U Broke The Girl In Me But You Wont Break The Man

“Sooo,” J drawls as he twirls spaghetti around with his fork, “you two are, like, a thing now?”

Your eyes widen and dart to Pope, who seems to have frozen into stone under his nephew’s gaze. He tries, “Um, no, I’m just helping her out right now.”

“Why’s she staying here then? You could put her up somewhere.”

“I, ah- Well, she’s safer with me here.”

“Right, yeah.” He cuts a conspiratorial glance at his girlfriend, Mia, and mutters, “Definitely not a thing.”

Mia snickers. “Yeah, I kinda thought this was supposed to be, like, a double date thing.”

Pope scoffs and unconsciously hands you another slice of garlic bread, noticing that you're taking the last bite of your first one. “Why would we go on a double date with two eighteen-year-olds?”

Mia raises her eyebrow. “Well, why else would you invite your nephew and his girlfriend over for dinner?”

You laugh under your breath.

Pope sighs, “I can’t just want to see my nephew? I’m not around Smurf’s much anymore. Maybe I missed you.”

“Ew,” J says pointedly. Then he glances at you and prods, “Did you put him up to this? Give him some guilt-inducing speech about how Mom would’ve wanted him to have me over?”

You giggle and lie, “Caught red-handed.” Then you go on lying through your teeth, “It’s just been a while since we’ve gotten to talk; I’ve been kind of a shut-in since the attack.”

The truth breaks your heart a little: Smurf got his claws into J so hard and so fast that you don’t know if he can be saved. Julia wouldn't like the man he's becoming. So you don't really want to be around, especially not at her house and especially now that Pope's off the meds Smurf made him take.

Mia takes the bait you’d been hoping for; from what J’s told you, she has a deep sense of righteousness and vengeance. And a lack of loyalty. She scowls and says, “J mentioned that. They still breathing?”

You look at her with darkness in your gaze. “Some of them.”

She grins at that. “Pope’s taking care of it for you?”

“I’m taking care of it,” you correct. Dead serious.

“Good for you,” she commends in earnest. “Fuckers like that don’t deserve to keep living.”

J nods and you can tell he means it. “Agreed. Wish I could go back and take out all the guys who hurt Mom.”

Andrew’s knuckles to white around his glass. “Me too, kid.” Then he looks over at you with a question in his eyes. You’d been planning on slowly and casually working the Trujillo guy’s name out of Mia so she wouldn’t even realize she was the one who gave him up, but Pope’s wondering if you even need to be subtle. You give him a little nod and shrug, so he says, testing the waters, “I’d kill my own blood if I found out he did that to your mom, I swear. Or any omega.”

Mia nods in approval, twirling herself another mouthful of spaghetti. “My dad’s the same way. He always told my brothers that if he caught them messing around hurting omegas, they’d be done for.”

“Really?” Pope feigns disinterest, musing, “I know I’ve only worked with Pete, but he keeps some shady characters around.”

“He’s not like my dad; he has blind spots for family,” she huffs, clearly annoyed as she thinks about it. “Let his own daughter take the fall for this stupid hit and run so his brother wouldn’t do time.”

Pope’s eyes flick over to yours for a quarter of a second. “I didn’t know your dad and Pete had another brother.”

“Two of them,” she clarifies. “One’s an accountant out in LA. Other one’s sucking on Pete’s tit. Useless lowlife. He’s on this whole power trip right now because he ran some job on his own so now he’s got money.” On a role about it now, she stabs down into a meatball and rants, “I can’t fucking stand him. Y’know when people say they have a ‘funny uncle’ and they mean a good-for-nothing creep? That’s Mateo. Pinches my ass like we aren’t related and now he’s started calling himself ‘Master’ because he’s pulling his own shit. Fucking asshole.”

Well, that was easier than you’d thought it would be. Pope was right when he suggested what you figured was a stupid plan; Mia’s so angry and perpetually ready to snap she’ll bad-mouth anyone without regard for the consequences. Even Smurf thinks she’s a psychopath, which is saying something.

“Sounds like Pete would be better off without him,” Pope says bluntly. “It’s bad business covering up for guys like that all the time. Huge liability.”

J points his fork at Pope and chuckles, “You have Craig.”

“Fair point.” Andrew laughs just to let the topic shift. “But if Craig grabbed my daughter’s ass, he’d lose his hand.”

You’re still cleaning up dinner side by side with Andrew when you hear a big growling car pulling up to the house. Pope drops what he’s doing and sighs, “That’s Baz’s Jeep.”

You gesture vaguely toward the bedroom door. “Should I…?”

“Yeah, go hang out a while. I flaked on a job because of the med withdrawals. Dodged his calls about it. Should’ve expected him to show up pissed.” He places the last pot on the drying rack and washes his hands as you hear the Jeep’s door slam, the engine still running. “The spanking shouldn’t last more than a couple minutes; he’s gotta get Lena from soccer.”

You quickly duck out of the kitchen, hiding yourself just around the corner where you still have a view of the front.

“What the fuck, Pope?” Baz storms into the house without knocking or announcing himself, slamming the door behind him. He immediately shoves Pope’s chest and it’s clear he’s surprised when Pope barely moves from the force. He grabs his brother by the collar of his shirt and demands, “What the actual, living fuck is wrong with you?”

Pope shakes him off and shoves him back, lighter, just enough to push him away. You know that, with his new strength, he could have Baz on his ass with ease. “I could probably answer that better if I knew what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Can we not do that? Please?” Baz gets himself a beer from the fridge, popping it open on the countertop, and starts rambling the way he does when he’s already a few drinks deep: “Look, I knew she’d killed Tyson as soon as Craig said he was dead a couple weeks back because, yeah, of course that little weasel’s a rapist. But, hey, he’s a skinny guy, right? And always high. And stupid. So I figure maybe she got him on her own. What do I care? I’ll just keep an eye on her, make sure the situation’s under control.” Your heart climbs up into your throat as he goes on, “But then I hear through the grapevine this morning that Les Fedoruk is dead, too, and I realize that you have to be involved because him? He’s a fucking truck of an alpha. No way an omega could take him out. And who the hell would help out little miss I Spit on Your Grave besides my whipped beta simp of a brother? So I return to my original question: What the fuck, Pope?”

“They raped her,” Pope replies in a harsh whisper, gesturing for Baz to keep his voice down. He knows you’re nearby, unaware that you’re actively listening and watching but still wanting to protect you from Baz’s sharpness. He leans in closer and reminds him, “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve helped someone get revenge, would it?”

You know what he’s talking about; Baz has sicced him on countless rivals through the years, weaponizing his instincts and treating him like a personal hit man more than a few times.

“This isn’t the same, Pope. You’ve only ever killed to protect this family and only when we’ve all agreed it was the right move. But Craig knew Tyson. We’ve all worked with the Fedoruks. Means we’ve probably run in the same circles as the others, too, if she’s continuing on her little rampage. Eyes are gonna be right on you, man. Right on all of us. They’re gonna expect it.” Baz shakes his head and slams the empty beer bottle on the counter. “Your girlfriend is going to get you sent back to prison or worse, dumbass. Get her under control. It’s fucking pathetic that you can be manipulated so easily by some pissed off puppymill bitch who thinks she can-”

“Don’t,” Pope growls. A real, proper growl. An alpha’s growl. You smell his scent flaring, weakening your knees. You have to suppress the whimper that your instincts want to release at the sound. Now that he’s stopped the unnecessary medication, that smell intoxicates you. It’s earthy and mean and protective. To you, it smells safe. Like you could curl up inside of it and never be afraid again. “Don’t ever talk about her like that or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Baz scoffs and squares up against Pope, chest to chest, eye to eye. A challenge. You can smell them warring and it makes you feel like a wilting flower, eyes darting around for somewhere to curl up so they won’t find you. “Gonna try to fight me when-”

Baz’s nostrils flare and he falls into a harsh silence.

You realize with fear coiling sharp and cold in your stomach that he’s smelling you. The distress you can’t control anymore blooming in response to Pope’s emotions, your biology reaching out for his. Needing his comfort, his strength. Fuck. Baz hits Pope hard in the chest with both hands and his broad frame thuds into the cabinets behind him. “She’s here? You fucking idiot. What if the others come looking for her? What if-”

“That’s why she’s here,” Pope retorts with a scoff. This time when he pushes Baz, it’s with full force. Baz staggers backwards toward the front door, where Pope wants him. He vows, “I’m not gonna let any of those psychos hurt her again.”

“You need to grow up,” Baz hisses. “This isn’t middle school when you could push a guy around to impress her. It’s not like we’re talking about your mate or something here; this is just-”

“What if she is?” Pope’s voice is barely audible, but you definitely hear it. And it definitely sends your nervous system flying into the stratosphere. Something deep inside of you thrums at the idea; it feels warm and familiar instead of foreign and frightening. “What then?”

“That’s not possible and you know it,” Baz replies, pitying his brother, his tone demeaning and gross. Until a thought occurs to him that grips his throat. You hear him step back toward the front door. His face is obscured from your view now, but you can hear the fear in his voice even as he tries to disguise it with anger. “Are you off your meds? Is that why you’re doing this bullshit?”

Pope cocks his head to the side and smirks. “What if I am?”

Baz’s voice shrinks just enough to be vulnerable. “Don’t tell me you’re that stupid.”

“What?” Andrew sounds so confident it makes you melt. You know, in this moment, that Andrew will protect you. Not just can or could. Will.  “Scared of a little competition?”

Baz shoves him and grunts, “Scared of you going fucking feral at the drop of a hat and getting yourself killed.”

“Funny, I’ve been off them for a while now and I haven’t had any issues. In fact, I feel better than ever.” Pope shoves Baz again, then, and the strength of the blow makes Baz grunt hard. Pope cages him up against the front door, forearm on his neck, and sneers, “I’m starting to think maybe you and Smurf just want me on those drugs so you can be in charge. So I won’t start my own pack and take over our business like I’m supposed to as the alpha of this family.”

Baz spits, “Like Craig or Deran would ever follow you.”

“Wanna bet?” Pope’s so cocky and self-assured that slick threatens your panties. It’s beyond mortifying given the circumstances and you’re thankful to be out of his sight. But it only gets stronger when he peacocks more: “How about we have a family get together where I’ll tell them all about how mommy and her favorite toy have been chemically castrating the one person they should really rely on and see how that goes? While we’re at it, we can tell them you don’t care about the closest person they still have to a sister getting gang raped because you’re too much of a weak bitch-” the words are punctuated by Pope pressing harder on Baz’s windpipe “-to protect your own people. I’m free whenever you are.”

Pope releases his brother, who realizes for the first time they’re looking eye to eye, Pope meeting his height. He stands there in stunned silence for thirty seconds straight. You hear his hand on the front doorknob and its defeated squeak.

Baz grits his teeth and says, “You’re out of control, Pope, and I’m not cleaning up your mess when this is over.”

Pope tries to grab Baz’s keys but he doesn’t let go. He snarls, “And I’m not explaining it to your daughter when you die in a wreck picking her up from soccer drunk. Call Cath; I’ll drive your car to Smurf’s. Or I can pick up Lena. Just-”

“I don’t ever want you saying Lena’s name again,” Baz cuts. “You think you can be some hero acting like her dad just because-”

“I don’t want you to kill the kid!”

“-you know you’ll never be one.”

It hits like a slap.

Andrew deflates. It gives Baz a second to escape, so he does, off to drunk drive again like he does half the time.

When Andrew turns around, he’s hanging his head and sniffling hard, clearly trying not to cry. You debate if you should pretend you didn’t hear to save him from having to face it, but your urge to truly soothe him, not just placate, overtakes that train of thought.

You step out of the doorway and close the gap between you and Pope right away. Realizing you heard everything, he won’t look at you, so you just wrap your arms around him tight and hold on. It takes a few long shuddering breaths, but he eventually returns the hug.

He whispers into the top of your head, “I’m sorry.”

You’re not even sure what he’s apologizing for, but you decide it’s better not to argue. Instead, you pull only slightly away from the embrace and gently touch his cheek. “Baz is a moron.”

Pope shrugs and tries a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, but he’s usually right.”

“Stop,” you order softly. You place your hand over his racing heart and his eyes slam up to yours. “Anyone would be lucky to be your mate and to carry your pups,” you tell him tentatively. He places his hand over yours and takes a deep breath as you say, even softer, “You’re going to have that, Andrew. You will.”

His expression aches as he searches your eyes for pity, finding none. “How do you know?”

Because I’ll give it to you.

“Because I know you. I know you better than Baz or Smurf or any of them ever have.” You give him a pointed but lighter, more teasing look. “I hate to pull this card, but, as an omega-”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

“-I can tell you that the one thing we really want in our mates is safety.” You take his hand and hold it tenderly in yours. “You’ve made me feel safe every day I’ve known you. Since we were little. You protect me all the time. If the way you treat me is any indication of how you’ll act as a mate and a father, then you’ll have everything you want. I promise.”

His eyes flicker down – almost imperceptibly – to your lips. Then he averts his eyes and gently takes his hand from yours like your touch was poisoning him from the inside out. He can't let himself hope for that. “Maybe someday.”

But you reach out and tuck a curl behind his ear, refusing to let him hide this precious softness from you. You tilt his face toward you, cupping his jaw, and add, “A few months ago you believed in ‘never,’ so I’d say ‘maybe someday’ is a pretty big improvement.” That makes his lip twitch into something close to a smile. He looks at you sideways, wondering, and admits, “Yeah, I guess it is.”