Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
ETHAN
M y phone rings. I pull it from my pocket before the receptionist can pin her stare on me like she did the poor teen that was here half an hour ago. Caleb’s name on the screen has a ball of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Caleb almost always texts rather than calls. Unless something urgent came up. Did something happen with Cam?
I step out into the bland hallway of the Council’s office in Jackson and answer the call.
“What’s up?” I ask instead of offering a greeting.
“I just got called in,” he says.
Shit. That’s the second time this season they’ve overridden his reset.
There’s the sound of shuffling and then a muttered curse.
Caleb’s more frazzled this time. “You’re still in Jackson?”
“Yeah. For another hour at least.”
Because if the bloodwork comes back matching, I then get to sit in a chair on the other side of this damn building and figure out the bureaucracy of documenting it with the Council.
And after I’ve finally figured that out, it’s nearly an hour to get home. Two hours is too long if the frantic movements on Caleb’s side of the phone are any indication.
“Shit, okay. Mom’s covering at the hotel tonight.” And my parents are in Jackson, too, on a date. “All right. Let me call Emily. Is Cam’s bag still ready to go? By the time you get back here, it’ll be damn close to his bedtime.”
I lean against the wall and offer a gruff, “Should be.”
Though to be honest I haven’t actually looked at it for a while. Cam hasn’t needed an overnight with one of our families in a while.
“Good,” Caleb sighs. “That saves me time.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Southwest Colorado. Some jackass decided to set a bonfire in the middle of the fucking forest this morning without having anything to stop it once it was lit. It’s already burned almost ten thousand acres.”
Holy hell .
“Shit. You’re going to be gone for a while.”
He grunts. “Probably. Sam said we’re pulling in the LATs and probably running overnights.”
Fuck, he hardly ever runs overnights. The equipment is expensive and the pay is astronomical. Wherever this fire is must have the big government agencies worried.
“I need to text Brielle,” he sighs.
I shouldn’t ask. It’s Friday, and they’ve been wrapped up in each other since he got back yesterday. The question slips out of my mouth anyway.
“What’s going on with Brielle?”
There’s a long pause, and then he blows out a breath. “We were going to go out to the Outpost tonight once you got back.”
It shouldn’t hurt. I’ve done my damnedest to avoid her all week. Discussing whatever the fuck is happening between us is too… vulnerable. Not without proof that she’s my match. Fuck me, maybe not even then. I loved Kayla, adored her, bonded with her. Does all that just… get negated if Brielle’s my scent match, the one designed biologically for me?
Could I have avoided the heart wrenching, life-altering experience of finding my Omega dead in the garage by her own doing?
But then I wouldn’t have Camden. Caleb and I wouldn’t have become such close friends—the brother I never had. Him and Brandon both.
Caleb cuts off the spiraling thoughts.
“I need to call Emily and get Camden somewhere,” he says. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
“Sounds great,” I mutter and then slip my phone into my pocket.
When I step back into the waiting area, the woman who took the blood sample is leaning against the desk, a small, unmarked, white envelope in her hand. She offers it with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Next steps are on the second page, Mr. Taylor.”
My hand trembles as I take the envelope and she turns, heading deeper into the clinic. I don’t open it until I’m back in the hallway and away from the receptionist’s hawkish glare. And then every single swirling thought drains out.
The sun is setting by the time I pull into the garage. I lean my head back, trying to calm the incessant nagging voice that’s been running a mile a minute since the bloodwork came back. It doesn’t fucking work. They race through me in another loop.
I should tell her. She deserves to at least know. It shouldn’t be anything done publicly, though. There’s too many people who are obsessed with her—especially since my fuck up on the Fourth.
How the hell am I going to find a way to tell her in private?
And then what happens when I do tell her? Are we a thing again? Do we talk about the last decade? Do I finally bring up that sniveling, spineless asshole of a Beta she married? Ask her exactly why Melissa said he was a lying bastard?
And if we do become something, what happens with Cam? With her long term plans here?
Emily said she doesn’t have a job. Honestly, she probably doesn’t need one if she got her husband’s wealth with his death. But does she want one? Does she want her own house?
Hell, does she move in here with us?
The idea of her living here, where Kayla lived and breathed and slept, makes my chest tighten. The rooms are all different now—mostly. And there’s not a single piece of her nest that’s remained aside from a few small trinkets Caleb and I kept. But just the idea of Brielle nesting in the same room has dread and guilt roiling through me.
With a sigh, I shuffle into the house, toeing off my boots and shedding the flannel I’d worn over the top of a plain white shirt. The thoughts keep swirling even as I throw together a quick dinner and then trim my beard. The light in the bathroom catches on one of my tattoos, and all that guilt and dread and confusion roar up again in an undeniable wave.
I grab my phone and text Melissa before I can talk myself out of it.
You and Brielle doing anything tonight?
There’s a god awful minute of no response before the message is marked as seen and the dots show up.
We were at the Outpost.
Were?
Ryan called and said Chesapeake went lame again, so I’m working on getting out there to see what’s wrong.
Fuck me. She threw another goddamn shoe?
Shit. You need me out there tonight?
Shouldn’t. Ryan didn’t say it was an emergency. I’ll see what’s up with her feet and then send you an update.
I blow out a breath and rub my neck.
You’re not a fucking coward, I tell myself. Then send her another text.
Brielle still at the Outpost?
…I think so. Let me check her location.
The dots disappear.
I grab a new shirt from my closet and my favorite cowboy hat. By the time I grab my phone from my bed, Melissa’s texted me back.
Yes, she’s still there.
She says she’s going to dance a bit and then head home in an hour or two when her drink has worn off.
Why? Are you going? Did something happen with Caleb?
I ignore her questions.
Thanks. I’ll check out Chesapeake tomorrow.
I shove my phone into my pocket and slip my boots back on. I stare at the packet still on the passenger seat like it might just bite me.
And then I throw the truck into gear and head out toward Main before I lose my goddamn nerve.
brIELLE
The Outpost isn’t nearly as fun once Melissa leaves, but I slowly sip my Cape Cod and try to relax anyway. I didn’t get dressed up—first for Caleb and then for Melissa—just to end up heading home not an hour into being here. Besides, it’s not like I’m about to drink and drive, so I have to wait a bit no matter what.
Devynn watches me from where she helms the bar. She cocks an eyebrow, and I shake my head. I’m fine enough here. A man sits down in the lone open chair, and she turns to him, her gaze going guarded like that time I first met her. I go back to sipping the mixed drink and watching the small group of women trying to line dance in the center of the dance floor.
I’m not an expert, but I’d swear they’re tourists that somehow managed to skip both bars along Main Street that cater specifically to people traveling through Creek Falls on their way north to the national parks. There’s just a way that the girl on the left moves in the black cowboy boots, like she’s not used to their weight and size and shape. I adjust my own boot-clad feet, crossing them under the barstool’s foot rest. It feels criminal to be out on a Friday night in jeans. But at least I’m not sticking out here—mostly. A couple of the men gave me odd looks when Melissa and I first showed up, their gazes catching on the mostly see-through top I’d opted for, the same black one I’d worn out with Caleb a month ago.
Someone leans against the tall table, pulling me from my musings. He’s an attractive man with a close-trim beard and tan cowboy hat. His blue button-up shirt is left undone, exposing a plain white tee underneath. If I’d just seen him from the side, I’d risk assuming it’s Ethan—minus the tattoos. His eyes, though, aren’t as friendly. He feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t place a name.
“Hey, Brielle,” he says.
I offer a tight smile and cover the top of my cocktail.
He leans on his elbow as he smiles back. His eyes skate down my shirt, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not cross my arms. I don’t want this man to look at me at all—and certainly not like he’s already imagining me undressed.
“I saw you were here alone and thought you might want someone to cheer you up,” he says when I don’t offer any more of a greeting. “No one wants to spend Friday night alone.”
I do.
Well, not technically. But I’d rather spend it alone than with this man that makes all my alarm bells go off.
“Do I know you?” I ask, pulling my corporate no-nonsense voice from its dusty shelf. He feels vaguely familiar, but I’m nearly positive I haven’t seen him since being back in Creek Falls this summer.
His grin is wider this time—and still doesn’t touch his eyes. “Not yet, but you’ll be screaming for me by the end of the night.”
Ugh. Gross.
I lean away from him, trying to get as much distance between us without actually standing up from the table. He follows me, not allowing me to retreat.
“I bet I can guess your scent,” he whispers. “Something so delicate as you probably has something that matches. A flower or maybe a fruit.”
He covers my hand with his.
Oh, fuck me. Of course the one night I decide to go out on my own is the night some bastard of a creep decides I’m the perfect prize instead of the tourists still hobbling along on the dance floor.
And how in the hell does he know who I am?
“If I guess it, what will you give me?” His voice drops suggestively.
Bile rises in my throat, and I lean as far away from him as I can. He tries to follow, but a hand is suddenly on his chest and pushing him away.
“You’ll get my goddamn fist in your face, Jake.”
The low baritone rolls through me, and the unease that had been quickly sinking into true fear eases. The man growls, a low, dangerous thing, and shoves Ethan back.
“Fuck off, Monroe. You’re just jealous she’s interested in my knot instead of yours.”
Monroe? He hasn’t been Monroe in years. Not since they registered with the Council and were given a pack name. Who the hell is this guy?
He shoves away Ethan’s hand and closes the distance between us, grabbing my elbow like he’s entitled to touch me. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens.
“Let. Go.” My voice shakes—with fury or nerves, I’m not quite sure.
“You should listen to her,” Ethan seethes. His body is hot behind mine, a wall of warmth that has my body thinking all kinds of things that are in direct opposition to this asshole stranger grabbing me.
The man tightens his grip again, hard enough I whine.
A long, awful moment stretches between the men, and then Ethan’s fist connects with the side of the guy’s face. He drops his hold on me, focusing on Ethan entirely. I don’t dare move.
I’ve heard of Alphas freaking out over an Omega. It’s one of the big dangers of an Omega dropping into heat in public. But have I ever seen it happen? No. Not beyond the awkward as hell dynamic that’s been developing between Ethan and Caleb.
Of course it’s me that it happens to. I’m sure this article will be just as awful as the last one.
I wrap my hand around where the jerk grabbed me. The points where his fingers dug in pulse with a new ache that means they’re probably bruising. And if Ethan’s this ready to punch someone, him seeing bruises won’t help anything.
There’s shouts from across the bar a second before movement surrounds me.
“Hey! Get them out of here!” Devynn’s voice cuts across the room.
“It was Brown, Dev! He started it.” I recognize the voice but can’t figure out who it belongs to.
A couple guys descend on them and pull them apart.
Ethan immediately drops the aggression, angling his stance to block me from the other Alpha’s view nearly entirely. The guys who pulled him away drop their arms and back up a few steps, their gazes trained on the other man.
Calder Dean leans against the bar, his eyes locked on the other man, too, his lips pulled into a sneer. Devynn’s frowning.
“Get the fuck out of here, Jake,” a man says. “Before someone decides Miller needs to be called.”
John Miller is the police chief and one of Ethan’s father’s best friends.
The temperature in the room drops at the implied threat.
Jake’s nostrils flare, his jaw going white with the strength of his clenching it. Ethan’s growl starts, low in his chest.
“Jake,” Calder calls, warning clear. “You really want Pierce down here? Because he’s struck a deal with his brother.”
There’s enough undercurrents that not even I’m quite sure of them all. Pierce is Hudson, I’m pretty sure.
This one, though, seems to be enough to make the guy back down. He shoves out of the men’s holds and storms for the door, not looking back as he slams it behind him.