Chapter 22
twenty-two
JULIA
The grass was cold and wet against my ankles as I crossed the dark yard, though I barely felt it. I didn’t feel much of anything below my neck. Everything above it was a five-alarm fire.
The blanket was clutched against my chest, my fingers twisted so tight in the soft fabric that my knuckles ached.
I didn’t remember grabbing it. Hell, I didn’t remember walking out of the sunroom or crossing the garden or passing the fence line either.
My body had simply moved, carrying me toward the only place on this ranch that felt like it was solely mine.
The grove was different at night. The cottonwoods rose black against the night sky, the branches a dark lattice overhead.
The birds had long since gone to sleep, and the wind was nothing but a soft breeze.
The creak of old wood and the distant rush of the creek were the only sounds other than my sniffling.
Dammit. I hated crying.
The old silvery-wood of the bench beckoned me, almost as if it had been waiting for my return.
I went straight to it and curled up on the smooth boards.
It was surprising what a little sanding had done for the weathered wood.
It was smooth and nice to sit on now that I’d put in a little elbow grease.
Once I stained it, it would look practically as good as new.
Pulling my knees up, I wrapped the blanket around myself until it was tight, losing myself in the softness that almost felt like a hug. God, I needed that. A hug. Especially because my heart was a jumble of misery, fury, and heartbreak.
For a long time, I didn’t speak. I just sat there, throat working as I swallowed down wave after wave of emotion, willing myself to hold it together save for the few tears that continued to slip free and track down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sob or yell or rage.
You’re no better than Wyatt’s mother.
The words replayed on a loop, Stetson’s voice stripped of warmth. Stripped of everything except the cold certainty that I was guilty when in reality, I’d done nothing wrong.
“You’re no better than Wyatt’s mother,” I repeated to the dark grove, and hearing it out loud in my own voice made it worse somehow. More real. “That’s what he said to me. To my face. While I was standing there trying to tell him I was fighting for us. For the pack. For our… our family.”
My fingers tightened in the blanket as the breeze caressed my tear-stained cheeks.
“Doesn’t he know I’d never do that to him?
I’ve never left anyone. People leave me.
That’s how it works in my life. First my mother, now Addy…
” I sniffed again. “Even my dads and my brothers when I designated and was taken to the damn OMA campus. It wasn’t their fault, but it felt like a betrayal anyway to see them continue living their lives without me, almost like I’d never existed.
And yeah, trust me, I know that’s not fair.
There was nothing anyone could do about my designation or the shitty rules society places on Omegas, but it felt like getting left behind all over again, regardless.
My life has been nothing but loss. Doesn’t he understand I would never do that to someone else?
Especially so blindly. God, if I had a problem…
if I wanted to leave… I’d have the human decency to talk to them about it first.” I shook my head, the tears flowing freely without my permission.
“How can he think I’d leave them? Doesn’t he feel the same insane pull I feel toward them?
These men are my scent matches, for Christ’s sake.
Walking away from that—from them—is… is…
” God, I couldn’t bring myself to say it, but it was unfathomable.
Didn’t he understand that?
I wasn’t a flight risk. If anything, I was the one standing in the middle of their pack asking them to love and accept me.
The Omega who never wanted to be one. The Omega who wanted her own life.
Her own business. The Omega who wanted to be more than someone who warmed their sheets and took their knots.
I wiped my cheek roughly with the heel of my palm.
So why was I the flight risk? Didn’t he stop for one goddamn second to think that maybe I was worried that they wouldn’t want me?
The silence that followed swallowed my words whole. It wasn’t oppressive or suffocating like the kind that pressed in on you. It was more like the grove was listening, taking my grief and holding it so I didn’t have to carry all of it alone.
I pulled the blanket tighter and pressed my forehead against my drawn-up knees. My breathing was uneven, hitching on every exhale, but the sobs I’d been fighting had finally subsided. I was wrung out. Empty after laying it all out for the stars overhead.
The warm breeze shifted subtly, caressing my cheeks, drying the wetness left behind.
It curled over the back of my neck like fingers grazing over skin, making me shiver and sigh.
With my eyes closed, it almost felt like someone had sat down beside me and pressed their shoulder against mine, sharing their body heat, their fingers gently playing with the hair at my nape.
I lifted my head, knowing it was just a trick of the wind and the heat of the blanket and my Omega’s need for comfort.
The bench was empty except for me, but the warmth didn’t leave. If anything, the breeze warmed, pressing closer, wrapping around my blanket-covered shoulders with a gentle, steady pressure that made no logical sense given the usual spring chill.
The cottonwood leaves rustled overhead like a whisper. Almost like breathing.
This spot felt alive, almost reverent. My own little haven.
I didn’t know how long I sat there. Long enough for my breathing to slow and the tightness in my chest to unwind into a dull, manageable ache. Long enough for the stars to show themselves, bright in a way you only got out here where there was nothing between you and the sky.
“I don’t know why I always come here when everything falls apart,” I whispered, pulling the blanket up under my chin and tipping my face toward those stars. “But thank you for listening.”
The breeze stirred again, and the cottonwood leaves shushed overhead.
I almost laughed. Almost.
“You want to know the stupid part? I’m not even angry anymore.
I was. God, I was furious. But sitting here, I just feel...
sad. Because I know why he said it. I know exactly where that came from.
He’s worried and scared, though he’ll never admit it.
I think he’s been that way since the day she walked out.
Since the day I hopped out of that truck, I think he’s been holding his breath, waiting for it to happen again. ”
I traced a finger along the smooth edge of the bench’s armrest.
“That doesn’t make it okay. He doesn’t get a free pass for gutting me just because he’s scared. But I understand it. And I hate that I understand it, because it would be so much easier to just be angry.”
The warmth at my shoulder was steady and patient. Like the wind was listening had nowhere else to be.
“I’m going to forgive him,” I told the grove quietly. “Not tonight. Tonight he can sit with what he did. But I’ll forgive him, because that man is worth fighting for even when he’s fighting against himself. But he needs to understand… I’m not her. And it’s unfair to treat me like I am.”
Eventually, the warmth at my shoulder faded. Not abruptly, it ebbed the way a tide pulls back. Like the universe was giving me the nudge I needed to go back to the house, knowing I’d be okay now.
I sat for another minute, oddly reluctant to leave, then folded the blanket over my arm, brushed the dried tears from my face, and stood.
The walk back to the house was quiet. I followed the path through the dark grass by memory, and the amber glow of the kitchen windows guided me the rest of the way.
My eyes were swollen, my nose was raw, and I was sure I looked like absolute hell, but my spine was straight and my breathing was steady.
The back door opened without a sound as I slipped inside. The house was quiet. The dishes were done, the lights dimmed, and the kids long since in bed. I toed off my shoes and moved through the kitchen toward the stairs, being careful to tread lightly so I wouldn’t wake anyone up.
Stetson sat on the bottom step of the staircase, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed.
His head snapped up at the sound of me, and I couldn’t help notice that he looked just like I felt.
His eyes were red-rimmed and raw, his jaw loose from the tension that usually possessed it, and his short hair looked as though he’d run his hands through it on repeat.
Instantly, he was on his feet. “Julia—”
“Not tonight, Stetson.”
Those three little words were a closed door made of syllables instead of wood. I couldn’t do this now. It still hurt too much and I’d given all my words to the clearing, knowing I wasn’t ready to say them to him yet.
He stopped mid-step, his throat working visibly. His green eyes were glassy and desperate, searching my face for a crack he could wedge himself into, a single opening that would let him start fixing what he’d broken.
I dipped my head before I caved.
I stepped around him and took the stairs up to the third floor, my hand trailing lightly along the banister while he followed behind.
“I’ll wait until tomorrow, but I need you to know that I’m… I’m sorry,” he stammered.
I nodded without looking back. “ I know.”
I walked into the Omega suite and closed the door. The lock clicked softly, and I leaned against the door, pressing my palms flat against the cool wood.
On the other side, I heard him exhale. A ragged, broken sound that told me everything I needed to know about how the last hour had been for him.
Good.
Tomorrow, I’d let him explain. Tomorrow, I’d listen. Tomorrow, I might even forgive him.
But tonight was mine.