Ronan
The weekend passed by far too quickly for my liking.
Most of my time was spent with Noah—building forts in the woods behind the house, racing through the trees, letting him tackle me like a little wolf in training. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, and I let him win more than I should’ve. I told myself it was for him, but the truth is, I needed it too. Needed the sound of his joy. I needed to feel like I was doing something right.
But every time he looked up at me with those wide, trusting eyes, something twisted in my chest.
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know I’m his father. That the man he calls “Alpha Ronan” is more than just the guy who taught him how to throw a punch and how to take down someone who is twice his size. Is it a little early to teach him such things? Probabl
