawn on the driveway–with both hands
WIN!” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air like a champion at the Games.
Jacob rolled in behind him at an Impressive lack of speed, finally coming to a stop and slumping over the handlebars like he’d just crossed a mountain range.
“You… are… ruthless,” he panted.
“You said anything,” Aiden said smugly, kicking down the stand on his bike like a pro.
Jacob raised both hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Next time, I want the training wheels off my bike. This is mine now, yes?”
Even Aiden had to smile at that.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Even the warriors clapped.
Jacob, ever the showman, dismounted with a flourish and bowed deeply–arms out, head lowered, full theater.
Aiden, grinning from ear to ear, made a little “muscles up” pose, basking in the glory of his victory.
I laughed–really laughed. The kind that starts in your chest and bubbles up past your ribs before you can stop it. I hadn’t felt that kind of joy in what felt like forever. For a moment, everything was lighter.
And then I looked at Jacob.
He was laughing too–grinning and winded, one hand braced on his thigh. But beneath the good humor was something quieter. A flicker in his eyes I couldn’t quite name.
Because this wasn’t just a game to him.
It wasn’t just about playing along.
Jacob hadn’t bonded with Aiden easily. Not the way Derek had.
For weeks, Aiden had ignored him, avoided him, dismissed every attempt.
But Jacob kept trying.
He’d shown up today, climbed onto a tiny bike that made him look utterly ridiculous, and let himself be humiliated in front of a crowd–just to get a smile out of my son.
Just to meet Aiden where he was.
Just to earn a moment.
And he had.
Would Derek have done the same?
Would he have leaned into the joke? Let go of his pride? Ended up breathless and triumphant in the driveway just to make Aiden laugh?
I didn’t know.
And I hated that I had to ask myself that question.
Later that afternoon, I was at the new Foundation offices, giving last–minute instructions to the early–arrival moving crew. Most of the official install wasn’t scheduled until Monday, but we’d gotten approval to start staging a few items.
The administrative floor was in chaos. Clipboards. Chairs. Sealed plastic bins full of file folders.
was halfway through telling one of the delivery guys where to stack the supply carts when I remembered I still hadn’t located. the red folder with our vendor contracts.
“Have you seen a folder marked ‘Building Final“?” I asked one of the staffers,
He scratched his head. “Someone might’ve brought it down to the mallroom. That’s where everything’s been getting dumped.”
Of course it was.
I made my way down to the basement, stepping over half–built shelving units and unopened boxes along the way. The mailroom smelled like sawdust and fresh toner, and I had to nudge a chair out of the way just to get to the main sorting table.
There it was our very first real stack of mail.
It felt weirdly satisfying to see it.
I flipped through envelopes, vendor catalogs, a welcome letter from a supply company, a few stray paperclips-
And then I saw it.
Wolf Whistle.
Right on top of the next stack.
Front cover in full color.
And there, caught in golden candlelight at a too–fancy table, was Derek.
Sitting across from Cassandra Laurent.
Her hand was on his arm.
The headline hit like a slap.
“Silverclaw’s Alpha & His Former Flame: Just Business… or Rekindled Romance?”
I went still.
Not even angry at first. Just frozen.
I turned the page with shaking fingers, scanning the article. It was garbage–half speculation, half anonymous quotes. But the photo was real. And it was recent.
I thought of our date–the strained conversation, the tension every time Jacob’s name came up. I’d assumed he was hurt. Jealous. Trying to work through it.
But he’d already moved on.
Or maybe he’d never stopped circling Cassandra at all.
I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping the magazine until the edge of the glossy paper bit into my palm. I let it drop onto the table like it burned.
I walked out of the mailroom in silence.
But inside?
I was seeing red.
