Chapter 28 Beth #2
Jets are pulsing against my lower back, and steam curls off the surface of the water into the cool evening air.
The sky has gone that bruised purple-blue that happens right after sunset, and the trees around the deck have turned into dark, feathery outlines.
Harper found a bottle of prosecco in the cabin's welcome basket, and we're currently passing it between us.
"I just think it's a lot," Maren says, taking a sip and handing the bottle to Harper. "Luna's been seeing this alpha for—what, three months?"
"Less," I say. "Maybe two?"
"Two months, and she's spending so many weekends at his place in Ridgeville." Maren says Ridgeville like it's a war zone and not a perfectly fine town thirty minutes from Lakeview. "That's fast."
"Luna's always fast," Harper points out. "Remember Tyler? She went on one date with that guy, and by the end of the week, he was picking her up from work."
"Tyler didn't get weird when she wanted a night to herself," Maren counters. "That's the part that bugs me. Luna canceled brunch with me two weeks ago because Derek was upset she'd been 'unavailable' all Saturday. She went to the farmer's market, Harp. For two hours."
"He said that? Unavailable?"
"That's the word Luna used. And she said it like it was a perfectly reasonable complaint. Like she was the one who needed to explain herself." Maren takes the prosecco back, drinks, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I don't know. Do you guys think I'm reading too much into it?"
I think about the last time I saw Luna, pacing the tree line back at the campfire with her phone pressed to her ear, looking stressed. Between that and the possessive undercurrents in the stories she’s been telling us lately, I’m definitely starting to get a weird vibe from this guy too.
"Some alphas are just like that," Harper says. She shifts in the jacuzzi, one arm resting along the edge. "Possessive doesn't always mean controlling. Ben got a little intense early on too, before we figured out how to communicate about it."
"Ben got intense about planning your dates," Maren corrects. "Not about you having waffles without him. There's a difference."
Harper concedes this with a tilt of her head.
"I just hope she's paying attention to the pattern," Maren says, quieter now. "Because from the outside, it looks like every time she tries to take a breath, he just wraps around her and squeezes a little tighter."
We sit with that for a second. The jets churn. A moth spirals around the deck light above us, tapping erratically against the glass.
"We should talk to her face to face," I say. "Not an intervention, just—"
"Just making sure she knows how we see it," Harper finishes.
"Exactly."
Maren nods. Then her gaze drifts over to me. The heavy concern on her face slowly dissolves into a knowing, entirely too smug little smirk.
"Speaking of alphas," Maren says.
I groan and sink an inch lower into the bubbles. "Oh, I know exactly where this is going."
"I mean, it is kind of the elephant in the hot tub," Maren says innocently.
"Agreed," Harper says. "They're your scent matches, which is basically the universe sending you a certified letter saying these ones, right here. So... what's up with that?"
I blow a long breath through my lips and sink lower until the water hits my chin. "I mean, my mom was a perfect scent match with my dad."
"You never told me that," Maren says, her smirk dropping instantly.
"They were perfect on paper. Perfect chemistry.
The whole biological fairy tale. She used to tell me about it when I was little.
How she walked into a room and just knew.
How everything clicked into place. The absolute certainty of it.
" I pause, the memory tasting bitter. "They were divorced by the time I was like six. "
A heavy silence settles over the hot tub, broken only by the churning water.
"A scent match tells you there's a biological pull," I say.
"It doesn't tell you that you actually want the same things in life.
It doesn't magically sort out whether your goals line up, or whether you agree on what a future is supposed to look like.
It just means your body says yes. And my mom's body said yes, she built a whole life around that, and then she ended up a single mom struggling to pay rent on a tiny two-bedroom apartment. "
"So yeah," I add. "The pull with the guys is definitely there. But I'm not going to mistake chemistry for true compatibility. I already watched someone do that."
"Well, I guess your stress haze is actually doing you a favor, then," Maren points out softly. "Not being able to fully smell them must make it a lot easier to keep your head clear."
"Totally," I concede. I guess the muted scents help a lot in keeping me from losing my mind in that apartment. "But my point still stands."
Nobody says anything for a few beats. The jacuzzi hums. The air smells like pine sap, chlorine, and the mineral scent of the lake.
"That's fair," Maren says finally.
But Harper tilts her head, studying me. "I don't think we're saying the scent match is the whole answer, though, Beth. What I'm saying is, you actually like them. Outside of the biology."
"Of course I like them. They're good people."
"Beth," she says.
"What?"
"You like them."
I reach out, pluck the prosecco bottle from the edge where Maren left it, and take a long, deliberate sip. "I am pleading the fifth."
"Then if you won't reply directly, maybe you can just give some... details?" Harper pushes. "Like, how does it actually feel living with them these days?"
"There are no details. There's—" I set the bottle back on the ledge. "It doesn't matter how I feel about them. I can't start something with three people when I don't even know if I'm staying in the same town as them. That's unfair to everyone involved."
"Counterpoint," Maren says, holding up one dripping finger. "What if you're using the uncertainty as a convenient excuse not to try?"
I narrow my eyes at her. "I'm taking that as an accusation."
"Then it's a deeply loving accusation," Maren replies without missing a beat.
Harper tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "I'm not trying to pressure you, Beth, but I've been thinking about what you said on the porch earlier. About how the shop feels like an exhibit of the life you thought you'd have."
I stiffen slightly, bracing myself.
"So I have to wonder," Harper continues gently.
"When you picture yourself selling the shop and leaving Lakeview.
.. is it because the dream you originally wanted is actually gone?
Or is it because you could still have exactly what you want with these three alphas, and you're just terrified of having the rug pulled out from under you a second time? "
I stare at her. The deck light catches the water droplets resting on her collarbone.
"When did you get this insightful?" I mutter.
"I've always been this insightful. Maybe you only notice when you're not too busy deflecting." She holds my gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Which you kind of just did."
I close my mouth.
The water bubbles around us. Pine-scented air, warm steam, the cold dark pressing in just beyond the ring of the deck lights. I let my head fall back against the rim of the jacuzzi and look straight up. Stars are starting to puncture through the dark purplish sky.
"I don't know what—"
A howl—low, stretched long, and rolling across the tree line from somewhere in the dark beyond the cabin—cuts through the night, and all three of us go completely rigid.
"Was that a wolf?" Maren sits up straight. "That was a wolf."
"There are no wolves around here," I say, though my voice lacks any real conviction.
"Obviously there are wolves around here," Maren hisses.
We hold our breath and listen. Nothing. Just the jets, the drip of overflow, and the forest folding back into its nighttime quiet.
"Maybe it was someone's dog," I suggest weakly.
"That was not a dog," Harper says.
"What, you're a dog expert now?"
Awoooooo.
Another howl. Longer. Louder. And definitely not distant. It rolls out from somewhere in the trees behind the cabin, close enough that I can feel the bass of it hum against my ribs.
"Okay," Maren says. "That is not a dog."
"Let's get out of here right now," Harper says, already gripping the edge of the tub.
A third howl rips through the air, deeper than the other two and close enough to bounce off the cabin walls and echo back at us.
We scramble out of the jacuzzi simultaneously, a mess of flailing limbs and dripping water. Harper, whose fight-or-flight response apparently includes saving the alcohol, snatches the half-empty prosecco bottle by the neck as she sprints for the door.
We practically tumble inside. Harper slams and locks the french doors.
Maren locks the front door, checks it, and then checks it again just to be sure.
I stand in the center of the living room, trailing a puddle of water across the expensive hardwood, frantically trying to remember if the getaway details said anything about this cabin being located in active predator territory.
"Should we call someone?" Maren asks.
"Who?" Harper demands, clutching the prosecco. "The wolf police?"
"A ranger! The cabin owners! Anyone!"
"Um, girls," I say, my voice dropping to a terrified whisper as I point toward the kitchen. "Did one of you leave this side door open?"
***
I cross the room before I can talk myself out of it, and push the door shut. The latch clicks. I twist the deadbolt. My fingers are pruned from the jacuzzi and they slip on the metal before catching.
I turn back.
The three of us stand there in the dark living room, dripping onto the floor, Harper clutching the Prosecco to her chest.
She raises the bottle to her lips and takes a long, deliberate sip.
"What?" she says when she catches us looking. "If I'm going to be mauled, I'm not doing it sober."
"Nobody's getting—"
"Awoooooo!"
The shout erupts from directly behind my left ear. I whip around on my wet heel, my arm jerking backward in a blind, panicked arc, and my elbow buries itself into something.
"Ow—Jesus—"