Chapter 120

Zane POV

“Celiac?” I asked, looking at Sarah over the kitchen island as she inhaled her first cup of coffee. She didn’t even wince at the heat. “Why would Jordan have celiac?”

“He doesn’t, he wouldn’t and Ella doesn’t think he might. The point is to put it in everyone’s head that he has this special need, this issue that he’ll have to bring up.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, people with allergies and celiac and any of that need to ask for accommodations,” she said, “but all it takes is a suspicion that the person demanding special treatment is just seeking attention, and people get irritated really fast.”

I agreed with that, but what was Ella’s point? “Making us think Jordan might need special treatment is to get us to resent him?”

“Or to make him feel like he needs that special attention. Teaching kids to stand up for things they need is empowering. Teaching them to demand things they don’t makes them unpleasant to be around.”

She walked over to the coffee maker and poured another cup. “I suspect his confidence in himself is her ultimate target.” She looked like she was going to say more, but cut herself off.

“What?” I asked.

“I have a theory about something, but I don’t have enough evidence yet.”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” I grumbled to make her laugh. She did, lightly, and then she reached for her laptop.

“Before you get into the morning’s email,” I said trying to keep my tone casual, “I’ve thought of something you might find helpful. I’m not sure, though. Feel free to say you aren’t interested.”

“Well, I’m interested now. What is it?”

I nodded to a small black packing case I had put up on the counter near the microwave. “Please, open it.”

She frowned a little and went over to it, opened it up, and looked over the twenty-or-so paperback-sized leather journals inside.

“Olivia kept them,” I explained. “She started as a teenager and kept them up through our marriage.”

She looked uncertain about how to respond.

“She told me I could read them if I wanted, and I did a few times, here and there. She read me some passages aloud sometimes when she felt she’d written something really well, like a feeling or an impression of someone. I know she intended Chloe and Grace to read them when they got old enough, which is why I kept them.”

“Just for the girls?” she asked.

I nodded. “I never had the desire to read them once she was gone, but I was glad to have a reason not to throw them away.”

She picked up the left-most journal from the top row and looked at the date on the spine. I could see it was from eleven years ago. She opened it and read aloud, “Angela said I wasn’t sure about my hunting abilities because I don’t hunt enough. Just the other day, though, I caught a fox with little trouble.”

An odd look came over her face, but she continued, “I think the issue is more that for the next moon hunt, I have to work as part of a team, and I hardly know the other alphas. Ecelia is nice and all, but is she a good tracker or a good chaser? Does Nathan like to go for the quick kill or play with the prey a bit?”

She looked at me. “Moon hunt?”

I nodded. “It’s a tradition younger alphas enjoy. They get together with friends and hunt to build pack loyalty and intercommunications.”

“Is it usually a fox?” she asked for some reason.

“I suppose. Or a rabbit.”

She nodded and returned the journal to the case, which she closed and picked up.

“Thank you. I’ll get a lot from reading these, I’m sure.” She smiled and left the kitchen. I saw she had left her coffee cup and wondered how long it would take her to come back.

I went to my study, but instead of getting to work I just sat there. Hen after a few minutes I took out my desk key and opened the middle left-hand drawer in front of me.

From the drawer I took a small, black leather journal, the only one I hadn’t given Sarah. It was dated during the year of our wedding and honeymoon, the second-to-last journal she ever made. I had never looked inside it before.

I opened it randomly, and a name caught my eye.

So, Angela said it wasn’t important, but I think she’s wrong. I don’t have to please Zane over everything, but some things are important, and this is one of them. Twins run in both our families, and we should have two names ready, even if I’m not pregnant yet.

We both know that’s what the marriage is waiting for: me to get pregnant. He may be a wonderful and skilled lover who lets me know he appreciates the bedroom tricks I’ve picked up over the years, but neither of us thinks this is the romance to end all romances. (Zane, if you’re reading this, you know that I do love you, but we’ve never been crazy in love, and we never will be.)

Sometimes, I think it’s astonishing we actually grew to love each other at all. Zane and I both knew whom we’d be walking down the aisle with from, what, about twelve years old? We were obviously the two strongest alphas of the pack, and that’s what the two strongest alphas do, get married and have pups.

I dreamed about the white wolf last night. She’s lovely and strong and leads us in our hunt, but I have no idea what my subconscious is trying to say. Am I the white wolf? Yung would say I am, but what part of myself is the white wolf representing?

Besides, Yung was a human. What did he know about anything? But whom should I be listening to instead? That Freud idiot?

I laughed aloud. I could hear Olivia so clearly in my head reading this. I wanted to turn to her and tell her so.

If only I could talk to Olivia now and tell her how lovely our children were, what wonderful alphas they were growing into.

And then I thought it again: what would Olivia make of Sarah? Olivia had been so tremendously practical. I think she would have approved, but my uncertainty, I admitted to myself, was one reason I had given Sarah Olivia’s journals.

If I could know for certain that Olivia would approve of Sarah, I wanted to know if Sarah would approve of Olivia.

I realized I had closed the journal and opened it again, this time further to the back.

Why did no one tell me being pregnant was horrible? I feel sick all the time, not just in the mornings, like people say. I’ve put on enough weight, but I know the doctor wants me to put on more, especially since it’s twins, like I knew it would be.

I find myself daydreaming about my twin daughters’ futures, my hands on my belly, a silly smile on my face. But I am increasingly worried that I won’t be there to see it. I don’t know why.

Something is wrong, and I don’t know what.

What was that supposed to mean, I wondered? Olivia knew something was wrong with the pregnancy? She suspected she wouldn’t be around to raise the girls?

I went back to the beginning of the journal and was determined to read every word. If Olivia were going to tell me things from beyond the grace, I was damn well going to listen.