38. Rafe
Chapter thirty-eight
"Mr. Stargazer," Glinda says from my doorway. "I'm heading out."
"Thanks, Glinda," I reply, not looking up from the file on my desk despite how dry my eyes are feeling.
"It's getting late. You need to go home." Her voice is gentle but no farther away, meaning she's made the decision not to leave.
Sighing, I push the paper aside and look up at her. "I have work to do."
"No, you don't. You have an Omega to avoid." She slumps into the leather chair in front of my desk, crossing one knee over the other. Her olive green, wide-legged pants look comfortable and chic. Maybe I should find out where she got them and get Jordan a pair.
"She's the one avoiding me." My voice sounds petulant even to me. "It's been nearly a week living together, and we still haven't been in the same place long enough for me to scent her again."
"So force the issue." She raises a brow at me. "I didn't take you for a quitter."
"I'm not a quitter. I'm a realist. And realistically, she hasn't forgiven me yet."
Glinda huffs dramatically. "Oh, poor, pathetic little Alpha. Your fruit basket wasn't enough to forgive thirteen years of silence?"
"Why did I tell you about this, anyways?"
"No idea, but it was the smartest decision you could've made." She drops her purse on my desktop and rifles through it, pulling out her phone and typing away. "Has she forgiven the other two?"
Jealousy rears its ugly head as I think about my packmates with Jordan. "Slime has been forgiven, I think, and Cyrus is … she's talking to Cyrus."
Glinda doesn't look up from her phone. "Okay, and what did Slime do to get back in her good graces?"
"Well, he was always there. Even after we broke her heart, he kept tabs on her. And he begged. I don't mean that figuratively, either." I sigh, remembering Slime slinking back into our room and climbing into the bed we're sharing, smelling like sex and mangos.
I was jealous for more reasons than one.
"Okay, and the big one is talking to her?" Glinda holds her phone in her lap now, her attention back on me. "I mean, I saw his speech on Sin Bin."
"Yeah, that made her uncomfortable, according to Icarus."
"The new Alpha?"
"Yeah. He said she had a panic attack because she felt like she was being forced into making a decision she wasn't ready to make. And I think they fought about it a couple of days ago." My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don't grab it. I'm sure it's just Cyrus trying to find out if I'll be home for dinner.
Glinda mutters under her breath, and it sounds an awful lot like "stupid Alphas" before holding up her phone. "Check your phone."
I dig my phone out of my pocket and squint at the email preview on the screen.
RESERVATION CONFIRMATION: 2 PEOPLE FOR 8 PM ENTRY TO FIGHT YOUR FEELINGS
"What's Fight Your Feelings?" I ask as I gently set my phone down.
"It's a rage room. Take her there. She can trash shit, beat up a car with a baseball bat if she wants. You guys are trying to get her to forgive you so hard that she's had to push her anger down. When you ramp up the sweet shit, she probably feels guilty that she doesn't forgive you yet. Let her get the anger out. Then you can grow together." Glinda pushes up from the chair, smoothing the front of her pants. "Now, if this works, I want an extra twenty minutes for my lunch breaks and a bigger Christmas bonus."
She spins on her heel and leaves, braids swishing behind her as she goes. I stare at the phone on my desk, the bright clock telling me that it's only an hour until the reservation.
Shit. Let's see if Glinda's idea works.
Hey Jordy, you busy?
Jordy
Just finished up dinner with Vick, whats up?
I know you've not been too keen on spending time with me
And I don't say that to make you feel bad
Please don't think I'm trying to guilt you
I know you have your reasons
Rafe. Calm down. What's up?
Have you heard of Fight Your Feelings?
Is that a band?
No, it's a rage room. A place where you can destroy things for the hell of it.
I know this whole situation left you feeling out of control and that we've not made things easy on you.
But if you want an outlet, a place to fuck shit up and work through some things, I have a reservation at 8pm.
You don't have to get close to me. You can tell me not to come.
But the offer is there.
Yeah, okay
Sounds good
I'll have Vick drop me off.
I pace in front of the unassuming-looking black door in the warehouse district, eyes on the parking lot. When Vick's sensible car pulls up, and Jordan climbs out, I think my heart stops beating.
She's wearing wide-legged olive pants, a cropped black T-shirt, and combat boots. The front of her wavy red hair is braided back out of her eyes, but the rest is left down.
She's so beautiful it hurts.
I open the door wide and stand behind it, allowing her to keep space from me if she still is not ready to scent me.
No matter how much it hurts me, she deserves that control.
I've already checked us in, so the bored-looking Beta at the counter immediately hands Jordan goggles and a hard hat and buzzes open the door. After I secure my safety equipment, I follow her into the space.
The room is massive, nearly the size of an aircraft hangar, with tall ceilings and unfinished walls. Half of it is what looks like a suburban home with the front ripped off, like a life-sized doll house. The other half looks like a junkyard with snaking paths throughout.
Crashing noises reach my ears from the house, so I veer off to the left. Up close, I can't help but marvel at the ingenuity of this construction. The stairs appear functional, and each room is filled to the brim with things to ruin. The living area has a couch with cushions that have a few rips in them, two half-shattered windows, a TV on a tacky wooden stand, and a ceiling fan that looks to be hanging on by a thread. If I crane my neck back, I can see a few bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs that look half destroyed by the people who came before us.
But I find Jordan in the kitchen.
The peeling Formica countertops are covered in small appliances, and the fridge is dented stainless steel in the corner of the room. Jordan has a knee on the counter and is digging in the cabinets. The pose makes it frustratingly difficult not to stare at her ass.
She finds what she's looking for in a stack of plates and spins around, tossing them around the room like frisbees.
"You're burying your head in the sand, Jordan."
Crash.
She's talking to herself in annoyed bursts, and though it's clear she's furious, it's not an all-consuming rage.
"You're not the only one whose life was upended, Jordan."
Smash.
A baseball bat leans against the refrigerator, and she squeals, excitedly yanking it off the floor. "Living on scraps, my ass!" she shouts, banging the front of the fridge in. "I'm trying my best, and he's going to act like I'm not putting in enough effort?"
Smash. Bang.
My Omega stalks around the kitchen, searching for other things to destroy, swiping her arm over the countertops and sending a coffee maker flying.
"But it's not like I wanted it to happen this way!" My Omega growls, pacing around the room. "All because I couldn't present. And do you know what would've made me present, Rafe?" she asks, whirling around to face me. She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes as she stares me down, hands on her hips. When I don't answer her immediately she glowers. "Well, Rafe? Do you?"
We're still far enough apart that I haven't caught a whiff of her scent, and when I take a step toward her to get a hint of it, she holds the bat out. "Do you know what would've made me present, Alpha?"
Awkwardly, I rub the back of my neck. "Uh, us?"
"Ding ding ding! Just as smart as you always were, I see!" She skips out of the kitchen, and I trail behind her.
I follow her up the stairs and into a pale pink room meant to imitate an Omega's nest. Cushions line the room, half with their guts hanging out, and shredded curtains are draped from the ceiling. The floor is a lumpy mattress, and several lamps line the walls.
Jordan lowers herself to the surface and pulls one of the cut-open pillows into her lap. She slowly pulls the stuffing out chunk by chunk,
"All I ever wanted was to be an Omega," she says unprompted. "I just knew I was an Omega, and your scent match. I can't explain why I felt that way, but I think a part of me could tell from your pheromones even then."
She tosses the empty pillowcase aside and grabs another one, looking for a hole to dig the stuffing out. When she doesn't find one, I hold out my pocket knife. She reaches for it, and our fingers brush.
Mango and lime.
Jordan's scent swirls around me as she freezes, eyes wide, staring at me. It takes a moment, but she shakes her head and opens the knife, cutting into the pillow as she returns to speaking.
"When you three left, I felt like I was lost at sea. Everything was changing around me, and you guys were growing distant. I knew you were doing our weekly phone calls out of obligation, not because you wanted to."
"Of course, we wanted to. It was ju-"
"Don't interrupt me!" Her raised voice echoes through the room, and I can practically taste her irritation. "Please," she adds at the last minute. It's only a little sarcastic.
I nod, lowering myself to the floor and moving marginally closer to her. When she is satisfied that I will stay silent, she continues eviscerating the pillow in her arms.
"Despite how much I wanted it, presenting as an Omega has upset my routine. My best friend is treating me strangely and saying it affects my work, people treat me differently in public, and then there's you three."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"How could you have?" she snorts. "I don't think Vick even fully understands the extent of it."
"I know we haven't made this easy for you."
"Honestly?" She looks around the destroyed space. "This has helped. I feel a little better, letting out some of my anger." Jordan reaches over, grabs my hand, and squeezes it. "It was a good idea."
I pull my knees to my chest, my black slacks dusted in the remnants of rage that float around the room. We sit silently, Jordan picking apart the pillow on her lap and me watching her, holding space.
"It's important to me that you know I didn't do this to force your forgiveness. I don't want you to just forgive me, Jordan. I want to earn it." I clear my throat, angling my hips so we face each other fully. "There is no erasing the pain we caused. No way to go back in time and make you ours from the moment you turn sixteen, regardless of the consequences. All I can do now is hope to be a man who is worthy of you. Because you, Jordan Cross, are magnificent. You are beautiful and strong and clever. Funny, dedicated, and kind. You don't have to forgive me. I am a planet in your orbit now, Jordan. There's no getting rid of me."
"What if I want you to go?"
My heart stops beating. Her words are a vice grip around it. "Please don't ask that of me."
"Do you remember homecoming, ninth grade?" The question gives me whiplash. "We decided not to go together, so I went with Jeremy Travis."
"Oh, I remember." My voice is nearly a growl at the memory.
"And he dragged me outside under the bleachers and put the moves on me, and I thought I wanted to kiss him, but I realized I didn't, and he decided he didn't care that I wasn't into it."
I had watched from the gymnasium as they left together, jealousy a living creature in my gut. I ditched my date, a lovely girl named Lily, and followed Jordan and Jeremy.
"It was raining hard, but we were dry under the bleachers. I wanted to run, but stupidly, I didn't want to ruin my hair and makeup. Or my dress. My mom spent so much fucking money on that dress. So I tried to extricate myself from him and wait out the rain, but he kept coming at me."
The fury from the memory is so visceral that it's like I'm seeing it happening right in front of me. The way he was holding her by her hair, one arm around her waist, trying to fuse his lips to hers. I ran through the rain but didn't get there fast enough.
He ripped the strap on her dress so severely that it revealed her strapless bra.
"Thunder went off, and a bolt of lightning flashed, and I saw you. You looked like a dark God in your all-black outfit, all tall, dark, and handsome. You pulled him off of me and tossed him on his ass." She looks up at me with a snarky smile on her beautiful face. "You had no idea how good-looking you were. I think that moment is when I knew I would always love you."
My memory flashes back to the look on her face that day, how round her eyes were as she stared up at me with something like reverence.
What do I have to do to earn that look again?
"That night, when you pulled me into your arms and whispered that everything was going to be okay, that is what you smell like to me. It's almost hard to describe. Like clean laundry. But not just the detergent. The warmth of a blanket fresh out of the dryer. The little bit of ozone from the static. Floral and gentle, sweet and clean. Safe."
I grab her hand and pull her to my chest, holding her head gently so she doesn't pull away. I bury my face in her hair, loving the sweet and sour scent that fills my nose as she clings to me.
"We were so stupid back then." I adjust to pull her onto my lap. "We thought that keeping our hands to ourselves would make things easier if it turned out we weren't your Alphas. You worried you weren't ours, but we were terrified from the beginning that we wouldn't be yours."
"Kids are stupid," my Omega says as she stretches out on my lap like a cat. "Why couldn't we just talk to each other? Lay it all out there?"
I snort. "Adults aren't much better," I grumble.
"Oh? We seem to be communicating fine."
"Not us." My stomach tightens, and I drop my head backward, wondering if now is the right time. But if not now, when? "Me and Slime."
She wiggles out of my lap and climbs onto her knees, resting her hands on her thighs. "What about Simon?"
"I don't know how he'd feel about me telling you," I say softly, looking everywhere but her. "But I feel like we need complete honesty between us moving forward."
"You're kind of freaking me out, Rafe."
I scrub my face with my hands and let out a frustrated groan. "Fuck, okay. Icarus mentioned that you liked the idea of polyamorous packs, like my parents."
She blushes fiercely, ducking her head. "I admired their relationship a lot."
"Honestly? Me too. And I don't know if I should be bringing this up or not, but you deserve to know. Simon and I hooked up a few times." It's quiet, and I can't bring myself to make eye contact with her.
"Uh," she clears her throat loudly, and I look up, shocked at how red her face is, "that's cool. Fine. Totally cool." Her voice is tight and high-pitched, and I can't figure out where her brain is for the life of me. "Is that still happening?"
"No, I don't think so. We haven't talked about it." I reach out and clasp her hand within both of mine. "Regardless, you're our priority, Jordan."
She smiles softly and laces our fingers together. "He can be your priority, too, Rafe."
The words take a moment to register, but when they do, my heart lightens.
Could I have them both? Is that possible?
I'm getting ahead of myself. There's been no sign he wants me. Besides, I wasn't enough to make him stay back then. Why do I think it'll be different now?
"Woah, Alpha. I'm not sure where your mind went just now, but please buy a return ticket."
I chuckle and pull her close, and our bodies meld together. "I appreciate you being okay with it, but I don't think it will happen with Slime and me again." I dance my fingers across her jaw, marveling at how soft her skin is. Are her lips just as soft?
"If it does, let it," she whispers, her lips a mere hairsbreadth away. "I could think of nothing better than the ones I love finding love in one another."
My words catch in my throat like a buffering internet connection. "Love?" The word barely makes it through my lips as it ghosts across hers.
"I don't think it would've hurt this bad if it wasn't love, Rafe."
Fuck control.
Fuck holding myself back.
I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers, tasting her scent on her breath. She meets me with equal enthusiasm, pushing me backward against the disgusting rage room nest.
Twenty-four years ago, I met Jordan Cross for the first time. And today, with her lips on mine and my hands tracing up her body, it feels like fate is finally satisfied.
There is an inherent rightness in this moment that I will never forget.
We break apart, her lips swollen and her breath coming out in sweet little huffs. "This place is disgusting," she whines. "It has too many smells."
Chuckling, I rise to my feet and yank her up with me, pulling her close to my chest. "Let's get out of here."
She slides her hand into my back pocket as we leave, and I take a full breath for the first time in thirteen years.