Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Millan wakes up alone, tiredness still seeping in his bones and a sharp pain throbbing from his shoulder to the rest of his arm.

Sleep not coming back to him anytime soon and a growing calling to the bathroom, he resolves to get up.

Once he’s done washing up, without thinking about it, he tunes into Weston, trying to figure out what he’s doing through their bond.

It’s a weird feeling when he smells the food through Weston’s nose and feels how he is trying to be silent and sneaky, probably not wanting to wake anybody up.

Looking out the window at the sunrise, Millan figures it is still fairly early.

Naturally, Millan's feet take him downstairs towards his mate and the promise of breakfast.

Once he pushes the door to the kitchen, he’s met with the fabulous sight of Weston’s back working over the stove. As always, the Head Alpha is cooking a ridiculous amount of food for just the two of them, but Millan has learned to accept it and go with it, understanding now that it’s his alpha’s way of caring for him.

Millan leans on the door frame, minding his bad shoulder, happy to observe undetected. Of course, their bond doesn’t allow for much secrecy and it’s not long before Weston turns around and discovers him lurking.

“Millan?” Worry taints Weston’s smell immediately. “What are you doing up and about?”

His Alpha closes the distance between them in just a few large steps. Only then does Millan realize that he’s supposed to stay in bed.

Millan shrugs and regrets it immediately. Lost in their bond, Millan had forgotten the pain of his barely healed wound coming back full force now. He hisses through his answer.

“I wanted to be with you.” Millan hates how needy he sounds, but he can’t help it.

His omega is taking over, instincts more powerful than reason. A rare occurrence in Millan's life.

Weston’s worried eyes soften at that.

“And I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed.” Weston’s pout is adorable, and Millan kisses it, eliciting a low appreciative hum from his soul mate and forgetting all about his shoulder in the process.

When Millan tries to deepen the kiss, Weston groans and takes a step back putting some distance between them. Millan isn’t having any of it and grabs Weston’s shirt with his functioning arm to pull him back into his space. Weston doesn’t resist this time.

“Can I help?” Millan asks between two tender kisses, wanting to take the words back as soon as Weston tenses and pulls back.

“Absolutely not, Mill. You’re hurting. Where’s your sling?”

Millan frowns, not understanding what Weston is talking about for a second until he remembers the sling hanging from the bed frame upstairs.

Nara had been adamant about not removing it even while sleeping. However, Millan had felt too restricted and had removed it during the night, not too bothered by the pain.

Oh well.

“I forgot to put it back on this morning.”

“Millan. You’re not supposed to take it off at all! You need to go back to bed, take your painkillers and rest.”

There’s no place for debate in Weston’s voice. Millan opens his mouth to argue but Weston cuts him off with another kiss and prolongs it for as long as he can, both melting into one another.

“I’ll join you in a bit.” Weston says, giving Millan's cheek a peck and reluctantly let go of him to go back to the stove.

With a lingering gaze towards his mate, Millan goes back to their bedroom.

Unsurprisingly, Weston comes back with a gigantic tray of pastries, eggs, bacon, fruits, crepes, sausages, muffins, orange juice and tea. They won’t even put a dent in the amount of sustenance Weston is bringing in with a little difficulty, an endearing sight.

“You’re ridiculous.” Millan says, smiling fondly as his soul mate settles beside him, laying the tray on top of them both.

“So I’ve been told,” Weston answers with a smirk.

*****

“So, I need to talk to you about something.” Weston says, grim.

Or, as grim as someone can look while stuffing their face with watermelon slices.

“What is it?” Millan asks, pouring syrup over the crepes.

“Your father… uh… he’s alive.”

Millan's eyes widen and he freezes, syrup flooding the plate.

“I’m sorry, Mill.” Weston continues, voice calm and low, wanting to soothe the aches he can feel rising in their bond. “We’re detaining him, he can’t hurt you anymore, I won’t let him, you have my word, Millan.”

Millan has stopped drowning the poor crepes, barely edible now and Weston counts that as a small victory. He waits for his omega to say something, but he just stares at his plate, face unreadable.

In their bond, there isn’t much information either, as if Millan had detached himself from the situation.

“We need to decide what to do with him. We don’t have the death penalty here but say the word and I’ll take care of it.” Weston feels like he is talking to a wall.

He let the silence envelop them, hoping the quiet pondering will help Millan process the information. With the passing minutes, Weston grows more and more worried.

“Millan?” Weston pushes gently.

Millan swallows visibly and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, there’s a new determination, but the pain in their bond pierces through Weston’s heart like a knife.

“Could you pass me the strawberries, please?” Millan says evenly and Weston obliges, worried frown never leaving his face.

“Man, those are some good fruits, seriously. Do you grow fruit in Headquarters? This is great.” Millan rambles after biting into a strawberry.

“Mill…” Weston tries, but there’s a silent plea in Millan's eyes and Weston nods, understanding that Millan is asking for time.

“No, we don’t grow our own fruits, but we do have a greenhouse for vegetables.”

Millan shakes his head with a grin, not fully reaching his eyes.

“That’s cool. Do you think we could check it out today?”

Weston knows exactly what Millan is doing with those puppy eyes of his. But he also knows Millan probably wants to avoid ruminating on his father’s existence in bed all day, and craving a distraction.

“Mill… you’re still recovering.”

The puppy eyes double in force and Weston rolls his eyes, defeated.

“Okay fine, but you’ll put your sling on and we’re coming right back to bed afterwards.”

Nara would have a fit if she knew, but the genuine grin Millan sends Weston’s way is worth every trouble.

*****

The greenhouse is magical.

There’s no other word for it.

It’s enormous, made of glass, letting the light filter through every corner. There’s a section with flowers Millan passes through without a second glance. But the back is all vegetables and plants growing on every surface and ponds with water lilies, toads and colorful fishes.

It’s wonderful.

Weston is holding the hand not trapped in his sling while Millan makes appreciative sounds, mind momentarily distracted from the image of his father alive and restrained in some kind of cell.

When they turn a corner, they stumble upon Grant in the process of choosing ripe cucumbers to add to his bag. The bulky stern alpha, out of uniform and seemingly pleased with the mundane activity offers an amusing picture.

“Millan! Good to see you up and about. Good morning, Weston.”

Weston nods in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Grant. It’s good to be up.” Millan says with a polite smile.

“I was going to visit you later today, but since we’re meeting now, we should probably get that punishment out of the way.”

Both Millan and Weston’s expressions must look pretty comical judging by the glint in Grant’s eyes.

“Punishment?” Millan asks, mouth going dry.

“For stealing.” Grant deadpans.

Weston squeezes Millan's hand in frustration.

“You can’t be serious, Grant. After everything that’s happened since, you’re still hung up on that?” Weston is fuming, anger flaring in their bond.

“I see no reason to wait any longer, Weston.” Grant appears completely unbothered.

“Well, I do!” Weston growls, glaring at Grant.

Millan squeezes Weston’s hand back to get his attention.

“Wes, it’s okay. I stole from you, we agreed this wouldn’t go unpunished. I agreed. So, let’s get it over with.”

“This is insane, Grant, you can’t possibly- “

“Weston, with all due respect, you shouldn’t have any say in the matter given your significant bias.”

Weston swallows down his objections sending a deathly glare in Grant’s direction who waits for their attention before continuing.

“Now, what I had in mind, and of course, only if Millan deems it acceptable, is community service.”

If Millan deems it acceptable?

Why would Millan have any say in his own punishment?

“Community service?” Millan asks, wary.

“Yes. I believe you would be a great asset to our spy organization. You’ve proven your capabilities time and time again. I think officially becoming Sergeant and serving the pack’s interests should more than make up for the stolen goods.”

Millan gapes, stunned. This is far from a punishment, more like a job offer.

There’s no trace of humor in Grant’s posture, but if Millan isn’t mistaken, there is a tiny shadow of a smile turning the corner of his lips upwards.

Fighting a smile of his own, Millan nods, “Seems reasonable to me.”

“It’s settled then, Sergeant Caelan.”

*****

The greenhouse and Grant’s unexpected proposal gave Millan enough distraction to keep thoughts of his father at bay until his wound starts to ache again and tiredness weighs heavily on his body.

Weston senses the change immediately and rushes Millan back to their bedroom, not leaving any room for Millan's protests on the way. Even Millan's perfected puppy eyes can’t break his soulmate’s resolve.

Weston makes him take painkillers again and Millan is out as soon as his head hits the pillow.