Chapter 28
chapter
twenty-eight
I’ve never been in our pack’s box before. It never occurred to me that I would ever spend a game up here instead of down there . On the field.
I’m already raging about it. Isn’t that bad enough without being stuck up here with Bubbles?
She bounces around the well-appointed room, oohing and ahhing over the gold-dusted fixtures and plush blue spectator seats. The box has glass walls, giving the appearance of being in the crowd while keeping us distinctly separate.
I find myself hating that, too. If I can’t play, I want to be able to at least smell the grass. Feel the sun on my face.
Instead, I’m here. In the air conditioning. Being slowly smothered by the thick, creamy sweetness of lemon cheesecake.
The aroma only brightens when our box attendant pops in to ask if we’d like any food. I grumble something about three hot dogs. Bridget bobs an eager nod, ordering one of her own, along with popcorn and a churro.
I try not to notice the satisfaction that seeps into my center. My Alpha can take whatever bullshit instincts give him the insane urge to feed this omega and shove them up his ass.
Bridget must notice the burning edges of my sandalwood scent because she sniffs, shifting away and smoothing her hands over her yellow skirt. The acidic notes in her half-hidden scent spike. Perverse smugness and a wash of shame collide in my middle, sending a cold spray over my organs.
I blaze darker. Bridget finally dignifies the obvious smoldering with a sideways glance. Her pretty blue eyes flicker to my boot. “Is your leg bothering you?”
No, damn it .
It’s been better every day since she tricked me into trying to catch her. Almost as if following of the advice all my doctors and physical therapists have been pushing at me for weeks actually worked .
Go figure.
“It’s fine,” I grit, shifting further away from her. Clamping my teeth shut to quell the ache in my canines.
Our food arrives, offering a blessed distraction from the first inning. I twitch every time Jesse throws a fastball, watching the catcher sway, barely keeping his feet under him.
Goddamn it.
That should be me .
Bridget sets her half-empty bucket of popcorn on the floor beside her sandaled feet and crosses her arms at me. “Colt.”
I know what I’ll find if I look over at her. And I don’t want her goddamn pity. Instead of replying, I rip another bite out of my final hot dog, chewing aggressively.
“Colt.”
I resist the innate urge to give in. Give her what she wants. Give her every-fucking-thing.
I can’t open my mouth, because I’ll snap . The storm clouds of rage gathering in my gut have been percolating for weeks. I thought I could ignore them forever. Or move past the thunderous loathing.
But every sour breath of Bridget’s disapproval and sympathy only electrifies the bitterness ballooning in my center. So I lock it down. Shut my expression off. Keep my lips sealed.
It never occurred to me that she wouldn’t.
“ Colt! ”
The livid omega bark strikes me like a bag of bricks. I whip my head toward her automatically. Absolute fury pours from her features as she throws her hands up, exasperated.
“ What the fuck is wrong with you?” she shrieks.
A rhetorical question, apparently. Because she doesn’t let me answer before charging on.
“I know you’re firmly steeped in self-righteous rage, but I cannot fucking figure out why!
Or how!” She leans forward, her gaze furious.
“ You went out that night when you should have been asleep. You endangered your life and other drivers’ by taking your car on the highway half-awake. You crashed and injured yourself .”
Each statement is a dart, striking a bullseye at the heart of me.
And she isn’t done. Her gaze narrows, her scent sharper and thicker. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? You could have hurt someone, Colt. Or killed yourself!”
Shame tightens, coiling around my intestines.
Bridget tosses her hands in another fed-up gesture.
“But instead of having some modicum of gratitude or—I don’t know—some remorse , you shuffle around, snapping and scowling at everyone who cares enough about you to ask if you’re doing what you need to do to heal .
Because you can heal , Colt. You’re just too stubborn and proud to try. Which also makes you stupid .”
Fuck me.
I think she might be… right?
She slumps backward, crossing her arms. “I’ve seen you play,” she adds, quieter. “You’re great , Colt. Talented . And you love it. Why would you throw all that away? And why are you mad at everyone else now that you have?”
Because.
Because if I let myself be as angry at myself as I should be, for all my failures…
I’m not sure I’ll be able to live with myself .
The thought scrapes the back of my skull. A thick swell rises to block my throat, but I open my mouth anyway. Needing to tell her. Explain. Apologize?
Something .
But the crowd around us noticeably shifts, stealing my focus. I turn to find hundreds of phones facing us.
Filming.