Chapter 93: Parallel
Walter Pov
The walk back to the farm house feels longer than usual, maybe because Beth wouldn’t stop talking about Rod and his pack, making me feel even more miserable.
It’s not like I never proposed sitting down and talking to Lorali like responsible adults. That was the plan. I had prepared a nice guest room for her, everything was right until Yurena.
She’s the one who came up with the idea, the one who pushed me to put Lorali in the shed. It’s her fault all of this happened. So why am I the one feeling guilty?
Maybe because I was an enabler.
Beth’s words still sting, echoing in my head, and I keep wondering if I really am as wicked as she described Rod and his pack to be. Clenching the basket tighter, I shove the thought down, pretending the weight of vegetables and flour and all the useless things my mother asked for is heavier than the guilt pressing on my chest.
By the time we get home, the sun is already setting, enveloping the living room in a cool orange glow. Usually, I’d bask in such a sight, but tonight I feel too heavy, too guilty and too tired.
"Mom! We’re back!" Beth calls out as we make our way through the small living room into the cozy little kitchen. Everything in here is wood, built by my father’s hands.
He never hired anyone for work he thought he could do himself, so the kitchen looks like a collection of DIY projects, neven shelves, counters that don’t quite match, but all of it sturdy, and felt like home
My mother, Willow, yes, I’m named after her, and I look like her too, turns to us as she pushes the oven door closed. "What took you two so long?" she huffs as we set the baskets down on the tiny wooden island. The smell of cookies attacks our nostrils, warm and rich.
"Wow," Beth says, her eyes lighting up. "What is that smell? It smells amazing." Mom smiles proudly as I begin unpacking the basket. "Thank you, Beth. I baked cookies to take to my book club."
"Mom, you’ve outdone yourself," I add, inhaling deeply, letting the scent wrap around me.
She smiles at us, apron dusted with flour, her sleeves rolled up. Her hair is dark with streaks of silver, tied back neatly, and her face carries the kind of beauty that comes from years of hard work and kindness.
I’ve always believed I’m her favorite, though she’s never said it outright. Out of all my siblings, I’m sure she loves me most.
"Thank you, my darlings," she says, laughing.
"Where are the girls? They don’t seem to be here."
"How do you know they’re not upstairs?" I ask, siding eyeing Beth.
She shakes her head. "I don’t hear them complaining. Even if they were locked in a chicken coop outside, I’d hear them whining. You know Valm and Marla complain about everything."
True.
"They went to the creek," Mom replies, wiping her hands on a towel. " They said—and I quote—’I will die of boredom if I stay in this house any longer. Grams, we’re going to the creek to find gold and make us all rich real quick.’"
Beth snorts. "Yep, that sounds like something my daughters would say. Sorry if they were rude. Valm and Marla can be rude at times." Mom waves her off, already moving toward the counter to stack the cookies. "Oh, it’s okay, darling. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been through that one," Mother says, moving her eyes to me.
I glance behind me, seeing no one, then point to myself, shocked. "Me?" She laughs, shaking her head. "I truly believe I must have committed some sort of sin in my past life to deserve you."
"Mom?" I exclaim, my voice rising, and Beth bursts out laughing in the background. "Walter, you were an impossible kid. You looked down on everyone. I was shocked you even had friends, because you were a little demon. You said whatever was on your mind."
"Don’t forget rude. He was really rude," Beth adds, still laughing.
"I was not rude!" I protest, crossing my arms. This is unbelievable. I was a good kid. Everyone liked me. In fact, when I presented as an omega, the whole town came together to send me off. I was well liked. I have no idea what they’re talking about.
"Not rude?" Beth smirks. "You once interrupted Mom’s book club and told them they were all stupid for taking six months to read one book. Mind you, you were only seven at the time. A rude bastard."
"Six months on a three‑hundred‑page book. You cannot tell me they weren’t stupid," I huff, crossing my hands tighter. "You didn’t have to say it," Beth shoots back.
"Whatever. It was one time."
"No, it wasn’t. It was one of many. You once stole Mom’s friend’s dog because you believed they were abusing it by feeding it bones."
"It was abuse," I snap, my voice sharp. Beth shakes her head, sharing a look with Mom before changing the subject. "Whatever. You’ll never admit you were a brat," she sighs, then adds, "So, Mom, what is for dinner?"
Seriously? It’s just going to end there? I was never a brat. I wouldn’t have fans if I was.
Mom grins, mischief in her eyes. "Cookies." Hearing the answer, Beth and I share a look, forgetting about our argument seconds ago. We both blink.
"Cookies?" Beth repeats, disbelief dripping from her voice. "Yes, cookies. I baked all afternoon, and I’m not cooking tonight. You two will handle dinner and take the last batch of cookies out of the oven."
"What?" I cry out, my voice cracking. "Mom, no! Please reconsider!"
"Yeah, Mom, you can’t just leave us like this," Beth adds, her tone pleading.
But Mom waves us off, already moving out of the kitchen and toward the door. We chase after her. "I’m going to my book club. Don’t let the cookies burn, and make sure dinner is ready by the time your father and I get back."
We chase her all the way outside, calling after her as she heads to the truck. "Mom! Please! We can’t cook!"
She refuses to hear us, sliding into the driver’s seat, her laughter trailing behind her as she starts the engine. "You’ll survive!" she calls, and then she’s gone, the truck rumbling down the road.
We stand there, dumbfounded, watching the dust rise behind her. "This is insane," Beth mutters. "Neither of us can cook."
"Exactly," I agree, panic rising in my chest. "We’re doomed." She sighs, then smirks. "Rock, paper, scissors. Loser cooks alone."
I glare at her. "Seriously?"
"Best way to decide."
"Fine."
We play. She wins, like always. I should have known better. I throw my hands up, tantrum spilling out of me. "No! This isn’t fair! I’m an omega, I shouldn’t be doing such tasks!" Beth bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach as if my misery is the funniest thing she’s ever seen. "Oh, stop your bullshit. You got away with that excuse when you first presented as an omega, but not anymore. Get to work."
I scoff at her, stomping back into the kitchen, muttering curses under my breath, slamming pots and pans around like they’re my enemies. The oven hums, the cookies still filling the air with their mocking sweetness, reminding me of Mom’s betrayal.
As I chop vegetables with clumsy hands, I can’t help but think of Lorali. All the times she cooked meals she probably never got to eat. All the times she stood in the kitchen, preparing food for others while starving herself. My chest tightens, guilt gnawing at me.
Am I really as bad as my mother and sister say I am? I suppose I did lose myself at some point, my eyes covered in anger, but it’s too late to feel guilty now. The damage is done, and nothing can be undone. Even if I apologized, I doubt it would mean much to Lorali.
The pan sizzles, oil spitting onto my skin, the burning sensation pulling me out of my thoughts. I quickly turn the stove off and run my hand under cold water. Only then do I notice the light smoke in the air and the smell of something burning.
"Walter!" Beth shouts from the living room. "Is something burning?"
"No!" I yell back, panic flooding me. I rush to the oven, realizing I forgot all about the cookies. I open it, stupidly try pulling the tray out with my bare hands, and burn myself. I let out a groan before quickly grabbing a mitten and pulling the tray free, setting it on the counter, praying it doesn’t burn through the wood. I fling open all the windows, grab the spatula, scrape at the blackened mess, and sneakily toss three ruined pieces into the trash. The evidence disappears, hidden beneath paper towels. No one will know.
I wipe sweat from my forehead, forcing myself to keep going. By the time I’m done, the food is edible—barely—but it’s food.
Beth wanders in, peeking over my shoulder, her smirk widening. "Not bad," she teases. "For someone who claims omegas shouldn’t cook." I roll my eyes, stirring harder, pretending her words don’t irritate me.
"I hate you," I groan, moving away from her sideways. She laughs, the sound filling the kitchen, and for a moment, despite everything, it feels like home.
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Later that night
I fold my hands, watching Beth work without lifting a finger. Since I cooked, she can set the table. "Don’t put the cups too close to the edge," I warn, tapping my foot on the ground just to irritate her. Yes... maybe sometimes I can be a brat.
"I know what I’m doing," she snaps, glaring at me. Before I can humble her further, the kitchen door swings open with a bang.
"Uncle Walter!" Wally’s voice pierces the air, high and frantic. She barrels into the room, covered head to toe in mud, her hair plastered to her forehead, her shoes squelching with every step. She looks like she’s been wrestling in the creek instead of playing near it.
"Wally!" Beth shouts, horrified. "You’re covered in mud! How dare you come into this house like that!"
But Wally ignores her, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. "Uncle Walter! Kei and Augi are here! They’re on the porch!"
My heart stutters, then slams against my ribs. Kei and Augi. My mates. Here.