Chapter 3 #2
He made me feel like I wasn’t Alpha enough, and the guilt of it left me vulnerable, willing to do anything to keep him happy.
True bonds are so rare that most Alphas and Omegas never find them. But I had been young and foolish, and Auren was older and knew more about relationships, so I gave in to all of his demands.
Nathaniel’s hand lands on my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts. He gives me a hard squeeze, as if he understands the negative spiral I was headed toward. When I give him a nod of thanks, his hand falls away.
Simple’s all I’ve got now. Just myself and the job, and I guard that peace.
Outside, we walk the edge of the new patio, stepping over conduit coils and piles of gravel, and pause where a handful of crew are squaring up the forms. One of them, a Beta named Tuck, stiffens when I crouch to eye the line of his stakes.
If there’s anything I love more than a level string line, it’s the respect that comes from a job done right, and the healthy fear that comes from knowing I’ll catch every mistake if it isn’t.
I give Tuck a chin tip of approval, and he relaxes.
It’s a bit early to be framing, but as soon as the windows go in and the exterior is complete, the Misty Pines chef, Holden, wants to use the space for a food tent, where he can offer pastries and do wine tasting while the Homestead’s kitchen is being finished.
“How’s your sister doing?” I ask as we continue toward the back of the cabin.
“Sadie’s doing well. Still sober.” Blake pulls the band from his hair and redoes the bun, taming his wild brown waves. “Therapy’s sticking.”
“Good.” The word therapy reminds me I have an appointment coming up with my own shrink. “She deserves a shot.”
I used to think I could muscle my way through anything, until what happened with Auren convinced me otherwise. Sometimes the only way through is to say things out loud, even if it means paying someone to sit and listen.
“She wants to come meet Quinn’s new tutor-nanny.” Blake frowns. “Or should I say manny? That’s what they call male nannies in Holden’s romance books, but is it a real thing?”
“Maybe we should ask what he’d prefer to be called.” Nathaniel bends to pull a weed. “Leif came in with you this morning, Em. Seems like a smart, organized guy who’s gentle with kids.”
My stomach tenses. “Oh, yeah? There were a few new faces. What does he look like?”
“Tall. Over six feet, big build. Wearing gray slacks and a polo.” Nathaniel fidgets with the thick, silver ring on his finger, spinning it. “Brown hair—”
“Mauve,” Blake corrects. “He’s got some violet undertones when the sun hits it.”
My mouth goes dry. So the Omega I saved earlier isn’t a visitor.
He’s here for the long haul. Little Quinn has a lot to catch up on with school after missing several months, and her transcripts were spotty before that.
Blake’s hoping to bring her up to speed before the start of the new school year so she’s not behind when she starts at Pinecrest Academy.
I stall in the shadow of the garden wall, replaying the way those sleazy Alphas had been harassing the tall Omega earlier, the anxious grip on his satchel, and the tremor in his hands when I returned his hat.
He’d looked resigned before I stepped in, then shocked when I treated him with basic decency.
“Can’t say I’m not a bit nervous, having an unbonded Omega around.” Nathaniel purses his lips. “But he’s a former schoolteacher with lots of experience and a willingness to relocate. And his references were solid.”
I flick open the app on my tablet to shoot off a direct message to my foreman.
Emily
Cabin One is OFF LIMITS to all Alphas. Tell the crew.
The reply pings back before my finger leaves the screen.
Clint
Got it, Boss.
Nathaniel lifts a brow in question, and I lift mine right back. He’s not the only one who can worry about an unattached Omega.
“Leif’s a good fit for Quinn,” Blake says, oblivious to our silent conversation. “She needs gentle guidance right now.”
A pang goes through me. Quinn Patel wasn’t dealt the best hand in the world, but her Uncle Blake is fixing that.
As we continue our walk, Blake brushes close to his bondmate with an elbow nudge here and there or a hand steadying the edge of Nathaniel’s blueprints when the wind catches them.
Nathaniel’s quieter, more restrained, but he leans into the contact each time, a fractional shift that says he welcomes it.
Their bond has a practiced rhythm, every small gesture layered with years of familiarity, nothing wasted, nothing for show.
The easy intimacy tugs at my heart. Not with envy, but with the ghost of what I once mistook for love. Auren was all about gestures, but underneath it was a hunger that never filled, no matter how much of myself I poured in.
Upstairs, we check the north-wing drywall, where it’s started to go up, and I flag a spot by the stairwell where the mud is already cracking.
“Slow the cure time or do a better job taping seams,” I tell the team lead.
We’re almost finished when the radio crackles at my hip, the squawk of the site walkie breaking through the routine. “Boss, there’s a situation at the docks.”
I pull it from my belt to respond. “What’s up?”
Static, then: “Delivery’s here, but the guy’s pissed. Says no one’s ready at the dock.”
Nathaniel grimaces. “That’ll be Holden’s fancy new range. Heavy thing. If a forklift isn’t waiting, the barge crew throws a fit.”
“I’ll handle it.” I’m already headed for the stairs.
I take them two at a time, the noise of the site chasing me down into the cooler shadows of the first floor. The scent of cut pine fades, replaced by the tang of machine oil as I cross into the garage. Tools hang in careful rows along the wall, sunlight slanting through the open doors.
The air in the garage is thick with oil and salt as I swing a leg over the three-wheeler.
It’s faster than the golf cart and doesn’t mind a little rough handling.
The engine coughs once, then snarls awake, and I zip out of the enclosed area.
Gravel spits under the tires as I gun it down the path toward the water.
Branches whip past, sunlight strobing between them, and the heat bakes through my shirt.
As the dock comes into view, raised voices echo off the pilings. The barge squats in the water, a blocky pallet load swaddled in shrink-wrap strapped down on its deck. The delivery guy, an Alpha with a square jaw and a broom of a mustache, is red-faced and waving his clipboard at Jared.
Poor kid’s posture says he’d rather melt into the boards, and Kyle’s nowhere in sight.
I kill the engine, boots striking the planks with enough force to draw both men’s attention. Jared turns toward me, guilt written across his face.
“What’s the issue here?” I keep my tone flat, my hands easy at my sides, every inch the site boss.
The delivery guy jabs a thumb at the range. “Five hundred pounds of steel, and no offload rig ready. I don’t get paid to stand around while your crew scrambles. You want it off my barge, you’d better come up with a plan fast.”
He tries to pin the mess on Jared, but I move to stand in front of the younger Alpha, leveling the angry man with a flat stare.
“This is my site. My crew. My rules.” I step in close enough that he has to shift his weight.
“You’ll wait while we rig it, and you’ll do it without yelling at my people. Understood?”
His jaw works, but the fight drains out of him. “Fine.”
I turn to Jared, who stands staring like a deer in the headlights. “I’ll show you where the equipment is and how to handle deliveries. And next time you’re left hanging, you call me, understand?”
“Okay.” Relief loosens Jared’s shoulders, but his attention lingers on me.
A flush rises high on his cheekbones, the kind of embarrassed pink that has nothing to do with the sun.
For a beat too long, he stands there, his focus dipping from my mouth to my face and back again.
A shift in the breeze carries his pheromones straight toward me, young, unguarded, and full of interest.
Behind me, the deliveryman curses and stomps back onto his barge, leaving me all too aware of Jared and the way he scuffs one worn sneaker against the other, as if waiting for a signal.
Ignoring his obvious puppy-crush, I clear my throat and turn toward the shed. “Come on, I’ll walk you through it.”
Eager boot steps thud on the planks behind me. He’s too young, too fresh out of whatever he did before landing here, and I’m not about to repeat my mistakes. I know too well how it feels to be the one with less power, the one whose inexperience gets twisted. I won’t do that to someone else.
Still, something pulls tight behind my ribs, a sharp tug like a muscle cramp, and I rub a palm over my chest before I can stop myself.
Beside me, Jared ducks his head, ears going red as he keeps pace with me.
I shake it off, chalking it up to stress and too much coffee. Nothing more. Whatever the kid’s hoping for, it’s better not to acknowledge it.
Keep things simple, I tell myself.
But nothing stays simple forever.