Chapter 10
TEN
willa
It takes all of three miles before I’m pulling over and texting Josie and Baby. Our group text is named “The No Cowboys Club”—still makes me chuckle, considering we live in probably the one place where there’s nothing but cowboys.
Willa: AHHH!
Josie: Wills… What happened??
Josie:
Willa: I fucked up
Baby: I’m on shift… come visit me
Josie: Are you okay?
Willa: Josie, Salt Lick in 20?
Josie:
Josie: Definitely
Baby: Is this a beer or shots kind of fucked up?
Baby: Or a shovel kind of fucked up?
I laugh despite myself. Baby has a dark sense of humor that I simply adore.
Willa: Shots. Definitely shots… no shovel.
Willa: Yet.
Josie: If shovels are needed, probably stop texting
Josie: Seriously, are you okay?
Willa: See you soon
I don’t answer Josie’s question. Can’t explain over text that I just made out with Beau McCrea in the arena, or that Jake showed up and I wanted him too, that I’ve apparently lost my damn mind and every ounce of professionalism I’ve spent years building.
Or all the work I’ve done to keep my Omega squished down real far. But at the thought of them, I feel that treacherous whine I’ve been holding in since I met them threaten to bubble out.
The drive to Baby’s bar passes in a blur. Everything in Muddy Creek is within ten minutes, and I could navigate this town with my eyes closed. By the time I pull into the lot behind The Salt Lick, my heart rate has almost returned to normal. Almost.
The bar sits at the edge of town like a beautiful disaster—the kind of place your mother warns you about, but you go anyway. The exterior is all weathered wood clapboard with a distinct Wild West vibe, but the massive neon sign out front screams biker bar.
The parking lot is exactly what you’d expect: a row of motorcycles lined up next to beat-up old trucks that have seen better decades.
It’s trashy and loud and completely, unapologetically Baby.
When I open the doors, I’m assaulted by a wall of sound and humid air—a distinct contrast to the icy bite of the November evening outside.
The mechanical bull in the corner is mercifully still, though in classic Baby contradiction, the bar is covered in Christmas decorations. Garlands, lights, at least three fake trees, and mistletoe in nearly every doorway.
For a tattooed hard-ass, she sure has a whimsical side.
I can hear someone racking balls at one of the six pool tables that line the far wall.
The stage is dark tonight, but the jukebox is pumping out something with too much bass.
The massive bar wraps around the center of the room like a horseshoe, and I can see at least three bartenders behind it, all moving with the efficient choreography of people who’ve worked together for years.
A wall of booze stretches up to the ceiling in the center of the bar, with little Santa hats on some of the bottles.
Baby waves me toward the bar instead of our usual corner booth. “Come on, sit. I’m not missing this story.”
She’s wearing her usual uniform—tight jeans with a tank top that shows off her tattooed arms and lithe athletic form. She’s short and petite, but her gentle, subtle blueberry pie scent is unmistakable. I love that incongruity about her. She’s this perfect mix of hard shell and soft inside.
I slide onto a barstool, and Baby’s already pulling down the good whiskey—the stuff she keeps on the top shelf, not the well liquor she serves to tourists. She pours a generous amount into a rocks glass and slides it across to me.
“Sit,” Baby commands. “Josie’s five minutes out. Start talking.”
I take a long swallow of whiskey that burns all the way down and hold back a stuttering cough.
“I—” I stare at her expectant face with my mouth open, then drop my head to my forearms with a groan. The pleasant warming of the whiskey takes root in my middle. “I did something… inappropriate,” I mumble into my folded arms.
Even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her lean down to my level. “What now?”
I raise my eyes to meet her stark green ones, and I feel tears start to well.
“Oh, sweets, what happened?” Her concern nearly ruins all of my composure.
“I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I don’t know who started it, but it happened, and Jake walked in, and I realized they’re a pack with Charlie, and—” I break off, taking another long swallow of whiskey. “I ran. I literally ran away like some scared—”
Baby’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her hairline.
“You did what now?” She holds up a hand, her expression shifting from amused to intensely focused.
“Back up. You kissed who? And you realized what exactly? And where—or rather when—was the kissing? I thought you were at the arena today?”
I take another long drink and mumble around the glass. “Beau… McCrea.”
“Like the Saint? That McCrea?” Her voice rises about ten octaves, loud enough that at least three regulars look our way with interest.
“Shhhh! And yes, that McCrea. Who else?”
“And you said Jake? Like Jake Dillon?” Baby lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Willa? Congratulations on mixing saliva with one of the hottest Alphas in existence? And one of the most desired and unbonded packs in three counties wants you? Because that’s what this sounds like.”
“That’s not—I don’t—” I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “This is a disaster. I work for APbrA. I have a contract. I can’t be involved with them.”
“Why not?”
I lift my head to stare at her. “Why not? Baby, are you serious right now? Professional boundaries. Conflict of interest. The fact that I’m supposed to be proving I can do this job without anyone questioning my credentials or my—”
“Your what? Your Omega status?” Baby leans back, her expression cooling slightly. “Willa, granted I haven’t known you for long, but dude, since when have you given two fucks about what anyone thinks? Maybe it’s time you own that shit. It seems like maybe you should stop running from what you are.”
Her small, delicate finger boops my nose.
“I’m not running from—” I know I sound defensive.
“You are,” Baby interrupts gently. “And I get it. I do. But hiding behind professionalism and suppressants and this fortress you’ve built around yourself isn’t actually protecting you. It’s just making you miserable. Just saying.”
I stare, trying to find the energy to be mad at her. Sometimes her frankness is irritating in a loving way. But the truth of her words hits harder than the whiskey.
Before I can respond, the door opens, and Josie rushes in, her blonde hair slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed.
“I’m here! I’m here!” She slides onto the stool next to me, immediately wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay? Do I need to hurt someone?”
The image of sweet, gentle Josie trying to hurt anyone is so ridiculous that I almost laugh. “I’m fine. I just… had a moment.”
“A moment?” Josie looks at Baby for clarification.
“She kissed Beau McCrea,” Baby supplies helpfully. “And discovered who Pack McCrea is, and that her Omega is a greedy slut for them.”
Josie’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh.” Then, unexpectedly, she grins. “That’s amazing!”
“It’s not amazing,” I protest. “It’s complicated and messy and—”
“And exactly what you need,” Josie finishes, so matter-of-factly I’m momentarily lost for words. She takes the drink Baby offers her with a cat-that-got-the-cream kind of smile. “Phew, I thought there was an actual problem.”
“Did you not hear what she said? I basically lost my mind, dry-humped Beau McCrea in public at work, and only stopped because he had enough sense not to strip me down right there. Then Jake Dillon showed up. And to top it all off, I had the universe-altering realization that Charlie, Jake, and Beau are a fucking pack!” My voice rises to a volume that almost the whole bar can hear. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
I stare back at my drink. In truth, I’m really just mad at myself. Why didn’t I know? Honestly, if I’d kept in touch with Caleb or Charlie—even Josie, for that matter—I’d have known. But I didn’t. I left and didn’t fucking look back.
“Willa, you’ve been wound so tight since you got back. Maybe this is a good thing,” Josie says tentatively, looking at me sideways.
Baby nods, stepping away for a moment to refill someone’s drink before returning to our end of the bar. She leans her elbows on the polished wood, giving us her full attention even as she tracks the room with her peripheral vision.
“How is this a good thing? I’m an APbrA employee. I’m supposed to be professional, and even if they wanted me and we, you know—” I break off, my face heating.
“Know what?” Josie asks. I don’t even know. I can hardly make sense of the storm of emotions in me at this moment.
Baby leans forward across the bar, eyes gleaming. “Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”
“Fuck, I mean, even if I had the balls to be like, ‘Hey, maybe we should, you know, see if this goes anywhere,’ I can’t. My contract won’t let me,” I admit quietly.
The silence that follows is deafening. Then Josie lets out a delighted squeal that makes me jump.
“Willa! You want them!”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, glancing around. A couple of guys at the pool tables look over, and Baby waves them off with a practiced smile before turning back to us.
“This is huge,” Josie continues, her voice dropping to an excited whisper. “Do you know how rare it is to find a compatible pack that fits? Especially one that by some crazy universe thing just happens to include three Alphas you already have some connection to? Like, for real, what are the odds?”