THE BLACK ROSE

DINNER OF THE BLACK ROSE

CHAPTER 3: DINNER

I didn’t sleep.

How could I, after three trucks and six wolves kicked my door in at midnight?

Jackson was curled up in the backseat of my car, clutching his dinosaur backpack like it was a life jacket. We’d driven two towns over. Again.

New motel. New name. New start. Again.

"Are the bad men gone, Mommy?" he whispered at 3 AM.

"Yeah, baby," I lied. "They’re gone."

But they weren’t gone.

Because at 9 AM the next morning, there was a knock on our motel door.

One knock.

Soft.

Not like last night.

I froze with my hand on the door handle.

"Who is it?"

"Callen," came the voice. "Can we talk? Please. Just me."

Just him.

Not Ryder.

I opened the door a crack. The chain was still on.

Callen stood there with a soccer ball under his arm and two cups of coffee in his hands.

No trucks. No wolves. No Ryder.

Just Callen. In jeans and a gray hoodie. Looking tired.

"How did you find us?" I asked.

"I didn’t," he said. "I was looking for you. All night. I checked every motel within 20 miles."

"Why?"

"Because last night was wrong," he said honestly. "And because Jackson left his dinosaur in my truck."

He held up a little green Rex. Jackson’s favorite.

My chest caved in.

"Can I... can I give it to him?" Callen asked quietly.

I looked behind me. Jackson was peeking from the bathroom door.

When he saw the dinosaur, his face lit up.

"REX!"

I unchained the door.

---

Thirty minutes later

We were at the small park behind the motel.

Jackson was kicking the soccer ball to Callen and laughing.

Really laughing.

The first time I’d heard that sound in weeks.

Callen threw the ball back, but he kept glancing at me.

Sitting on the bench. Arms crossed. Watching.

"You don’t have to do this," I said finally.

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be nice."

Callen stopped. The ball rolled away.

"I’m not pretending," he said. "I like your kid. He’s... he’s amazing."

"He’s mine," I said, sharper than I meant.

"I know," Callen said. "That’s why I’m here. Because last night, my brother..."

He trailed off.

"Your brother," I repeated. "Ryder."

Callen flinched at the name. "Yeah."

"What does he want with us?"

Callen sighed and sat down on the bench, leaving space between us.

"He thinks Jackson is his."

The world tilted.

"He’s not," I said immediately. Too fast.

Callen looked at me. Really looked at me.

"You ran the second you saw his face," he said softly. "So either he’s the father... or you’re terrified of him."

I didn’t answer.

"Look," Callen said. "I’m not here to take your kid. I’m here because I grew up in foster care. I know what it’s like to not have a dad. And if Ryder is his dad... he deserves to know. And you deserve help."

"I don’t need help," I said.

"Yes, you do," Callen said. "You’re running. Again. And Jackson deserves to stop running."

Jackson scored a goal against an invisible opponent and ran to me.

"Mommy, did you see? Did you see?"

"I saw, baby," I said, pulling him into my lap. "You’re so good."

Callen smiled at us. That crooked smile.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"What?"

"Do you want to come over for dinner? My place. Just us. No Ryder. I promise."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because I make really good lasagna," Callen said, and then, quieter: "And because I think you’re tired of motel food."

He was right.

God, he was right.

I was so tired.

"One hour," I said. "Then we leave."

Callen’s whole face relaxed. "Deal."

---

Callen’s house. 6 PM.

It wasn’t a pack house.

It was a normal house.

Two bedrooms. Small yard. Plants on the windowsill.

It smelled like garlic and tomatoes.

"Wow," Jackson said, running inside. "You have a TV!"

Callen laughed. "Yeah, buddy. And I have pizza rolls too. If your mom says it’s okay."

I nodded. I was too busy looking around.

There were no pictures on the walls.

No family photos.

Just a single frame on the mantle.

A boy. Maybe 10. Alone.

Foster care.

Right.

"Dinner’s almost ready," Callen said, stirring something on the stove. "Make yourself at home."

I sat at the kitchen table while Jackson ate pizza rolls on the floor.

The silence was comfortable.

Which scared me.

"So," Callen said, plating the lasagna. "How long have you been running?"

"Four years," I said before I could stop myself.

Callen set the plate in front of me. "Since Jackson was born?"

I nodded.

"And Ryder doesn’t know?"

"He left," I said. "Before he knew."

Callen was quiet. Then: "He thinks you lied to him."

I looked up. "What?"

"That’s what he told me last night," Callen said. "He thinks the mother of his child lied and disappeared."

I laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh.

"He disappeared," I said. "One night. No note. No call. Nothing. For four years."

Callen’s expression darkened. "He didn’t tell me that part."

"Of course not," I said. "Alphas don’t admit when they’re wrong."

We ate in silence for a while.

The lasagna was really good.

Jackson had seconds.

"Can I ask you something else?" Callen said.

"Sure."

"Do you ever think about going back? To him?"

I thought about Ryder’s face last night.

Hard. Angry. Lost.

"I think about surviving," I said.

Callen nodded like he understood.

Maybe he did.

After dinner, Jackson fell asleep on the couch watching cartoons.

Callen covered him with a blanket.

"Can I..." he hesitated. "Can I hold his hand? Just for a second?"

I nodded.

Callen sat on the floor next to the couch and took Jackson’s tiny hand in his.

Jackson didn’t wake up.

But he squeezed back.

Callen’s eyes got wet.

He looked up at me. "He has your mouth," he whispered. "And Ryder’s eyes."

I didn’t say anything.

"Ryder needs to know," Callen said. "But not like last night. Let me talk to him. Let me bring him here. Properly. As a dad. Not as an Alpha."

"What if I say no?" I asked.

"Then I’ll respect it," Callen said. "But I don’t think you will. Because you’re tired too."

He was right.

I was so tired.

"Okay," I said. "One meeting. With Ryder. Here. Tomorrow."

Callen exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.

"Thank you," he said.

---

Across town. Pack house.

Ryder threw another chair.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"Ryder, calm down—"

"CALM DOWN?!" Ryder roared. "My son is out there and she took him!"

Callen walked in.

Everyone went quiet.

"They’re safe," Callen said. "I had dinner with them."

Ryder went still. "What?"

"I had dinner with them," Callen repeated. "Jackson’s great. He’s smart and funny and he likes lasagna."

Ryder stared at him. "You took my son to dinner and didn’t tell me?"

"I protected him from you," Callen said flatly. "Because you kicked in their door."

Ryder opened his mouth, then closed it.

Because Callen was right.

"Tomorrow," Callen said. "They’ll meet you. Here. At my house. One hour. No pack. No trucks. Just you."

Ryder’s hands were shaking.

"Do you think... do you think he’ll like me?"

Callen’s expression softened.

"Yeah," he said. "I think he will. He’s got your stubbornness."

Ryder laughed, but it sounded like he might cry.

"Thank you," he said. "For doing this."

Callen nodded. "Don’t mess it up, brother."

---

Back at the motel. Midnight.

Jackson was asleep in my arms.

I was staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow.

Ryder.

His dad.

Four years of running.

And it came down to one dinner.

I closed my eyes.

"Please," I whispered to no one. "Please don’t hurt him."

---

END OF CHAPTER 3