Chapter 22

22

W ynter swept into the attorney's waiting room behind Wilder for the reading of the will. The offices were older and desperately needed a refresh—which seemed out of the ordinary considering Warden and his brand. A soft-spoken beta assistant appeared and took their coats. He offered refreshments, which they both kindly declined. Wynter's stomach was bound in tight knots and didn't need the additional interference of digesting added to the mix. After a promise they'd be called in soon, he and Wilder sat and waited for the festivities to commence.

He glanced around, not seeing any signs that his youngest was in attendance—nor anyone else. Not that Wynter knew of anyone else that might've been listed in the document, but Warden had surprised him a time or two in the past, so he'd attempted to be ready for anything. Ultimately, Wynter was more worried about his baby boy. He'd texted twice again that morning and then left two voicemails, but it appeared he was being iced out.

He understood, yet it stung, too. Wynter worried Vaughn had done something stupid and harmful, or he was not emotionally well. Vaughn might act flippant and carefree, but he knew his son was neither of those things. Vaughn's entire life, Wynter had worn a mask, pretending to be something akin to happy. He feared he'd inadvertently taught Vaughn to follow his lead as he'd never truly seen the emotion in his son's face.

Vaughn's outer layers were thick and calloused, but Wynter sensed there was a sensitive soul down deep.

Warden's attorney stepped out of his office, a coffee mug in hand. "Wynter… it's lovely to see you again."

Wynter forced a smile but cringed inwardly. He recalled Max Prentiss' visits to their home on occasion, and he'd never liked the alpha. Max walked closer and leaned in for a hug once Wynter rose. Wynter turned to the side, attempting to limit the intimacy.

Max leaned back, a slight quirk of his lips hiding something under that slick veneer. Maybe it was an understanding behind his eyes—as if he was in on a decadent secret Wynter wasn't privy to. A red flag rose in Wynter's mind. Something was coming. He could feel it in his bones.

"I wish it was under better circumstances, of course." There was no true empathy in Max's tone.

"Yes, of course," Wynter murmured, reminding himself not to lash out. He still had a part to play for a little while longer. Begrieved widower. He turned to his son, grasping Wilder's arm and taking a step back for space. "Wilder, this is Max Prentiss, your fath—" Wynter froze, incapable of repeating that lie one more time. "Warden's private attorney."

"Nice to finally meet you, Wilder," Max said, shaking Wilder's hand. He scanned the waiting room as he pulled his hand away. "Is Vaughn here?"

"Not that I'm aware," Wynter said, tight-lipped.

Max glanced at his watch. "Do you know if he's on his way?"

"I'm afraid I don't. I called him when we were in the car, but it went straight to voicemail," Wynter replied.

"I can't read the will unless everyone's here," Max said.

"That's not true," Wilder murmured.

Max sized Wilder up. "Shouldn't is perhaps the better term. I'd rather not do it twice, and it's best you all heard it together. Give him another call."

Wynter eyed Wilder. Wilder sighed with irritation and lifted his cell from his pocket. Before he could hit more than a few buttons, the outer office door swung open, and Vaughn stumbled in. Wynter gasped inwardly at the sight of him. Vaughn was disheveled—unshaven with unkempt hair. His clothing looked as if it had been slept in. Dark rings hung under his bloodshot eyes, and Wynter could scent a wave of alcohol wafting closer.

Vaughn met his gaze for half a second before forcefully dragging it away.

"I was just trying to call you," Wilder murmured, his brow furrowed, as he dropped his hand with the phone.

"Saved you a coin," Vaughn muttered. He glanced at his watch. "We ready to get this shit over with?"

"Indeed, we are," Max said. "Follow me."

Max turned to lead them, his back to the trio. Wilder spun to eye Wynter and Vaughn, none of them moving, the air thick with emotion.

"Go on in," Wynter said to Wilder. "We'll be along shortly."

Wilder's gaze flicked between them before he strode past the doorway Max had disappeared through. Vaughn attempted to follow, but Wynter snatched his arm. Up close, he could smell the alcohol even stronger and see just how bad his son's appearance was. Even more, he caught a glimpse of the turmoil swirling behind those sad, beautiful blue eyes.

"Let go of me," Vaughn growled lowly under his breath.

"You've been ignoring my calls," Wynter said, his tone measured, as he used his palms to smooth out some of the wrinkles in Vaughn's suit jacket.

Vaughn's gaze pinged about the waiting room, never fully landing on Wynter for more than a half a second. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Oh, I suspect you have plenty to say. You're not one to bite your tongue, Vaughn, darling."

Vaughn finally looked at him and glared.

"You look like hell," Wynter scolded but there was no real admonishment behind his words. More concern.

"I just found out I was the unwanted child of two incestuous cousins forced to mate and live bound to one another for forty years," he whispered hotly. "I know you'd rather not be reminded I exist."

"You were a surprise. Not unwanted," Wynter replied. How cruel he'd been to say what he had at the funeral. If he could go back in time and repair it… hell, he'd have repaired a lot of things given that skill.

"Save your lies," Vaughn barked. "After hearing what you went through, how could you have wanted me? Had I been in your shoes?" He looked away, but not before Wynter saw the shine in his eyes. "You said it yourself. Wilder was the only one you truly wanted. So, cut me loose. I'm no longer your son to worry about."

Wynter grasped his son's chin and forced Vaughn to look at him. "You are and will forever be my son."

Vaughn glared at him.

"I wasn't in my right mind when I said what I did. I didn't mean it, not truly. I'm sorry. Deeply, sincerely sorry for uttering that nonsense, but I know that doesn't take back the sting of it, either."

Vaughn pulled his chin away, turning to the side so he didn't have to look at Wynter. "You can be as sorry as you want. It won't change the fact of my birth. You never wanted me. I sensed it at times growing up but knowing it's certain now? It's somehow harder to bear."

"I may not have wanted his child, but that didn't stop me from loving you," Wynter whispered. "I know I've struggled to show emotions—but it was because I feared the minute I showed something real, that was the moment the fa?ade would shatter and I'd be only a raw nerve, throbbing painfully and left unprotected."

Vaughn eyed him silently.

"I wasn't the papa any of you deserved. I was broken and battered and barely holding on. I didn't have much left to give you boys. Had I been stronger—a better man—perhaps I could've risen above that but treading water took every ounce of strength I had. The fault here lies with me and Warden and he's no longer here to shoulder the blame, so I will. You were only an innocent babe… You never chose your parents."

"We can agree on that," Vaughn muttered. "I would've chosen better had I the chance."

Wynter ignored the anger in Vaughn's tone. "I would like the chance to fix the mistakes of the past. If you'll let me."

Vaughn scoffed. "Just how do you plan to do that?"

"I don't have the tools. Clearly. I need help—so I suggest therapy. I think we should both get individual help as well as have family sessions, some with Wilder involved. He and I discussed it this morning in the car ride here."

"You want to send me to a head-shrinker? No thanks."

"Vaughn…" Wynter shook his head, frustration filling him. "I'm trying here. We are broken, and this might be our only salvation. I can't force you to go… but I wish you would. I love you."

Vaughn snickered, continuing to ignore his gaze. "Sure. Fine. Are we done now?"

"I do love you, Vaughn."

Vaughn stared at the floor, silent. After a couple of seconds, he walked away, leaving Wynter alone in the waiting room. He fought back tears, unsure how he could fix what was broken between them. Even if Vaughn wouldn't go, he would seek help to repair all that was broken in his life. Perhaps in time, his youngest might come round.

But don't hold your breath.

Wilder appeared in the doorway. "Ready, Papa?"

Wynter nodded. He crossed the waiting room and slipped past Wilder. After finding a chair, he snuck a peek at Vaughn before eyeing the attorney across the small conference room's table. "Sorry for the delay."

Max's scowl showed he wasn't pleased, but he said nothing—only glanced down to sort through some papers. He picked one up and leaned back in the leather chair at the head of the table. It creaked under his movements, the only sound before he spoke.

"I, Warden Jaymes, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me. I nominate and appoint my son, Wilder Jaymes, as Personal Representative of my estate."

Vaughn growled lowly but remained otherwise silent.

Max acted as if he didn't hear it, never pausing in his rapid-fire reading. "I direct that all of my debts, and expenses of my last illness, funeral, and burial, be paid soon after my death as may be reasonably convenient, and I hereby authorize my Personal Representative to settle and discharge, in his discretion, any claims made against my estate." Max paused a moment and took a breath. "We don't need to read over every section of legalese. Might as well get to the good stuff, hmm?" He flipped to the following page and trailed a finger over the surface. "I devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and wherever situationed, as follows: To my eldest alpha son, Wilder Jaymes, I leave all of my remaining stock in Jaymes & Associates, and the family home with all possessions within, with the caveat that my mate, Wynter Jaymes, be allowed to remain there until his dying day, if he survives me. To my youngest son, Vaughn Jaymes, I leave my collection of classic cars, my personal diaries, all liquid assets after all debts have been paid, and the remainder of my stock portfolio minus the shares of Jaymes & Associates."

Wynter gazed at Vaughn and saw nothing but disappointment.

Max lifted his gaze to Wynter, the frown on his face at war with the hint of curl to his lips. "My apologies for what's about to come out of my mouth, Mr. Jaymes."

Wynter frowned. Mr. Jaymes? He'd just called me Wynter in the waiting room. This must be bad. He clutched the arm rests with both hands, steeling himself.

"Just remember, these are Warden's words, not mine." Max cleared his throat. "To the man I was forced to spend my life with, Wynter Jaymes. My first instinct is to give you absolutely nothing, as you mean absolutely nothing to me. For nearly forty years, I've endured your companionship, not by choice, but by misfortune of nature. Had you not stayed home that fateful night, both our lives might've been vastly different. How I wish you had gone with your parents instead and entrapped another, saving me from the torment, but there's no point wishing for a change now, after all these years."

Max paused, eyeing Wynter before looking back down. "Perhaps that sounds cruel, but I'm not a cruel man, no matter how much any of you wish to paint me as such." Max turned the page, his face reddening. "As instructed in Wilder's bequest, you can remain in the family home until your dying day, if you so choose. I also instruct Wilder to set aside a small, reasonable sum before the funds are bequeathed to Vaughn, and give you a monthly allowance to cover your most basic of needs, but nothing more. No more lavish clothing, country club membership, or jewelry, at least, not on my back. But then, I'm sure you'll rush into the arms of your lover before I'm even cold in the ground. Perhaps he can support you in the way you've been accustomed to all these years, but my responsibilities are now concluded. In the afterlife, I will finally be free of you."

Max paused and lifted his gaze to Wynter.

Warden had meant to wound him one last time, for sure, but Wynter didn't feel aggrieved. The statement had been woefully inadequate if it had been meant to cut him to the bone. Wynter could do nothing but laugh. The volume rose, his stomach tight, and he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.

Max frowned, searching the three of them, seemingly confused.

"That's the best he could do?"

Max's eyes widened. He glanced at the sheets on his desk. "He also mentions a letter, which I have, made out to you in his own hand. But yes. That's all he's giving you."

"I didn't mean the inheritance," Wynter spat. "His last stab. I somehow expected more from him… and I find myself almost disappointed that he didn't try harder. It was a miss. He didn't even break any skin."

"I think he meant to shame you in front of Vaughn and I," Wilder murmured under his breath. "Fortunately for you, we already knew about Cav and your uneasy relationship with Warden before we walked inside this room. Otherwise, we'd both likely have many angry questions right now."

Wynter gasped inwardly, realizing the truth of that. Warden had meant to cause chaos. Had Wynter not already told the boys his story, he likely would've been shattered beyond measure—and exposed in a very uncomfortable way. Cavanaugh's appearance at the funeral had forced him to unburden himself sooner than planned—and ultimately saved him from an attack from beyond the grave. He smiled to himself, once again thankful Cavanaugh had shown up that day, even if he hadn't thought he was ready.

"Warden did warn me that these words might spark some drama," Max murmured, as if disappointed. "But I'm happy to see that isn't the case."

Is he?

"At least you have something to ensure you'll survive," Max said to Wynter, smiling. "And in that lovely house, too."

Sure… he'd have basic needs met and honestly, that was enough, he supposed—but he'd still be reliant on other men, for the roof over his head and the money in his pocket. At least that man was Wilder. He turned, his face warming as he met Wilder's caring gaze.

"It'll be fine," Wilder murmured. "You won't want for anything, I assure you."

"Of course you won't," Vaughn snapped. "The golden child will take care of you, Papa."

"Not here, Vaughn," Wilder said, jaw tight.

"Oh, it's clear that Dad told his attorney quite a bit considering what was just read. He knew about Papa's lover… I bet there's all kinds of family secrets he knows about. Maybe even a few we haven't heard yet." Vaughn sat up straighter. "Have any good ones to share, Max, old boy?"

Max rose from his chair, ignoring Vaughn's question. "I'll allow you all a moment to discuss things." He circled the table and exited as quickly as his thick legs could get him outside the room. The door closed with a thud, trapping them all inside with Vaughn's fury.

"I don't want the house, Papa. You should have it," Wilder said.

I don't want to be haunted by the ghost of Warden Jaymes or the life we shared there. "I don't want it either. There are too many bad memories." Wynter sighed. "Though, I might need a place to land temporarily until I can figure out where I go."

"You can stay with us as long as you need," Wilder murmured.

"I don't want to keep abusing your hospitality… and I doubt Avery wants his papa-in-law hovering around forever." Wynter smiled wistfully. "Though, I don't dislike having such easy access to my newest grandson."

Wynter squeezed Wilder's arm, thankful. Slowly, he turned to eye Vaughn. "Perhaps you should take the house."

Vaughn scowled. "What the fuck would I do with that big old mausoleum?"

Wynter shrugged. "I don't know… but that garage full of cars is there and you'll need someplace to house all those if not that property. Who knows? You might have a family of your own someday soon."

"I'd rather sell them all and be done with it," Vaughn said. "I don't want the house or a family, for that matter."

"Then perhaps we sell it," Wilder said. "And divide the profits evenly b?—?"

"Evenly?" Vaughn asked, sneering. "Haven't you gotten enough? He wasn't even your father."

"If you'd allowed me to finish," Wilder barked. "Evenly between you and Papa. It would give Papa the means to get his own home and the rest would be… his son's."

"What about the stocks, Wilder?" Vaughn asked, jumping from the chair. "He gave you the controlling interest of a company that should be mine."

"He chose his successor," Wilder said. "I don't want to fight about this again, Vaughn."

Vaughn chuckled mirthlessly. "The one thing I actually wanted—and he gave it to you."

"The last time he handed me stock, I split it with you, as I recall. I have every intention of doing the same this time, unless you give me reason not to trust you with it."

"Not to trust me with it?" Vaughn asked. "I'm the rightful heir and can't be trusted? You narcissistic bastard."

"I've already told you Wilder's as much a Jaymes as you," Wynter spat under his breath. It was a family company… and regardless, they were family, for better or worse.

"Narcissistic?" Wilder bellowed, one finger jabbing into the middle of Vaughn's chest. "That's rich coming from you!"

Wynter whistled loudly, getting both boys' attention. They whipped their angry stares his way. "Your relationship is more valuable than that company. Don't allow him to manipulate you from the grave."

"Says the man who bent over backward to ensure one son got the CEO's chair. Fuck the other two, right? Family doesn't matter to the Jaymeses. Never has."

Wynter clenched his jaw. There were tiny slivers of truth in what Vaughn said, enough he couldn't find the words to argue them. "Do you remember just a few months ago? When you and Wilder stood shoulder to shoulder against your father?"

Vaughn's eyes narrowed.

"You threatened to leave the company if Warden removed Wilder as CEO. I saw my two young alphas on the same side for the first time , and while I was upset by the fighting, I also felt pride seeing you two working together for once. You won that battle, and you could win more in the days and months to come—as long as you don't allow Warden's final manipulation to destroy whatever relationship you were building before his death."

Wilder lowered his hands, the fight leaving him—but Vaughn didn't seem ready to give in. "It was a mistake to think I could find any common ground with a bastard. We're barely brothers."

"At least we're not cousin-brothers," Wilder snapped back angrily, clearly not as calm as Wynter had assumed.

Wynter gasped, stung by the comment. Vaughn's eyes widened with pain before they hooded, his mouth twisted with contempt.

Wynter's gaze flicked to Wilder's. "That wasn't fair. He did not choose his parents."

Wilder gnashed his teeth before meeting Wynter's gaze. He quickly moved it away with a hint of shame in his eyes. After hitching a breath, his focus moved to Vaughn. "He's right. I'm sorry."

"Fuck your apologies," Vaughn hissed.

"It doesn't have to be like this!" Wynter pleaded. "Warden's gone, and all of the secrets are now out. We now get to choose how we move forward. We either face this together and find a path forward—or you ultimately lose your papa and your brother to your bitterness."

Vaughn scowled. "You've spent our entire lives pitting us against one another and now you expect harmony?"

"I've done no such thing," Wynter snapped.

"When you give all of your love to one but not the others, you breed contempt and competition," Vaughn said. "That is exactly what you've done to us."

"You know, I remember you being tied to Papa's side as a young boy. You spent hours with him, the two of you thick as thieves," Wilder said. "You keep saying he showed me more love and affection, but from my memory it was quite the opposite."

Wynter clenched his teeth. "I tried by best to be equal with my attentions."

"We all know your best wasn't good enough," Vaughn said. "And as far as your threat… either I play my part, or I lose you both…"

"That wasn't a threat," Wynter argued. "It's the truth of our situation."

Vaughn ignored him. "… I've never really had either of you in my life, so losing you wouldn't be all that rough." He crossed the room, his long legs eating up the floor—but paused when he was standing directly beside Wynter. After a deep inhale, he said, "And Warden called it. You jumped right into bed with your lover, didn't you?"

Wynter recoiled.

"His mate," Wilder corrected, gently pulling Wynter back and slightly behind him. "His true alpha and the man he should've been with all along."

"Already jumping in to defend dear old daddy, are we, Wild?" Vaughn asked. "How easily you toss aside the man who gave you everything for one who's given you nothing."

"Cavanaugh gave him life," Wynter said. "And he would've given all had he known Wilder was his son. You can't blame him for that."

"No, I blame you, Papa," Vaughn said. "No one else is to blame but you—you said so just outside this conference room. You are the one to blame for all of our ills. Had you never gone into heat that fateful summer, none of us would be in this predicament."

Wilder growled, snatching Vaughn by the collar.

Wynter forced himself between them, dragging Wilder's hands away from Vaughn. He turned to his youngest son and sighed. "Blame me. If that's what you need to do right now, blame me. Even if it wasn't my fault, blame me. I'll carry that weight as long as I need to—so you don't have to right now. So put it all on me. Every last bit of it."

Vaughn fully met his gaze. "That alpha's dick must really be something to have you playing the martyr, Papa."

Wilder lunged at Vaughn, who easily slipped away and moved closer to the door.

"You want us to choose to be different? Okay… I choose to be alone, away from the both of you. As soon as we can clear up Warden's mess, we move on."

"We work with one another every day," Wilder said to Vaughn.

"Maybe not for much longer," Vaughn muttered before exiting the conference room and slamming the door closed.

Wilder growled lowly before drawing in a deep breath. He turned to Wynter. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Wynter said. "I'm more worried about your brother."

"After what he just said to you?"

Wynter shook his head. "He's wounded. That's why he's lashing out at everyone he loves."

"Loves? I don't think Vaughn knows how to love anyone but himself," Wilder snapped.

"He adores you," Wynter said.

Wilder frowned. "No, he doesn't."

"From the time that little boy could walk, he followed behind your every move, Wilder. You were his hero. All you could see in his eyes was you."

Wilder's frown deepened.

"As he got older, he did a better job of hiding it, but all he's ever wanted was his big brother's friendship and respect—but the harder he tried, the harder you'd push him away."

"That wasn't admiration. He does everything in his power to get under my skin," Wilder said. "Even as a kid. He poked and prodded, driving me insane. We're oil and water—our relationship is just as unstable and uncapable of remaining bonded for longer than brief intervals. I was an idiot to think we could find any lasting common ground as adults."

"You are very different men. On that, I agree," Wynter murmured. "But perhaps he poked and prodded because you gave him so little attention. The only thing he could get was your irritation, but was that better than nothing to his young mind?"

Wilder cringed. "All he got was attention. From me, from Jamie—from both you and Father. He was always acting out and being difficult—and you allowed his behavior. You babied him."

"According to him, I did no such thing."

"He clearly has memory problems. The two of you have always been closer than you and me," Wilder said.

"You and Jamie were two peas in a pod. So much alike in so many ways, even if you were omega and alpha. You were both even-tempered and quiet. Then came rambunctious little Vaughn crashing in and causing chaos, disrupting your peace. The third wheel," Wynter said. "He was loud and brash, nothing like you and Jamie."

"I remember you constantly forcing us to play with him—and he'd ruin our toys or our plans," Wilder said. "I'd get so angry with you for doing that to us."

"He was lonely," Wynter said. "I didn't want him to be. Maybe we were thick as thieves, but then… I couldn't sit there and watch him be left out time and time again."

"I honestly don't remember it that way—he was a tornado, and I did my best to avoid his path of destruction. I never meant to hurt him—or make him feel slighted." Wilder scratched his jaw and met his stare. "But then he relayed the same impression of our growing up a few months ago and said much the same thing. I'd been hesitant to believe him then, but I accepted that it was his perspective."

"He's spent his life feeling dejected—and now he's learned terrible things about the situation behind his birth. Add in that shame, and he's been left a wounded animal, lashing out at anyone too close. We have to remember that… and we don't let him push us out of our lives. Not without a fight."

Wilder nodded. "I will try, Papa… but we can't force him, either."

Max opened the office door and peeked inside. "All good in here?"

"Yes," Wynter fibbed, slapping on another fake smile.

Max entered and strolled to the table, his hands filled with a small lockbox. "Wilder, I have some papers for you to sign. Keys, deeds, and stock certificates as well. It won't take us long to sort it out while you're still here."

A thought hit Wynter. "Is there no one else mentioned in the will?"

"No," Max said. "Should there be?"

"Jamie," Wynter said in hushed tones, almost more to himself.

"Uh, I was told he passed?" Max asked.

"Yes, but his children," Wynter said, turning to fully face the attorney. "The boys should've gotten a little something. A college fund, at the very least."

"The children born to your son-in-law and the surrogate?" Max asked. "Warden specifically mentioned them when we drafted this document and said they got nothing. I suggested we add a caveat that said that, but according to him, they weren't Jaymeses and therefore were entitled to nothing—not even a mention."

Wilder scoffed. He eyed Wynter, a question in his eyes. Wynter sensed what it might be. Why would Warden hand the company over to Wilder—who he clearly knew wasn't his child—yet scoff at giving a little something to Jamie's children?

"I can set aside something for the twins," Wilder murmured.

"All of them," Wynter said. "All four. They're all Jamie's children. You heard Gray. Use the proceeds from the sale of the house and we set up a trust of some kind, for their futures."

"Rohan has that very much in hand," Wilder said.

"Then they will be doubly blessed," Wynter said. "They're family… and we start here and now correcting the mistakes of the past."

Wilder smiled slightly and nodded. "Yes, Papa."

"And Emory, as well. A fund for him, too."

"My son will be well taken care of," Wilder said. "He needs nothing from Warden."

"You never know what the future holds in store. As small as he is, I'm almost positive Emory's an omega. I don't want him living at the mercy of alphas. Set up a trust so that he might know some measure of independence when he comes of age."

Wilder met his gaze, smiling softly. "Whatever you wish."

"I wish." Wynter crossed to the tiny settee at side of the conference room as Wilder and Max finished signing everything. His mind drifted to Cavanaugh and their discussion that morning. He'd come, knowing there might be turmoil, because he'd felt himself owed for the life he'd endured—yet he was walking away with almost nothing. For some reason, that didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it might.

The part that rankled was that he was still at the mercy of the alphas in his life. He'd hoped to have some measure of control over his choices after the reading, but that clearly wasn't meant to be. If Wilder indeed sold the house and gave him a portion, he might be able to stand on his own—but for how long? He couldn't live in Wilder's pool house for the rest of his life. He'd need to make some kind of plan for a home to call his own.

He'd never planned or budgeted in his life. Never purchased property.

Never took control of anything.

He had no idea how.

While Cavanaugh had offered support, and he'd wholeheartedly appreciated it, Wynter didn't want to be taken care of yet again. He wanted to be in control of his life for once. He might accept their guidance, but he wanted to learn how to manage on his own without an alpha in control of every decision. Was that too much to ask? He didn't think so, especially as all around them omegas were being allowed freedoms he'd never imagined.

"Wynter?"

Wynter broke from his reverie and lifted his gaze to Max. The attorney held an envelope aloft, the scratchy handwriting on the front familiar.

"Sign here and you can be in receipt of Warden's final words to you."

Wynter rose, crossing to the table while wondering if he should toss the envelope into the nearest fire and rob Warden any final victory. After signing the document Max shoved his way, he grasped the thick envelope and scanned the letters of his name. They were thick and weighty, just as Warden's presence had been.

Wilder shook Max's hand.

"I'll be in touch if there are legitimate bills or complaints that come in against the estate and see how you wish to handle them," Max said. "Given your father's position in this province, there's a chance we might see frivolous claims, so be prepared. When someone wealthy passes, there are always those with their hands out, looking for their piece, whether they're owed it or not."

"Well, let's ensure we investigate each one, no matter how frivolous it might seem on the surface," Wilder said. "I want all of his debts cleared so there are no surprises to come." His gaze swept to Wynter's. "I'm all out of patience for surprises at the moment."

Wynter smiled wanly, knowing both his boys had the weight of their parents' past on their shoulders. By unburdening himself of decades of secrets, he'd placed it there on them—and for that, he was sorry. Yet, the past needed to be cleared for them to move forward. He crossed his arms over himself, clutching Warden's envelope against his bicep.

"Of course, we will validate any claimants," Max said. "Now, I hate to cut this short, but I have a client arriving any moment now."

A short time later, they sat quietly marinating after the meeting in the back of Wilder's car. Wynter felt no less settled, yet there was a calmness that had come over him in the simple fact it was concluded, to a point. Yes, there were still houses to sell and decisions to be made, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel that allowed him to breathe easier.

He observed the city pass outside the window. It seemed brighter somehow. Less the prison it had felt for forty years. Wynter hadn't explored much of the province outside the country club and few places he'd gone at the behest of others. The car came to a stop at a red light, and he noticed a new restaurant near the corner, a small bistro that appeared to serve Panasian foods.

A smile came to his face.

"When do you plan to read it?" Wilder asked.

Wynter's gaze whipped to his son's. Wilder's focus dipped to the envelope clutched in Wynter's hand and back up, a brow rising.

Wynter gazed down at the infantile block lettering across the surface. "I'm not sure that I will. Who knows? I might burn it."

"You might regret that. Who knows what's inside."

"Likely another feeble attempt to hurt me," Wynter said. "If I open it, he wins."

"There's a small chance it's not what you think it is."

Wynter handed the envelope over. "You read it. If it's another attack, we burn it. If not… then perhaps I'll look."

"I can't read his last words to you."

"Then they go in the fire because I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else to read them but you." Wynter amended that by adding, "Not that I don't trust Cavanaugh—but there's a chance that whatever's in there might injure him more than me. I won't do that to him."

Wilder took the envelope and slashed it open. He cleared his throat—causing Wynter to fear he'd read it aloud—but relaxed when Wilder was silent after. A couple of minutes later, Wilder stiffened at his side.

Wynter's gaze whipped to Wilder's profile. His son's jaw went lax, eyes widening. Fear curled in his belly. What was left that was so terrible to get that kind of reaction? Of course Warden might've had secrets of his own, and he'd neglected to imagine what bombs might lay in that letter. Wilder's hand went limp and fell to his lap before he turned to gaze bewildered at Wynter.

"What is it?"

"The Wildlings that attacked the train you and Cavanaugh were on?"

Wynter frowned. "Yes?"

"They were paid to do it."

Wynter frowned, confused.

"By Warden and a man he hired to kill you—a professional mercenary. The one Cavanaugh killed, from the sounds of it. He hid amongst the Wildlings as it gave him cover and a means to explain your disappearance later. He planned to say you'd been captured and lost."

Wynter snatched the pages away and read them himself. Even with all of Warden's failures, he didn't think the man had been capable of murder. He scanned the letter, his heart in his throat. Lowering them when he was done, he turned to meet Wilder's gaze, just as wide-eyed and thunderstruck.

"They didn't expect your alpha to be there to save you," Wilder murmured. "Thank heavens Cav was there."

Wynter was either too shocked to cry or had no more tears left to fall. "Cavanaugh deserved so much better than he got. If only I'd had this proof back then… perhaps I could've found my way into your father's arms sooner. You might've spent your life with him—not the horrendous man you got." Wynter eyed his son. "I don't know how any of my children turned out to be halfway decent humans considering." Yet, he did know. Jamie and Wilder's manny. "That's a lie. It was all Alberto. That man was a saint."

"Then why'd you fire him? Maybe Vaughn wouldn't be such a mess if Alberto had been there to raise him, too."

Wynter frowned. "I didn't fire him. Warden did."

"Dad told us you did," Wilder said. He sighed. "Warden, I mean."

"Warden fired Alberto one afternoon out of the blue. He refused to tell me why. I begged for answers and even attempted to find Alberto later, but I never did. I knew you kids needed the consistency of his love and care, especially as I fought my demons. Taking that away was cruel, unless there was good reason behind it."

"I've harbored anger toward you since I was six years old for Alberto's loss," Wilder said. "And it was Warden all along. I suppose I should've asked Alberto for the truth."

"Asked Alberto? Are you still in touch with him?"

"Jamie found him a few years back. Rohan hired him to help with his and Gray's children. He lives there full-time, and I get to see him now and again when I visit."

Wynter smiled. "I'm glad you've reunited. Perhaps I can relay my thanks to him someday soon." He sat up straighter. "What if Warden had reason to release him, though?"

"Really? What reason would he have had?"

"I'm sure it was a minor slight of some kind, but given that he's now raising Jamie, Gray, and Rohan's children, it might behoove us to ask. Just to be sure?"

Wilder nodded. "I'll talk to him."

"Fine," Wynter replied. "I never saw any signs that he was anything but loving, but then—I was often abed or floating around with my head in the clouds when you were all younger."

"That's a good analogy," Wilder said. "Head in the clouds… because you've definitely seemed sharper the past couple of days. More so than I've ever seen you—as if a fog has lifted."

"I feel it, too. Warden and the past were what had produced that fog, and it clung to me. Weighed me down. Now those clouds have parted, and the sun can finally shine." Cavanaugh was that sun, bringing warmth and light into his life. "I feel better than I have… in as long as I can remember."

Wilder sighed. "The more I learn about what Warden's done to you over the years, the more I'm glad he's not my biological father."

Wynter smiled, hoping that was a good sign for Cavanaugh.

"The more I think about it," Wynter added. "You might not have existed if Warden hadn't attempted to kill me. Not only did he fail to end one life but sparked another."

"Why do you say that?"

"While our affair began on the train, I didn't go into full heat until I was in Cavanaugh's cabin after the attack. Before the attack, the chances of me getting pregnant were quite low. It wasn't impossible, but improbable. Cavanaugh had asked me to leave with him and spend my heat together, but I'd been terrified. What if Warden learned I never arrived at the spa? We'd be caught, so I'd told Cavanaugh we'd have to part ways, no matter how much that prospect hurt. We were supposed to awake in Blacksburg, sharing only that one night—but because of the attack, we spent that entire heat together, just as we'd both wanted." He smiled at Wilder. "And you showed up ten months later."

"I suppose those stories of my premature birth were a lie, then?" Wilder asked, his lips quirking into a smile.

"I didn't want Warden to know you weren't his… ultimately he figured it out, though."

"Which is shocking," Wilder said. "He stood me at his side, taught me everything he knew, gave me controlling interest in his company—knowing I wasn't his son? I don't understand it, especially given the crack that Jamie's children weren't true Jaymeses, and they got nothing."

"As I keep saying, you are a Jaymes. The company wasn't his, but his great-grandfather's, who is both your and Vaughn's great-great-grandfather. I made sure to remind Warden of that fact often, especially after I realized he knew, so he'd never forget the blood in your veins."

"Or was it a manipulation? I can't get the thought out of my head about what he said about you in his will," Wilder said. "He thought he'd be exposing painful family secrets and forcing you to explain the past. Did he hand over the keys to the kingdom in hopes Vaughn would learn the truth and snatch it all away from me?"

Wynter sat with that question a moment. "I don't know the answer to that." He lifted then lowered the sheets grasped between two fingers. "I didn't think he had this in him before reading his words, so who knows what his intentions were with you and Vaughn."

Wilder sighed. "Vaughn points his finger at you, saying you manipulated us, when all along, it might've been Warden pulling the strings once again."

"I had no right to say what I did at the funeral. I hurt him beyond reason—and I ache for what I did to him—but as children, I'd always attempted to give each of you as much attention as the rest. You know, when I was clear-headed enough. If I gave more to another, it truly was unconsciously. Not some cold-hearted manipulation."

"Don't let him win," Wynter said.

"I'll do my best."

"Do better than that," Wynter demanded. "I've seen what you're capable of and it is impressive—but this might be one of the hardest things you ever do. It's going to hurt—potentially a lot— before it gets better. Don't give up on him."

Wilder smiled palely. "I'll do my best."

The car pulled up to Wilder's house. As soon as they came to a stop and the door was opened, Wynter slid out. He turned, but Wilder never followed. Leaning in, he eyed his son. "Are you coming?"

"I think I need to make another stop first." He eyed the letter in Wynter's hand. "Mind if I borrow that for an hour?"

Wynter glanced at it and back to Wilder. "Why?"

"I think Vaughn should read it, too."

"What use would that have? He's already hurting enough without learning one parent attempted to murder another."

"It might help him see you're not the one to blame."

"Let him blame me," Wynter said. "If that's what he needs."

"That's your guilt talking. I fear you allowing that is just going to make things worse between the two of you…" He held out his hand. "Let me try something."

Wynter eyed the letter and Wilder again before placing it in his son's hand. "I sure hope you know what you might be doing here."

"I do. This might be a mistake, but it feels like a chance I need to take before he drifts too far away. Blaming you isn't the answer."

"Blaming Warden is?"

"No," Wilder replied. "But we need all the secrets on the table. He has to know what Warden did."

Wynter wasn't so sure that secret needed to be shared. As he watched the car pull away, he almost chased after it, but instead, he tried to have faith in his sons.