The words hit like a physical blow. My chest aches as if someone has reached in and twisted my heart. My wolf whimpers, a sound of pure, helpless grief.
“I—” I start, but my throat closes.
I force a breath in, tasting champagne and perfume and the faint metallic tang of my own rising pain. I want to tell him I never wanted to leave. That I thought giving him up would protect him. That I’ve regretted it every day since.
Instead, I just stand there, staring at my son while he looks at me like I’m the intruder.
Before I can find any words, a sharp, familiar voice slices through the air behind me.
“Owen,” Brianna calls. “What are you doing over here?”
He flinches, gaze darting past me. I close my eyes for half a heartbeat, steadying myself. My headache roars back with a vengeance.
Brian
