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.
