Kieran calls on Thursday while I'm neck-deep in contract revisions that make my eyes bleed. "Get your ass to Seattle this weekend. The kids miss you, and Thalia made me promise to drag you here. Don't make me look bad in front of my mate."
"I have work—"
"You always have! Come anyway," he hangs up before I can argue further because apparently Fenris men are genetically incapable of accepting no as an answer.
I fly up Friday night, landing in Seattle's perpetual drizzle that matches my mood perfectly. The drive to Kieran's house takes forty minutes of traffic and existential dread.
Phoenix tackles me before I make it through the door. Pure Alpha strength wrapped in nine-year-old chaos.
"Did you bring presents? You always bring presents except last time when you forgot but Mom said you were going through something and we should be understanding but I'm done being understanding so where are the presents?"
"In my bag, which you're currently crushing."
She releases me long enough to rifle through my luggage like a tiny criminal. Orion appears next, pushing his glasses up with that gesture he inherited from Kieran.
Luna doesn't tackle me. Just appears at my elbow, slips her hand into mine, and studies my face with those empath eyes that see straight through every defense I've constructed.
"You're sad again."
"Tired."
"Sad-tired, and it’s a different thing." She squeezes my hand. "You're torn between two people and it's making you feel split in half, like you're trying to be in two places at once and neither version of you is complete."
Mother Moon, she's nine and more perceptive than most therapists I've paid hundreds of dollars per hour.
Dinner is controlled chaos. Kieran manages three kids simultaneously while Thalia orchestrates from the kitchen with the efficiency of a general directing troops.
I'm helping clear plates when Thalia corners me. "Talk to me about whatever's eating you alive."
"I'm fine—"
"Bullshit," she steers me toward the back patio where it's quieter. "You look like someone who hasn't slept properly in weeks, so talk. No judgment, no pack politics."
I tell her about Caroline and Claire, about loving them both, about feeling like I'm failing at being a good man by refusing to choose. I need both but having both means someone gets hurt.
Thalia listens without interrupting and lets me talk until I run out of words and sit there feeling hollowed out.
"You know what your problem is?" she says finally. "You're trying to be fair, trying to give both of them equal space, attention, and possibility."
"Isn't that the right thing?"
"No, it's a coward thing." She says it gently but firmly enough that it lands like a punch. "You're so afraid of hurting someone that you're hurting everyone. Including yourself."
"But I care about them both—"
"Pick one," she leans forward, elbows on knees. "This middle ground you're occupying, it's destroying all three of you. Caroline deserves someone who chooses her completely, and Claire deserves someone who isn't still shopping around. And you deserve to stop torturing yourself with this false equivalency bullshit."
My chest tightens: "What if I choose wrong?"
"At least you chose," she stands, and starts gathering glasses with practiced efficiency. "Lysander, I spent years being too afraid to choose and let the mate bond make the decision for me. You don't have that luxury. You have to actively decide what you want and then be brave enough to commit to it."
"Easy for you to say. You got cosmic confirmation you picked right."
"I got it after I'd already chosen," her voice goes sharp. "The bond completed because I was ready, stopped running from what terrified me. You're still running."
Later, after the kids are asleep and Thalia's retreated to her office, I sit on Kieran's back deck. He joins me with whiskey and comfortable silence that stretches for five minutes before he speaks.
"Dad asked me to talk to you about the Montgomery situation."
"Of course he did." I take the whiskey he offers. "Let me guess—he thinks I'm compromised, wants me to restructure the partnership."
"Close. He's concerned that the partnership terms have shifted since signing, and that Montgomery is pushing for more integration than originally agreed." Kieran settles into the chair next to mine. "Is he wrong?"
My stomach tightens: "It's a normal post-merger adjustment."
"Are you sure?" Kieran's voice stays level but I hear the question underneath. "Or is Caroline manipulating you through the relationship?"
"She wouldn't—"
"You don't know what she'd do, as you've known her for three months." He takes a drink, studying me over the rim. "I'm not saying she's actively deceiving you, but her father is. She's loyal to him above everything else, including you."
"You sound exactly like Claire."
"Maybe Claire's right," he refills our glasses without asking. "Look, I get it. Caroline's brilliant, sexy, makes you feel things you haven't felt in years. But Lys—she's Robert Montgomery's daughter, and that means something."
I want to argue but can't. The numbers don't lie: Montgomery has pushed for client overlap, shared staff, combined marketing initiatives, with each move supported by solid business logic. Together they're a pattern.
"What do you suggest?"
"Get clear on what you expect from the partnership, from Caroline, from your life," Kieran meets my eyes. "Because right now you're drifting, and men who drift get drowned."
The whiskey burns going down. "When did you become so wise?"
"Around the time my mate threatened to leave me if I didn't get my shit together." He laughs but it comes out rough. "Thalia doesn't tolerate my avoidance tactics, forcing me to confront things I'd rather ignore."
"Speaking of—you two seem good."
"We are," something shifts in his expression. "Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you about something. Thalia and I—we were talking about having more kids."
I nearly choke on my whiskey. "More? You can barely handle these three. Phoenix alone requires the energy output of a small nuclear reactor."
"I know, but I want it. I want more chaos, more noise, more tiny humans destroying my furniture and my sanity," his voice goes softer. "I want to build something bigger; legacy that extends beyond business and politics."
"And Thalia?"
His jaw tightens, just slightly, just enough. "She doesn't want… She went through hell having the triplets, nearly died, and spent years raising them alone while I had no idea they existed," he's gripping his glass hard enough I'm worried it'll shatter. "She says three is enough."
"That's fair—"
"I know her reasons are valid and I'm being selfish wanting more when I missed the first seven years of these three,"his voice climbs slightly. "But I can't stop imagining more kids, bigger family, actually being present for the whole experience this time."
"Have you told her?"
"Mentioned it but she shut it down immediately. Said I could have more kids with someone else if I wanted but she's done," he drains his glass. "And I'm not leaving my mate for hypothetical children, but the want doesn't go away."
We sit in silence. Both of us want things we can't have, stuck between what we need and what's actually available.
"We're a mess," I say finally.
"Fenris men usually are," he stands, stretches. "But at least we're honest about it. That counts for something."
I'm not sure it does. I nod anyway and follow him inside, where Thalia's waiting with that expression that says she heard everything and we're going to talk about it later.
My phone buzzes with Caroline’s message: I miss you. Do you come back soon?
Then Claire: Henderson brief is done, and I sent it to your email. I hope Seattle's good.
Two texts but one choice I still can't make.