Building a Pack is Ruff, Part 1 (The Pack Pets Omegaverse #2)

37. Kelly

Chapter 37

A loudly whispered argument wakes me up. Teddy’s voice sounds angry, and the other one is whining enough to make me want to kick him off the bed and snuggle back up to the warm. But there isn't any warm. My head pops out from under the blankets, and I stare blearily around the slowly lightning room. Teddy's standing in the open bathroom door. His arms gesture angrily as he whisper-shouts at someone on the other side. No one else is visible, and I slide out of my pocket of coziness and pad in the opposite direction, towards the door to the hallway.

There’s no telling what those two are arguing about. But an irate Teddy is better than a crying Teddy, and if he’s dealing with Steve then the guy deserves to get some anger thrown his way. Jake’s laying outside the door, and I almost trip over him in my attempt to sneak out. He hops up clumsily and presses his whole body into my legs, his big brown eyes looking up at me longingly. Before I’ve had a chance to give him any sort of ear scratches, his head cocks and he bolts down the stairs, his tail doing its best impression of a helicopter.

The front door opens just before we reach it, and Sam and Garret trudge in looking disheveled. Garret’s almost knocked over in Jake’s need to get outside. Both men have snowflakes in their hair, and not a light dusting. How did they get that much just coming from the truck? I catch the door before Garret can close it and look outside. There are huge white flakes still coming down, and the front porch has mostly disappeared under a drift. Two trenches are made though leading from the truck, which is already collecting a new layer.

Shivering, I close the door and turn to see if there is any way I can help. “Would you like me to fix you some coffee or tea? Something to help you warm up?” They’ve both taken off their coats, and Sam is hanging them up in the closet by the door to the basement. He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Actually, hot tea sounds good. Let me go let Jake in the back, then I’ll get cleaned up and start breakfast. Sound good?” The man offers to cook for me and take care of me and wants to know if that’s ok? Of course that’s ok!

I’m still gonna get the tea pot started while he’s getting cleaned up though. Maybe I’ll make pancakes if he takes long enough…and has buttermilk. You can make pancakes without it, but why would you want to?

It still feels like intruding when I go through Sam’s pantry looking for ingredients. Pretty sure I’m officially moving in, but it’s so well organized and I feel like I’m rifling through some sort of pretty show house that no one actually lives in because it’s too clean.

Of course, the problem with making pancakes is everybody likes them differently. Mom makes hers super fluffy, which is good, but I can’t eat more than four ’cause they’re so big. Dad makes his really flat, but they have an amazing tangy flavor that he says comes from adding yogurt. The ones I’ve gotten a few times at the diner are pretty standard, not great, but not bad. They have a tiny hint of vanilla, but I think they use a mix, so that’s off the table. Sam doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who keeps pancake mix in his house. He said he doesn’t like to cook for himself, plus it seems to be against his fancy cooking to keep something “ready to make”.

Maybe I should call Dad and ask for his recipe.

Nah, he’s either getting ready for work, or sleeping in with the snow.

I could look one up on my phone.

Those are always a crapshoot.

Grandma made the best pancakes, better than Dad, even.

I wonder if I can get her recipe from him sometime.

My mind runs in circles as I gather ingredients—flour, sugar, vanilla, baking powder, eggs, buttermilk. I strongly debate on the yogurt I picked up a few days ago. It’s vanilla flavored so it would probably be fine, but I don’t want to screw this up. Now, where does he keep his mixing bowls? I open all the lower cabinets where a normal person would keep those, but nope. Standing up, I try the ones over the stove.

Dang tall alphas and storing stuff in tall cabinets.

He probably doesn’t even own a footstool.

I could climb the counter, they look sturdy.

Turning around I hop up on the counter, butt first. I’m wearing my sleep pants, but I’ll still clean it before I start cooking. Getting turned around and up on my knees is harder than I remember from doing this as a kid. Of course, my pajamas are fleecy, so they want to slide around on the stupid shiny rock countertops, and I have to grab the door handles to keep from doing the splits up here.

Sorry, Sam, can you make another trip out in the snow this morning? I fell and broke my butt trying to make pancakes.

Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.

Finally victorious, I grab the mixing bowls out of the stupidly high cabinet and try to turn around, only to have big hands go around my waist holding me in place. Great, one of the tall alphas in question. The hands find the spot where my shirt is riding up from having my arms up, but they’re so cold and rough against my bare stomach I let out a tiny shriek and almost fall backwards off the stupid counter. “Um, Kelly, what are you doing up there?”

“You wanna help me down, Garret? I’m not stuck, but I get the feelin’ Sam’s not gonna be super happy about me climbing on his counters. That bein’ said, he shouldn’t put his mixing bowls in really tall cabinets.” The hands gently lift me off the counter and set me on the floor, and I smile up at the alpha I’m so conflicted for. We just met yesterday, and yeah, he was a complete jerk on the phone—but after talking to him, I kind of understand why. His life’s been hijacked, and he’s stressed. We all have bad days.

The question is, would he have apologized if he didn’t think I was his? Would he still be a jerk, or is he actually a nice guy who was just having a rough time? Something about him draws me in, and it’s not just how he was yesterday in person.

His scent makes me think of the ocean and thunderstorms, which is funny since I’ve never actually seen an ocean. Maybe it’s because Teddy said they’re from Los Angeles? Part of me wants to snuggle into him—which is less weird than it was the first time with Teddy and Sam—but also more frustrating since he was so mean. My brain's telling me to kick him to the curb for how they treated Teddy, and how he was on the phone…but mostly Teddy. I know he explained somewhat yesterday, but we really all need to sit down and talk.

Sam's not gonna like this, and I want him to be happy. My body decided that Teddy and Sam are mine, and my brain gave up and went along with it. They feel safe and like home. Now these guys…my body says that Garret’s mine—not Steve—but until I know it’ll work out for Sam and Teddy, nothing else is happening.

He hasn’t stepped out of my space yet even though I’m firmly on the floor now. I can’t really step back either with the counter right behind me. I raise my hands up, and he smiles for a brief moment, it’s beautiful. I almost feel bad for putting them on his chest and gently pushing him back out of my space. He goes easily enough, but I think he’s disappointed I wasn’t trying to hug him.

Sorry, we’re not there yet.

Maybe soon?

I want to hug you and snuggle you, but I don’t want to upset anyone.

I just need to keep the peace.

That last thought makes me cringe. I do like everyone to get along, but it was never a huge thing growing up. My family had arguments, everybody does, but never anything I really needed to act as peacekeeper for. Maybe it’s just a beta thing, trying to keep everyone happy and relaxed. Alphas are generally considered the most volatile designation, but that’s a fallacy. I’ve met alphas who are overwhelmingly aggressive, but I’ve also met betas that are nuts. I used to work with one of those—that was a shock.

Then there are alphas like Sal or Jacks or Leo, who are sweet and gentle, but will absolutely destroy someone if they threaten their people. That’s supposed to be more of an omega trait. Then again, omegas are supposed to be tender and cuddly. Of the few I know, that only really seems to fit Brice. Teddy has been caring and gentle with me, but he looks like he could happily shred someone. And Candice is the farthest person I know from snuggly, at least outside her pack...plus that whole fork incident.

My hands are still resting on Garret’s chest, and he moves to cover them with his own. Thankfully they’re starting to warm up. He lifts my left hand from his chest and brings it to his face, nuzzling his jaw against my palm. It’s not exactly a scent marking, he just looks like he needs comfort. Looking at where my hand is cradled in his bigger one, I finally see why they were so rough earlier. Dried blood and road rash are stark against the meaty part of his palm. It looks like he hit the pavement.

My eyes flick up to his face, no issues there, it doesn’t look like someone knocked him onto the road. Maybe he fell, the sidewalks were probably pretty slippery out there, but I ask anyway, just to be sure. “What in the world happened to your hands? I know it doesn’t get super cold where y’all come from, but you gotta be careful in the snow, it can get dangerous.”

“Um, yeah…about that. I kinda met Sam’s brother. Well, I mean. I’d heard of him before since he’s mated to Teddy’s cousin. But I didn’t connect the dots, and since Sam said your pack’s name was Carpenter it just didn’t register. Regardless, he seemed really upset with me since I showed up with Sam, and ended up dragging me out of the truck.” He looks down at his hand that isn’t holding mine. “And I guess I got kinda scraped up. Sorry I didn’t realize how bad it was. I mean, I knew it stung, but I thought it was just the cold. I’ll…I’ll go get cleaned up. Sorry if I bled on you.”

Crud, pancakes can wait.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, I take the hand that’s holding mine and lead him to the main bathroom down here, the one I usually use. “Come on, I think I saw some bandages in this one, and if not…we’ll figure it out.” He follows me along, staring at my hand holding his. His expression's almost vacant like he’s lost in some sort of daydream. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him, but he needs to pay attention before he walks into a door frame.

Too late.

Well, ok, technically it’s my elbow that smacks into the doorframe, but it makes me jerk my hand out of his to grab my funny bone. He lunges to try to follow my hand and manages to kick the door frame. There’s a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan as he comes out of the daze he was in. But then he grabs for the elbow I'm cradling against my stomach, carefully lifting it up and inspecting it while he stands on one foot. He’s rubbing his injured toe up and down the back of his opposite leg.

We probably look like an uncoordinated mess right now. His big scraped palms run lightly over my arm, and he winces and gives me a quick, “Sorry,” when I let out a pained giggle. Ticklish and uncoordinated is not a good look. I always hurt myself and then start laughing when someone tries to help.

Like, no, I really do appreciate your concern, but I can’t stop the giggles.

Pulling my arm from his grasp, I meet his eyes. “Sorry, I’m super ticklish when I hurt myself. Um…how’s your foot?” He lets out a loud hiss of breath and we both look down at his toes curling and uncurling.

The look he gives me is half smile half gritted teeth. “Well, it hurts like a bitch, but nothing seems broken. I’ll live. What about you, hit your funny bone?” He nods to my elbow which I’ve gone back to rubbing.

“Yeah, sorry. But for now, let’s get you cleaned and bandaged up. Do you need something for your toes or are they good?”

This at least earns me a small smile. “Nah, no way to bandage up blunt force trauma on the foot, I’ll live.”

This bathroom doesn’t have a medicine cabinet, just the cupboard under the sink. Squatting down to look, I almost fall over backwards, my hand reaching out to grab the wall behind me before I land on the tile floor. I hear another sharp gasp at the same moment it dawns on me that I have a handful of denim.

Dreading what I might see, I twist around on the balls of my feet and let my eyes wander over to Garret. He’s staring intently down at me, and specifically at my hand, which has a death grip on the knee of his jeans, holding myself up with them—pulling them down enough that a trail of sunny blond hair is now clearly visible between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his shirt. It’s right at eye level

My gaze flicks back up to meet Garrets and he bites his bottom lip, heat filling his eyes. I need to get out of this situation. Trying to pull myself up, I only manage to unbalance further and fall face first towards his leg.

The universe has a sense of humor, I just don’t find it very funny right now.

Giving in and letting myself hit the floor has to be better than face-planting against his groin. Unfortunately, I forgot about my knees being banged up a few days ago at the ceremony, so when they hit the tile, I let out a tiny little squeal of pain.

These pajamas provide no cushioning between my already abused flesh and the stone beneath me. Scrambling back to my butt to save my knees, I’m scooped off the floor completely. This is the second time in less than a week that I find myself with bleeding knees, being held against a wide warm chest. But this one’s vibrating.