Family dinner had always been a ripe opportunity for arguments between me and my brothers, and after my father’s passing, it was even worse. To be fair, I started most of those arguments and the task of arbitrating usually fell to Patrick and our mother, but I would have gladly taken the fighting over the sullen silence that had fallen over our dinner table the first night after the sale of the company went through.

Our mother had been in tears on and off all day, and while Patrick did his best to console her, I couldn’t help but resent him for trying. After all, he was the one who’d sold the inheritance our father had left him not six months after his death. When he’d immigrated from Ireland and worked his way up from a minimum-wage position in a factory that had long since closed, I was sure he’d kept himself motivated by telling himself that one day, all his hard work would blossom into a beautiful legacy to share with the twins growing in his mate’s belly.

In a way, I was glad he’d left when he did, not only because I knew the illness had taken away the independence he’d clung to like a life raft until the last possible moment, but because part of me knew that my brothers wouldn’t have had the decency to hold out if Lionel Roman had made that offer while he was still alive.

As much as I hated to admit it, I had more respect for a Roman than I did for my own brothers. At least he’d had the decency to wait until my father was in the ground before capitalizing on his dream.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” my mother announced, standing to leave her untouched food.

“Mom, please come back,” Patrick pleaded, standing to follow her.

“Leave her alone,” I muttered. “She has a right to be upset, and if you cared that much, you could have voted no.”

“That’s not fair,” Patrick said, turning to face me. At least he was distracted from her. The last thing she needed right now was his self-indulgent whining.

“Life isn’t fair,” I said flatly, standing from the table. “You should have figured that out by now.”

“And you’re such an adult, walking around sulking because your high school nemesis is your new boss,” Brayden scoffed.

I spun around, giving him a look that seemed to make him regret those words immediately. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, far less confident than he’d been a second ago. “Everyone was talking about it at work.”

“I don’t know why you were there at all, considering neither of you are employees of Stover Electronics anymore.”

“Don’t be like that, El,” Patrick whined.

“Don’t cal me El, Pat,” I shot back. “You both made your choice, and you took the payout. I’m the one in charge now, and if I see either of you in that building again, I’ll have security escort you out.”

They exchanged that twin look that had always driven me insane. “You’re joking,” said Brayden.

“Try me.” With that, I left to go console our mother, or at least offer the closest approximation I could.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, going through a box of old pictures and crying quietly into a tissue. She looked up when she saw me come in and dried her tears with an embarrassed smile. “I was just looking through some of the pictures I kept out of the albums,” she said, moving over and patting the spot beside her.

I sat down, peering into the box. I hadn’t seen it in ages, but the dusty scent conjured memories of sitting on the sofa with her, trying on the medals my father had won in the war and fiddling with a hunk of plastic he’d saved from the very first motherboard he’d made in the above-garage apartment they’d rented when the twins were born. “This brings back memories,” I said, smiling a little as I reached for a stack of aged polaroids.

“Doesn’t it? Oh, look at that one. You were so tiny there,” she said wistfully, stroking a lock of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail back behind my ear. “Look at you now.”

“Yeah. Look at me,” I muttered, staring down at the photograph of me in my father’s arms. I looked about three at the time, and I was grinning from ear to ear because I’d just caught a firefly. I’d eaten it about five minutes after the photo was taken, but I had never really been the dainty, well-mannered omega my parents were expecting. “I’m just glad he isn’t here to see what a mess we’ve become.”

Her brow knit with concern and I regretted my words immediately. “Why would you say something like that?”

“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Sweetheart, I’m as upset about the sale as you are, but in a way, I’m relieved.”

I did a doubletake and stared at her. “How can you say that?”

“I don’t like what your brothers did, but I understand why they did it. They’re not like you, Ellis,” she said gently. “This business was never their passion.”

“It doesn’t matter. You think I came out of the womb with a passion for assembling and selling motherboards to educational tech companies? It was dad’s passion, and that’s good enough for me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Your father loved building. He’d take clocks apart when he was little and find ways to put them back together, but he never wanted to be a watchmaker like his father. It was the act of making something new and functional that excited him. Pushing the boundaries of what technology could do at the time, building a better mousetrap. For you, it’s the act of running a company and all the things that come with it. Your father was an inventor, not a businessman. Stover Electronics was built on his inventions, but you’re the one who made it the brand it is today.”

I frowned as I listened. I’d never thought of it that way, even though I’d known that my father was notorious for shirking his office duties to hide out on the factory floor. “Still. It’s his legacy.”

“You’re his legacy, baby boy. You and your brothers. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. He hoped to pass the company along so it could make your lives better, not so it could be a burden, and he’s done that. Look around,” she said, gesturing to the modest but comfortable home they had lived in on the nicer side of town for the last few years. “He built all of this, but now it’s your turn to decide what legacies you’ll leave for your children.”

I looked down at the photograph in my hand, swallowing hard. “Maybe Brayden and Patrick. Family, kids… that’s not in the cards for me.”

She tilted her head and I didn’t have to look at her to know what look she was giving me. The one that spoke of worry and pride and “You’ll see” all at once. “If it’s not, then it’s not,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know I’ll always love and support you no matter what you choose. If that choice doesn’t include a family of your own, so be it. But I’d hate to see you end up missing those things because of fear rather than because there’s something else you want more out of life.”

I finally looked over at her and I knew it was a mistake. It was so easy to feel like I could tell her the truth when I looked into her eyes, and I’d come so close so many times, but I knew that if I did now, it would only be burdening her on top of everything else. I forced a smile and nodded. “We’ll see.”

She leaned in and hugged me tightly. “Your father was so proud of you,” she whispered. “Not just because of what you did with the company, but because of who you are. I want you to remember that.”

“I know,” I said softly. Her words echoed in my thoughts on the drive home, but I found myself taking a detour before I reached my condo. The cemetery was equidistant between her house and mine, and I ended up there more often than I cared to admit. There were still fresh flowers on the grave—his favorite, white carnations—and I found myself lingering on the path around it. The moon was full, casting plenty of light on the soft white stone. The engraving read, “Here lies Martin Stover, beloved mate, father, inventor, friend.”

So few words for such a full life. I couldn’t help but wonder, what would mine say? My mother was the only person who would call me beloved, and I certainly didn’t have many friends who hadn’t known me for long enough that they had to love me because I was Ian’s kid. “Here lies Ellis Stover, a mediocre president—sorry, CEO—of a company that makes computer parts, and he couldn’t even hold onto the majority of shares.”

What a joke.

The worst part was, I knew my mom was right. I was afraid. Rationally, logically, I knew that I wasn’t in the same position I’d been in back then, but it wasn’t just the fear of physical assault that kept me from opening my heart to the idea of a mate. It was the fear of finding out that Drew was right. That the thing he’d taken from me that day, the thing that had left a hollow spot in the middle of me that had never filled in no matter how much I tried to dump in there to cover it up, made me damaged goods. That I had too many missing pieces to complete a puzzle with anyone else, and that like he’d promised, no one would ever want me.

More than the tightness that crept into my chest whenever an Alpha got too close, more than the impulse that made me quicken my steps whenever I was alone in the parking garage at night even though I was strong and capable by all outward appearances, I feared coming to terms with the fact that I was alone not because I wanted to be but because I was unwanted. That the only man who had ever truly loved me was six feet under the earth in front of me, and that even he would have had a second thought if he’d known the truth about me.

I clenched my fists up tight and shook my head. It had just been a little too long since I’d taken my medication, that was all. That and Reece Roman, who’d shaken me up and dislodged all the broken pieces that had been just fine where they were until he came along.

I got back in my car, headed home to pour myself a drink and pop a couple of pills before bed, and slept sounder than I had in weeks. If I fell apart, there’d be no one left to hold the rest of them back together. My mother, my employees, even my useless brothers. They all depended on me keeping it together, and if I had to hold the pieces together with a glue made of denial and alcohol, so be it.

Majority shares or not, I had a job to do and it was the only damn thing I’d ever been good at. I wasn’t about to quit now, if only because I had no idea who I’d be without it.