This was undoubtedly a rejection from them.
“You opened it already,” Moody said, sliding his finger underneath the torn flap of envelope.
“I wanted to know whether it was good news or bad.”
Moody frowned again. It had to be a rejection. There was nothing else it could be.
But if that was the case, why did Isaac seem so excited?
This can’t be anything good. Maybe Isaac misread the letter. He’s excited. Saw what he wanted to see.
Pulling out the folded letter, Moody held it in his hand for a moment. Then, he smoothed out the creases and read about how the company wanted to strike a deal with him, to publish a book of his poetry.
15
Isaac looked at his mate, admiring him. It seemed like every day, he found something new to love. The sway of his hips when he walked, the way he said their daughter’s name, the bright shine in his eyes when he discussed what he and his publishers had talked about that day.
And now he was admiring the strong set of Moody’s shoulders, the way the afternoon sunlight kissed highlights into his hair, and the gentle hold he had on their three-month-old pup.
They stood on the front porch of a very large, very grand house in an upscale neighborhood on the outer edge of northwest Pensacola. It was one of those places that felt like it should have been a gated community, harboring a sense of self-importance and wealth. Every lawn was perfectly trimmed. The flower beds were perfect. The edges had not a single leaf out of line.
It was the kind of place where homeowners could afford gardeners, maids, and personal chefs.
Isaac felt out of place. Moody had been given a substantial advance after signing a contract with his first publisher, and he had since been picked up by another. He himself had already received a pay bonus for his outstanding work. Between the two of them, they had moved out of the trailer park and into a pretty little house in a nice neighborhood. Money was no longer a problem, but they weren’t quite as detached from the worry of bills and amenities as the people in this neighborhood. Not yet, anyway.
As odd as he felt, he was pretty sure this was worse for Moody. After all, the omega hadn’t been here since he had a falling-out with his father following the untimely death of his mother.
He wanted desperately to crowd behind his mate, providing support and comfort. Or, better yet, he would stand in front of him and shield the worst of anything that came his way.
Desire was not the same as knowledge, and he knew he shouldn’t. His place, for the moment, was on the sidelines. This was not his fight.
It was not his reunion.
Moody’s chest heaved as he pulled in a deep breath. Holding it in his chest, he lifted his free arm and pushed the doorbell.
Faint chimes echoed throughout the interior of the grand building, followed by a minute of silence. With every second that passed, Isaac felt his shoulders tense up higher and higher until he was scrunched in on himself.
Heavy footsteps approached, muffled by the walls of the house.
A lock clicked as it was flipped, and then the front door was pulled inward to reveal a stately, powerful man in his late forties. His hair was dark brown, peppered with streaks of gray on either temple. His eyebrows were similarly flecked, though his trim moustache and beard were as of yet untouched by any signs of aging.
His eyes were cinnamon, and his features were a stronger version of Moody’s.
“Can I…” The man faltered. His eyes went wide. The rest of the words tumbled uselessly from between slack lips. “…help you? Desmond? Desmond, is that you?” The man’s eyes strayed down from his son’s face, to the child he held. “Who is this?” Then, he looked over at Isaac. “And who is this?”
Isaac said nothing.
Moody spoke very, very softly. “It’s me, Dad. This is Isaac, my mate.” He paused, taking another deep breath. He was trembling, though still standing strong, like a tree in the face of a great storm. “And this is Charlotte, our daughter. Your granddaughter.”
“You named her after your mother.” Moody’s father said this in a cautious, hopeful sort of way, as if asking for confirmation. His eyes were very wide and wondering, starting to glisten with gathering tears.
“We’ve been calling her Charlie,” Moody said. He shifted his feet uncertainly. “So much has happened, Dad. I thought you deserved to see the result.”
Moody’s father nodded, very, very slowly. His chin worked, and he stepped back, leaving a gap in the doorway. “Would you… like to come inside?”
“Yeah,” Moody said, nodding back. “Yeah, I would.”
Isaac followed Moody inside the large house. He knew that his mate’s initial plan had been to apologize, and he had supported that idea even though he didn’t agree with it. A person shouldn’t have to apologize for what they had gone through to become what they were today.
He was very, very glad that Moody had decided not to go down that route. No one should apologize here. No one should focus on what was done wrong in the past. He knew that now.
The best thing was to keep going forward, and greet the future that lay ahead.
End of Book 2– Please Read This
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Acknowledgments
Without these amazing people the book would not be the book it is today, Thank you so much!
Penny T.
April C.
Donna K.
Coral M
Fire Of Love
(Savage Love: Book 2)
Preston Walker
© 2018
Disclaimer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).
Fire Of Love Page 23