Chapter 3 #2
I pause at the front porch, staring out onto the dirt road. There’s virtually nothing but a steady stream of snow pouring from the sky as far as I can see. The snowfall almost looks like a solid veil of white. It’s gusty, too. Crisp, chilly wind lashes against my cheeks.
Why did she have to choose to die in winter, of all seasons? Only she could keep disrupting my life, even in death.
A wave of terror rushes through me when I realize I can barely see a few feet ahead, but…I can’t stay here. No. No way.
I can make it down the mountain. It’s just some snow. I’ll manage.
So I stubbornly push my way to the car, wading through knee-deep drifts. When I get there, I throw the box in the trunk and hop into the driver’s seat, inadvertently dragging a ton of snow in. For a moment, I worry the engine won’t start, but it does.
I wipe the condensation off the windows, my hands quickly turning cold and stiff again, and my jaw aches as I try to stop my teeth from chattering.
The windshield is coated with a sheet of ice.
I turn on the heat and wait. The wipers themselves don’t do much in terms of getting the rear window clear, either, and as soon as the snow and ice are mostly off, more comes down.
The panic keeps rising in my increasingly tight chest, only exacerbated by the dusty air blowing through the dashboard vents. So even though I should probably wait a little longer, I conclude that the visibility is good enough and start slowly—very slowly—reversing.
The wheels struggle and spin in place. My brain screams at me that this is a bad idea. Unfortunately, my pounding heart takes precedence.
It feels like I will combust if I don’t get away from the house, so I have no choice.
No matter how irresponsible this might be, I drive down the hill at a snail’s pace, the windshield wipers barely managing to remove the falling snow before more lands, threatening to completely block my visibility.
I despise this cursed mountain.
By some miracle, I make it to the general store down the way.
I want to keep going instead of stopping here, but my fingers are freezing, I am freezing, and I’m starving, too.
What’s worse, my heart won’t stop palpitating.
The anxiety is getting to me, and it’s all too much.
I need to get something sweet to calm myself down before I get sick and lightheaded like I always do when I’m like this.
With a grunt, I step out of the car, praying there’s a coffee maker in there somewhere that I didn't notice before. The store is open, thank goodness, so I rush in.
My eyes instinctively scan the room for that hulking man who was in here earlier.
I nearly stumbled over my own feet when I walked in and saw him.
It was just the sheer size of him. I didn’t expect it.
I expected…I don’t know who. Some rugged, dirty, old man with a rounded back and a beer gut, I guess. Not…that.
He’s still here, sitting in a flimsy chair behind the counter where the register is, his head turned to me and the light ginger brows raised with interest.
Even from the side, he’s almost as wide as I am from the front.
He must be at least six feet seven, maybe more?
But more than his height, it’s his bulkiness.
He reminds me of the guys I saw at the gym when I tried getting fit a year or so ago, before Felix and I gave up.
Only his muscles aren’t as perfectly defined.
He’s muscular, for sure, but clearly not for aesthetics or to show off.
There’s some fat on him too, and that only makes him look stronger.
More intimidating. He could probably break me in half if he wanted to.
All of that combined with that scent…
I draw it in again—almonds: that undeniable, sweet, alluring undertone—to confirm to myself that he really is an omega.
Hard to believe, but he is.
I blink, realizing I’ve been standing by the door, staring at him like a freak, for far too long.
He runs his hand through his fiery, loose curls and…stares right back at me. I’d call it rude if I hadn’t just done the same thing.
I break eye contact and go hide from him in the store’s dim corner, where I found the sweets on the bottom shelf last time. I don’t want to know how atrocious my face must look right now. My eyes are definitely bloodshot from all the crying, not to mention I didn’t even brush my damn hair.
I grab a pack of candy. It looks like the same kind I’d buy back when I still lived here. I thought they didn’t make them anymore. Glancing around the small room that smells like wood and marzipan-sweet almonds, I search for a hot drink machine next.
But there is none. Of course.
This isn’t that sort of store. I’m in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. It’s a miracle there’s even one power line that runs all the way up here.
I grab a bottle of water. That and the sweets are going to have to be enough to help with the shakes and the nerves. The car has heating, and I can stop at a gas station outside Ridgelake to get some proper food.
“Hey,” he says as soon as I step in front of him. His voice is smooth and deep. It is manly, but not as gruff as I would’ve expected.
I put the candy and a small plastic bottle on the counter. Finally, I do it—look at him—even though I wish I hadn’t.
His dark brown eyes study me, somehow both assessing and non-judgmental.
They remind me of the eyes of that curious little dog living in my building.
I don’t know why. Freckles cover his face, and not just around his nose and cheeks.
They’re everywhere—on his broad neck, across his ears…
I hadn’t noticed those before. A large one sits right on the left side of his wide jaw, barely visible behind his thick beard.
I’ve never seen an omega like this. Not that there’s a certain way for them to be, or for anyone, but I’ve never…
Ugh, focus, Wren!
I scrunch up my nose, trying not to draw in more of his scent, and dip my head, acting as if I’m just looking for money and not avoiding eye contact like a coward after getting too lost in my head again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern pulsing through his words.
“Mhm,” I manage to make an agreeable sound while I nod. I can’t even fucking speak. Shit.
This is too awkward. This is…too much. With everything else going on, my brain won’t let me. It won’t come out. I’m a goddamn mess, and I never should’ve stopped here. I can’t be around other people right now.
I put the exact amount to pay on the counter in front of him.
“Sorry about your ma.”
Don’t be.
I respond with a nod, shifting nervously on my feet.
“You goin’ back down the mountain?” He keeps talking, the things I’m trying to buy held hostage between us because he doesn’t reach for the payment.
I feel so stupid. Every time this happens, I know everyone looks at me like I’m a weirdo. I should be used to it by now, but it still raises my anxiety even more.
‘What do you mean you can’t talk? Just take a breath and spit it out.’
I nod again.
Please, take the money and let me go.
He does. His massive hand with thick, calloused fingers sweeps the coins off the wood and slides them towards himself as the register dings open.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he says. I look up at him, brows drawn together in a frown.
He has a serious expression on his face.
“Haven’t you been outside? There’s a blizzard.
It’s pretty much on top of us, and it’s gonna last for days.
It ain’t safe to drive anywhere right now.
You probably shouldn’t have even come this far from the house. ”
Unfortunately for him, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions.
I grunt in response and grab my purchases.
“You should stay in ‘til it passes!” he shouts after me, voice softening with worry. Genuine, selfless worry he shouldn’t waste on me. Clenching my teeth, I pause on my way to the door and glance at him over my shoulder.
I can’t do that. I can’t stay in that fucking house for a moment longer.
“I’ll be fine,” I want to say, but the words won’t come. So I leave, even though I hear him draw breath and notice him straighten his back in my peripheral vision.
On the walk to my car, I have to acknowledge that he’s more right than I’d like to admit—there is what feels like ten times more snow out here than there was two minutes ago. And the cold. Damn, it’s so fucking cold.
I push through it anyway, like I push through the horrible feelings weighing me down, and I don’t stop until I’m back inside the car. I start the engine, my hands trembling.
When the wipers clear the fallen snow off the windshield, I notice the hulking omega walking out of the store, heading right in my direction.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
He might mean well, but no one’s making me stay in there. I’d rather freeze to death in my fucking car ten times over or get swallowed up by an avalanche.
I shift gears, even as he wades his way toward me, wearing no coat, only that black t-shirt that hugs his massive body in all the best ways. He waves his arms and shakes his head with distress in his eyes, but I accelerate anyway.
The car moves; it does, and for a moment, I feel childishly spiteful. Who the hell is he to tell me I can’t do something? He has no right.
But then the wheels slide, and the entire car starts shifting. Slipping.
Before I know it, I’m drifting off to the side.
My foot’s on the brake, pressed all the way to the floor, and it isn’t doing shit.
Clasping at the wheel for dear life, I do what I can to stop the car, only there’s nothing I can do.
Somewhere in the distance, over the panicked gallops of my heart, I hear him shouting.
I’m gliding toward the steep hill.