Chapter 4
Deep breath. Straight spine. Don’t overthink it. You’re fine.
My muscles burn as I battle an amount of weight that should be child’s play for me.
I barely get through five reps before I’m shot, and when I rack the weights, I struggle to hide from the alphas in the room how my limbs tremble like jelly.
Luckily, they’re all too busy checking out their own reflections in the mirror to give a shit about some random beta.
Frustration simmers inside me as I make a premature retreat to the locker room.
Lifting is supposed to be my mental escape.
Things are simple. You pick things up and put them back down.
Progress is measurable. Gains are made through repeated, patient effort.
But lately, working out has been more torture than release.
My headspace is far too unfocused, and when it comes to pushing your body to the limit with heavy weights, that’s unsafe. Yet I keep trying multiple times a week, stubbornly bashing my skull against the wall of my body’s sudden weakness in the hopes that maybe that’s the day I’ll go back to normal.
I’m an idiot. I’m never going back to my normal self, and my body is screaming that at me every time I attempt to pretend otherwise. But fuck, it’d be nice if I could just have this. My body has always been the one thing I’ve felt in control of.
The musky tang of body odor and alpha pheromones wrinkles my nose as I make my way to the locker I’ve stashed my change of clothes in.
A quick pit check lets me know that I’m not smelling so fresh either, despite my pitiful workout.
I consider taking a quick rinse, but loud voices from the bank of showers make me opt for doing that at home.
I’m not in the mood to deal with anyone’s surprise when they see my lack of a knot or getting told I’m pretty big for a beta.
I towel myself off and make quick work of changing into my street clothes, but it isn’t fast enough to avoid the group of dudes I heard in the showers.
The trio of alphas saunter into the room, all grins and teasing quips, with only their towels wrapped around their waists.
I do my best to avoid eye contact as I shove my dirty clothes in my gym bag, and cringe when I hear one of them address me.
“Oh, shit, perfect! Hey, will you help us settle a debate?” The dark-haired, pale alpha asking is tall, with a serious set of abs and decent biceps that are ruined by a truly heinous tattoo sleeve. There’s a small lurch in my stomach as I reflexively think about telling River how ugly they are.
I do my best to smile back, mentally assessing the likelihood that this is some dumb alpha trap where it ends in them mocking me. Not that I give a shit what they think about me. “Uh, depends on the debate, I guess,” I say, shrugging.
“Pshh, there’s no way he’ll agree with you, Spencer. Give it up,” the alpha with a shaved head and medium brown skin that’s been waxed completely smooth says with a laugh.
The third alpha, a shorter White dude with a blonde man bun and a weak chin, nods in support of the bald one.
The first alpha—Spencer—isn’t deterred. “You hear about that old omega?” he asks, directing the question at me.
I already dislike wherever this is going. “Uh, no…”
“Damn, dude, are you living under a rock or something?” The bald alpha looks shocked I don’t instantly get the reference.
“Sorry, I’m not on socials much.” Ugh, why did I apologize? I don’t need their approval. I don’t even want to be part of this conversation.
“Okay, so there’s this omega who was lying about her designation, and she got found out, and—”
“None of that matters for this,” the blond man bun alpha interjects. “The question is if you’d fuck her.”
I suppress my grimace, though I don’t know why I’m surprised these three are objectifying some poor omega.
“I…”
“Of course he wouldn’t!” the bald alpha replies with a chuckle. “No alpha who looks like him would settle for dried-up omega cunt. Even if her face and tits are decent, she’s a freak.”
Alarm bells go off in my head, and while I want to get the hell out of here and away from these losers, I’m stuck to the spot as dread pools in my gut.
“Not to mention she’s a lying bitch. God, omegas these days think they can get away with so much shit. Act like they’re in charge, even though we all know what happens when they go into heat. Begging for knots and taking anything we give them.”
For a moment, I consider my odds of not getting beaten to a pulp if I punched the smug look off that piece of shit’s face. Probably about 50/50. I hate fighting, but it’d be worth it. The only thing holding me back is knowing I can’t go into my new job sporting a black eye and broken nose.
I force myself to stand, pulse racing, but Spencer has procured his phone out of his locker and holds it up toward me.
A deep sound that’s as close to a growl as I can get as a beta tears from my throat when I see the image on the screen.
Long red curls brushed over one shoulder, warm hazel eyes, pale freckled skin, and a soft pink mouth that I dream about feeling against mine again every night.
Fuck.
I have to get out of here. Away from these disgusting alphas before I attack them. I have to go to her and make sure she’s okay.
“Whoa, okay, maybe I was wrong,” Man Bun says, eyes widening.
Spencer pumps his fist and reaches out to clap my shoulder in triumph, taking my reaction as a sign of my interest and not a bone-deep urge to rip all of their throats out for saying such vile things.
I dodge out of the way, storming out of the locker room.
My ears buzz with the high-pitched drone of my panic.
I slam my helmet on and hop on my bike, tearing out of the gym parking lot so fast the quiet morning air fills with the rev of the engine.
Given the early hour, there’s not much traffic yet, but I still swerve around the cars that are on the road so that I get to her place before rush hour hits.
I’m going too fast and probably breaking multiple traffic laws, but I don’t care.
I have to get to her.
I’ve heard about alphas temporarily losing their minds over their need to protect their omega, but I’m living proof that it can happen to betas too, because I’m shaking by the time I pull up to Camille’s building, fear and shame coursing through me.
I shouldn’t have left her alone. I didn’t fight hard enough for her. She needed me.
I’m off my motorcycle and storming up to the building, pressing the button for the intercom in rapid succession. There’s no answer right away, so I keep pressing and holding it down, the sharp angry buzz a mirror of my mind screaming at me to make sure the woman I love is okay.
“H-hello?”
Camille’s hoarse, confused voice comes out of the tinny intercom speaker, and sanity and reason slam back into me, rendering me speechless.
Oh god. What the fuck am I doing here?
Camille made it clear she wanted nothing to do with our pack when she didn’t reply to the dozens of messages we sent.
“Who is it? I’m not expecting any deliveries.”
“Sorry,” I croak. “Wrong apartment.”
I step back from the intercom, turning my back on the building and rubbing a hand across my face with a shaky exhale.
The instinct to go away and respect her wishes wars inside me with the need to help her.
Even hearing her voice has my chest aching with the desire to hold her again.
To hear her say my name as I wrap myself around her and keep her safe from all the bullshit in the world.
With a frustrated groan, I spin on my heels and march back up to the door as a woman I vaguely recognize seeing in the building before approaches the entrance.
I close the distance between us as casually as possible, making it look like I’m speeding up to help hold the door open for her since she has a grocery bag in her arms.
I shoot her a friendly grin, which I hope doesn’t show my frazzled state of mind. She gives me a shy smile and a soft thanks, heading inside and not protesting as I step in after her.
I pretend to check my phone as we ride the elevator together, when really all I’m doing is typing “What the fuck am I doing???” in my notes app.
When I reach Camille’s floor, I wish the woman a nice day and am transported back to a time when I walked down this same hall, grinning ear to ear with eager anticipation of seeing her. Of seeing someone so special to me light up the moment she saw me on the other side of her door.
A profound yearning drags me to her doorstep, and my heart races as I hover there, working up the nerve to knock even as I tell myself I need to leave. Both the worst and best-case scenarios playing in tandem in my mind.
My hesitation ends up deciding for me.
The door I’ve been staring at for god knows how long swings open, and there she is.
There’s a split-second where both of us are frozen in shock, before she lets out a squeak of alarm and the trash bag she was holding falls to the ground.
“Jackson?” Camille’s hand flies over her heart. “Holy shit, I thought you were a murderer.”
“I’m sorry!” I reply, the guilt of scaring her tangling with the rest of my mess of emotions.
When I don’t say anything else, Camille’s startled expression shifts to confusion. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes dart over me, searching for an answer to my presence here. “Are you okay?”
I let out a choked laugh at the question. “Not really.”
The concern etches deeper on her brow, and she steps closer. I suck in a greedy lungful of her spiced latte scent despite the burnt edges of it. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not hurt…” I can’t find the words that will excuse why I’m here, because I know I shouldn’t be. “I was worried about you.”
Her expression shutters, but not before a small whine escapes her lips. That’s all it takes for me to close the distance between us, and wrap my arms around her, pressing her tight to my chest.
She doesn’t resist. No, she buries her face against my shoulder, another, louder whine tearing from her as she clutches me back, trembling.
“I’m here,” I murmur, my heart both soaring that I’m holding my omega again and breaking at how much distress she’s in. Camille shudders as her tears soak into my shirt. “You’re safe now, Cami.” I say it both for her and my own assurance.
But it’s the wrong thing to say, because she stiffens and pulls away, a hand swiping at her tears as her jaw sets. “You shouldn’t be here, Jackson. I don’t need you to protect me.”
The words are a knife through my heart, and what makes them all the harder to hear is knowing they’re a lie. I can see months of pain and fatigue etched into her dulled skin and hollow eyes.
“I know you don’t,” I say softly. “I just want to help. I found out about that terrible article, and I came here right away.”
Once again, I’ve said the wrong thing because anger flares behind her eyes. “I don’t want your pity, Jackson. You don’t owe me anything. You should go.” Camille grabs the edge of the door, and I watch any hope of being with her again vanish in front of my eyes.
“Please, Cami,” I croak, refusing to step out of the way even as she glares. “I miss you so fucking much. Everything feels wrong without you. We need you.”
“We? Last time I checked, River wanted me out of your lives so badly that he got me fired.” Angry tears spill down her cheeks. “I tried, Jackson, but he made certain I’ll never be a part of your pack.”
The vitriol dripping in her voice shocks me, so it takes me a moment to focus on her words. “What do you mean? I thought you left because he bonded you without your knowing what it meant. He told us you got fired because of that.”
Camille scoffs, shaking her head. “And you believed him? If that were the issue, we could’ve figured it out.
But he turned me in. Must’ve realized the moment he got a link into my head that he’d made a mistake and wanted to get rid of me as fast as possible.
Or maybe it was some fucked up trick from the start.
” Camille’s lip quivers as she tries to hold back more tears.
“I-I don’t know why, and I don’t care. He wanted me gone, so I am. ”
Questions spiral in my mind in a flurry. Did he lie to us? Is that why he was so upset? River would never be that cruel, would he? He wanted the bond. He wanted her. Or was that him hiding his feelings from us again?
“You should g-go home and talk to him about it.” Her voice wavers, and her eyes drop to the floor. “You should go.”
There’s another stabbing pain in my heart at the mention of talking to River. I don’t know why I assumed she knew. How could she know when we haven’t spoken in months? She closed herself off as well as he did.
“He left.” The lump in my throat almost prevents me from saying the words aloud.
Camille’s mouth falls open. “W-what?”
“River moved out. He’s gone.”