Page 190 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I sit on the couch, which is the only part of the room that's changed at all recently, but only because it's been reupholstered twice.

My mother sets a cup of coffee in front of me that I didn't ask for and absolutely need, then perches on the arm of Dad's chair instead of sitting anywhere comfortable. That's what she does when she's nervous and wants to be able to physically intervene between us if necessary.

She's had practice.

"So," Dad says.

"Hmm?"

"Ivy Byrne."

"Yeah."

He laces his fingers together over his stomach. He's gotten grayer this year. The job does that. "You want to tell me why I found out my son's pack claimed an omega from a press conference? On television? With the rest of the continent?"

"Because the alternative was telling you while she was still hiding, and putting you in a position where you'd have to choose between your job and my pack." I hold his eyes. "I wasn't going to do that to you."

The lines around his mouth tighten. He wants to argue, and I can see he already has the rebuttal loaded. Then he exhales through his nose and some of the Commissioner drains out of his posture.

"That's…" He scratches his jaw. "Annoyingly considerate."

"I learned from the best."

"Don't butter me up, I'm furious with you."

"You're not furious with me."

"I'm a little furious with you." He picks up his own coffee and doesn't drink it. "The league office has been a war zone for four days, Thane. I've recused myself from everything touching your team, which means I get to sit in the hallway while people who hate me decide whether my sons keep their careers, all with no context."

"I know."

"Wade Kelly's family has lawyers like other families have houseplants."

"I know that, too."

"And your brother bit through a man's shoulder on national television."

"He was defending⁠—"

"I watched the press conference." His voice cuts clean through mine, and then gets quieter. "I watched all of it. I heard the statement you read."

My mother's hand finds Dad's shoulder. Her eyes are shiny, and she's not bothering to hide it, because that's never been her way. She's known Wraith since he was a hollow-eyed kid who flinched at every sudden movement. She knew pieces of his story.

We all knew pieces.

Nobody had ever heard him lay all the pieces out in a row before.

"Mikhail," Dad says quietly. "He never told us his name. All these years. We knew as his foster parents, but he never told anyone."

"He gave it away at that podium because the alternative was reporters digging it up and selling it." I rub my hand down my face. "Guess he figured it was better to hand them the knife than wait for them to stab him with it."

Mom makes a small sound and presses her knuckles to her mouth.

"He's okay," I tell her, both because she needs to hear it and because it's true. "Actually, he's better than I've ever seen him."

"Because of the girl," Dad says.

"Because of Ivy."