Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 237 – What a Mess

Before me, surrounded by what looks like a dozen empty pizza boxes and at least six drained bottles of whiskey, Rafe is dead asleep on his belly, spread across my living room rug.

“Oh my god,” Alvin whispers eagerly, his hands pressed to his mouth. “Is he dead?”

“No he’s not dead,” I scold, giving my son a reproachful look as I stalk towards my mate’s brother. Inwardly, I pray that it’s not a lie. What the hell happened to this man?

Ian is next to me as I kneel down beside Rafe, putting Archie down and looking closely at Rafe’s chest face and back to make sure that he’s breathing. I give a little sigh of relief when I see that he’s not dead, just completely passed out.

“He smells terrible,” Ian whispers, wrinkling his nose. Even Archie dashes away, eager to get away from Rafe’s terrible stale whiskey breath. I study Rafe, seeing that his face is covered in several days-worth of stubble and that he has dark circles under his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” Alvin asks, coming to peer at him as well, looking at his uncle like he’s a in insect that’s very interesting precisely because of how gross it is.

“Uncle Rafe got into the whiskey,” I say, standing up and crossing my arms as I glare down at him. Normally I wouldn’t care if I found someone passed out on my floor after a rough night of drinking – I’d be more inclined to cover them up with a blanket and put a pillow under their head than scold them. But Rafe hasn’t precisely been in my good graces lately, has he?

“Is whiskey bad?” Alvin asks, curious, looking up at me.

“Whiskey is gross,” I reply casually.

“But daddy drinks whiskey,” Ian points out, frowning up at me from his place crouched by Rafe’s side.

“Yeah well,” I consider, tilting my head to the side. “Daddy just drinks whiskey because he thinks it makes him look manly. Secretly, he just wants a pina colada like the rest of us.”

“Hey,” Victor says from the door, frowning at me. “Do not lie to our children – whiskey is a rich and complicated…”

But he forgets what he was saying as I step aside to give him a view of his brother passed out on the floor.

“This one is yours to clean up,” I chirp, giving my mate a bright smile as I walk into the kitchen. As I go, Alvin kneels by his uncle’s side and pokes him experimentally in the cheek, fascinated when he doesn’t move at all. Victor sighs, running his hand down his face as he walks into the living room, staring at his brother.

I see a little note with our names

Apologies –

much. Please understand that this is not a reflection of my dedication to you and your family. Notify me upon your return

Affectionately,

Burton

will find it, and continue my journey to the fridge. As I pour myself a cool glass of water, I consider that I’m not surprised that Burton has left – he shouldn’t have to put up with

from the living room and look to see that Victor has turned Rafe onto his back. The boys giggle as Victor lightly slaps Rafe’s cheeks, trying to get

fault but his own. Also, if Alvin and Ian learn a

groans again as Victor calls his name, pressing his eyes more tightly shut and turning

Alvin shouts, laughing above him. “Get up!

then his eyes flash open. I lean against my

says, looking around at the

back,” Victor finishes for him. “And

then he falls on his back, his face turning a little green. “Oh my

on the couch, laughing gleefully, apparently trying to

away from his brother. “What the hell Rafe?” he scolds, disappointed. “What happened to

side to glare at his Alpha. “There was no word from you – that Beta reported

do it, admiring the way it makes the muscles in his arms swell. “You had a complete meltdown? Decided to drink yourself to death? And apparently threw a…” he looks around, confused, at all of

Rafe take his

angry to be called out and embarrassed to be found like this.

to you that even if I was dead, that my sons might not be? That the next logical thing to do would be to go into the woods and try to find them, to raise them so that they could inherit the pack? Or,

instead turns back onto his belly, his face buried in the rug, clearly

a not-too-gentle nudge with his foot. “Well?” he pushes, “what

couch. “Uncle Rafe’s gonna get grounded,” he whispers loudly to Alvin. Alvin laughs gleefully back

he’s on his knees, looking down at his hands that are pressed against his thighs. “You’re right, Victor,” he says, hanging his head. “As usual, you’re right. But I never expected to be scolded by you for