Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 101 – Frantic calls

“It’s good to speak to you again,” Victor says the next evening, his voice metallic and mechanical

through the old rotary phone.

“Yes,” I reply, twirling my fingers in the chord. “The agency let me know that you tried to contact me

over the weekend. I apologize for being unavailable.”

“That’s all right,” he murmurs, dismissing it. “You are, of course, entitled to your life. You shouldn’t have

to be on call for all of my emergencies.”

“But you have such interesting emergencies,” I say, laughing a little. Victor does the same.

I hesitated before taking this call. I know that I’ve got to end this charade soon – it’s so far beyond

unethical, now, for me to be taking these calls. But still – I need to know where he stands after the

whole wedding fiasco.

“How are you?” I ask, prompting him, hoping that he takes the reins for the most part.

“It has been…a difficult couple of days,” he says, clearly searching for words. I nod, understanding. He

wants this to be anonymous, and will have trouble telling me details without revealing his identity.

“Please, continue,” I say.

“Well, my family has arrived for a visit. A rather, extended stay.” I blink, surprised that he wants to talk

about this, rather than about the dissolution of his relationship. That was, after all, the reason he

wanted to talk to a therapist in the first place.

“Oh? And are you close with your family?”

“No,” he growls. “Like many Alpha families, our relationships are…strained. Complicated. My mother is

a wonderful woman, but my father and brother…”

I nod, understanding. My own family is similar, though I have no brothers to compare.

“They’re putting me in a complicated situation, threatening to take the pack from me if I don’t prove that

I can effectively lead it. And because I was so young when I took the pack, they built a clause into the

contract that means that they can do it, if I don’t satisfy their concerns.”

My eyebrows raise almost to my hairline. This is…shocking, and very worrying. Victor Kensington,

deposed as the leader of the Kensington pack? Who would take over then – horrible Rafe? My sons?

His father, would he reseize control?

Before I have a chance to spin out the possibilities, Victor continues. “I feel like…so much these days,

like I am losing control of everything I’ve worked so hard for.” I can almost feel him shaking his head

with confusion, frustration. “It’s almost as if, when I was twenty-two, and single, it was…easier. All I had

to do all day was think about the pack, work on the pack, build the pack and its defenses and its

resources.”

I listen silently, my heart going out to him.

“But then, as my life grew and changed – as my…girlfriend came into the picture. As I discovered that I

had sons, I think that my attention was torn in many different directions. I wasn’t able to give the pack

or my relationships the attention they deserve. And they all suffered.”

“It seems like you have some good perspective on this,” I say softly, impressed by his ability to

accurately analyze the situation.

He laughs a little. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he says, “and I think that talking to you has

certainly given me some useful methods for approaching situations like this.”

“I’m glad,” I say, my mouth pulling up into a little half smile. “But you know, it shouldn’t…be like that,” I

hesitate, here, trying to puzzle out what I mean even to myself.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I mean that if you feel yourself pulled in many different directions – one direction being your pack, the

other being your children, the next being your relationship – then perhaps something is not working

there. Ideally, all of those aspects of your life would be going in the same direction, be working

together, rather than pulling you apart.”

He hums a little, considering my words.

“It makes me wonder if…these aspects of your life truly mix well together. Or if changes need to be

made.” I grimace a little as I say this, wondering if I’m getting too close to suggesting that he needs to

break up with his girlfriend, especially as I already know that he’s done that.

“Well,” he says, considering. “I’ve taken a step in that direction recently. My…relationship, with my…

well, my mate. I’ve finished it, rejected her.”

“Oh,” I say, feigning surprise, I hope convincingly. “I’m very sorry to hear that. I know that you worked

very hard to try and make that work.”

“Thank you,” he says, a little lost in his thoughts and emotions.

“Do you think that this will have positive results, for your life and your future? Help you be able to make

everything move in the right direction?”

“Honestly?” He says, and my heart sinks at the doubt in his voice. “I don’t know. She has been part of

my life for so long – I leaned on her, drew support from her, loved her. With her gone…it may eventually

be better. If I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t have done it. But right now? I just feel a little lost.”

My heart is wrenched by the vulnerable sincerity in his voice. I want to go to him, wrap my arms around

him, encourage him, let him know that it’s all going to be okay. But of course, in this moment, I am his

therapist, not his…well, whatever it is I am to him.

We talk for a few more minutes, me trying to be as encouraging as I can. But the call ends on rather a

dead note and I stare at the phone in my hands, its steady dial tone ringing, wondering if there’s

anything I could have said that would make it better.

The professional inside of me knows that there’s not – he’s at a tough point in his life right now, and

there’s nothing I can do to make it better – it’s not even my job to make it better, just to listen and

perhaps give him some tools to help him weather the storm.

But the me that’s inside me, the Evelyn? She can’t sit idly by.

I pull myself to my feet in the closet, yanking a cozy sweater down from a hanger and pulling it over my

head.

I leave my closet and walk briskly to my bedroom door, pulling it open and heading downstairs. The

boys are in the living room, draped over the couch, chewing on candy – who gave them that? – and

looking through some books.

“Boys, will you be all right for a minute?”

Alvin looks up at me and nods. “Where you going, mama?” He asks, taking another piece of licorice

from his pocket.

“I –“ I start to answer, and then quickly move into the living room, hands open. “All this candy, give it to

me. And don’t even think about hiding it.”

The boys whine and complain, but hand over their stash.

“Where did you get all of this, anyway?” I ask, frowning down at the double-fist’s worth of candy in my

hand, flecked with pocket lint.

“Uncle Rafe gave it to us,” Ian says, pouting. “It’s ours.”

“And you can have more tomorrow,” I say, shrugging and tossing it on the kitchen counter. “I counted

how many pieces are there!” I call over my shoulder as I pull on the warm boots I have sitting by the

back door. “So don’t even think about sneaking any!”

“Mama,” Alvin whines, and I turn back to him. “Where are you going?”

“Not far, baby,” I say, wrapping a scarf around my neck. The temperature has dropped, finally, and I’m

going outside. “Just across the lawn to visit daddy.”