Chapter 7
ADAM
I was conflicted.
The longer I was around Fletcher, the more the Omega let down his guard and revealed glimpses of the sweet, funny man beneath the scars, the more drawn to him I became.
I knew it was foolish.
My parents had a plan for me: Marry a wealthy Omega on my twenty-fifth birthday and carry on the Sinclair family legacy.
Fletcher wasn’t just not wealthy—he wasn’t even a wolf.
He was homeless. A feline. And if my parents knew I was having feelings for an Omega not on their “approved” list, they’d flip their damn lids.
Hell, they didn’t even know Fletcher was living with me. It wasn’t like they ever stopped by to visit.
Besides, why would I tell them? It was none of their business.
Still… The more time I spent with Fletcher, the more I wanted to know him. Especially after learning about his past.
Some awful person had beaten him and left lasting scars on his young body, and yet, Fletcher still smiled. He still had hope in his heart. I could see it in his green eyes. Hope for a better future.
One afternoon, when Fletcher came in to shower following lawn work, he walked past me on the way to the bathroom.
When I turned to watch him go, I caught a whiff of his scent, heightened by the sweat on his skin—sweet, with a hint of musk and elderberries.
Damn it. He even smelled good.
My wolf whimpered and pawed at me, but I shook my head. I did not need to get my feelings tangled up in what was essentially a work relationship.
So I busied myself tidying up the kitchen, trying to ignore the way my mind was already spinning with ideas.
When Fletcher came back out, fresh from his shower, I surprised us both by asking, “Hey, do you want to go out and get snow cones? There’s a pop-up stand nearby. I thought we could go.”
His eyes widened. “We?”
I shrugged in an attempt to act casual. “It’s a hot day, and you’ve worked hard,” I said. “I think you deserve a treat. Besides, snow cones remind me of happier times. Come on. It’s close enough we can walk.”
We headed outside, taking off down the sidewalk towards town.
I couldn’t help but notice how Fletcher fidgeted a bit, as if he was suddenly nervous. Nervous around me? Was it because I was an Alpha?
But as we approached the brightly colored snow cone stand, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, excited by all the presents tucked beneath the tree.
I bit my lip, unable to stop myself from smiling.
“Anything you want,” I told him as we walked up to the stand, where a freckle-faced teenager waited to take our order.
After some deliberation, Fletcher finally decided on tutti-frutti. I stuck with the classic favorite—cherry.
We took our snow cones and sat down on a nearby park bench to enjoy the shade while we dug into our cold, slushy treats.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Fletcher’s face brighten as he took his first bite, the plastic spoon clicking against his teeth.
“Mmm,” he hummed, a small, satisfied sound.
I chuckled. “Good, huh? I’ve always loved snow cones. My nanny used to bring me and my siblings to places like this when we were kids. Well, not here exactly, but to a snow cone stand back home.”
I smiled faintly, remembering Nanny Mara and her sweet nature. My father couldn’t stand her—he said she was “too nice”—so she wasn’t around long, but she had been my favorite of all the nannies we ever had. “Those were…better times.”
Fletcher tilted his head. “Nanny? Like a grandmother?”
“No, like a nanny—someone who took care of us when our parents were too busy with their lives to bother.”
I realized too late how flippant that sounded.
His eyes widened. “Oh. So your family kind of sucks too?”
I gave a wry smile. “You could say that. My father is the Alpha of a very elitist wolf pack, one where your rank depends entirely on what family you were born into.”
“Sort of like royalty?” Fletcher asked.
“Yeah. And my father’s the king.” King of the assholes.
“Which makes you the prince,” Fletcher murmured.
When I looked over, his lips were stained a soft pink from the snow cone syrup. Why did he look so damn kissable?
I shook my head, trying to ward off that thought.
“Unfortunately,” I said aloud. “But even kings and queens have their problems. My mother is depressed and dependent on pills and alcohol to get through the day. My father cheats on her with a string of mistresses, but pretends like everything’s fine in public.
She doesn’t dare argue with him, because he rules the family with an iron fist,” I told him, the truth coming out far too easily.
“They don’t love each other. They don’t love their children. But they have money, so that makes it all okay.” I let out a bitter laugh.
There was sympathy in Fletcher’s eyes. To my surprise, he reached out and gently squeezed my fingers.
“You don’t seem anything like them, for what it’s worth,” he said.
I stared at him for a long moment, my chest tight.
“I try my hardest not to be,” I murmured.
“I think you’re doing a good job,” Fletcher said, offering a shy smile.
My heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, Fletcher,” I said quietly. “That means a lot.”
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus. “Enough about the past. Tell me, what sounds good for dinner?”