Chapter 57
chapter
fifty-seven
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this .
The Ash Pack’s gala is widely known to be the prestigious philanthropic event in Orlando.
I grew up attending stuff like this—jammed into tuxedos, stuffed into ballrooms that smelled like too many things and also, somehow, nothing at all.
Eating hors d’oeuvres off silver trays and pretending champagne was water… because it sure went down like it was.
Crystal and linens and chandeliers. Twelve-piece bands. Top-shelf liquor.
The Ash Pack’s gala has all of that.
But it’s also fun .
Pink bubbles shimmer inside their flutes.
The chandeliers are enormous, asymmetrical art pieces befitting the huge two-story space made almost entirely of colored glass.
Amber, magenta, aqua—and the largest window, encompassing the length of the entire room and the height of both stories; a perfectly clear pane to showcase the setting sun on the venue’s lakefront.
I smile at the view, knowing Bridget will love it. This whole party, really. From the gold-and-white checkered dance floor to the colorful summer floral arrangements, it’s exactly the sort of thing she enjoys.
Joyful.
Quirky.
Clever.
Just like her.
Which makes complete and perfect sense when I see the neon marquee hanging from the second-story’s brushed brass railing.
The Osprey House Annual Gala, brought to you by the Ash and Messina Packs .
And here we are, the Messina Pack.
Utterly clueless.
Adrian steps up behind us, his voice dropping low. “I take it she didn’t tell any of you, either?”
I swallow. “I knew she used our foundation funds to open another children’s home under their existing philanthropy, but I had no idea …”
Colt—who’s actually trimmed his beard —narrows gray eyes at our surroundings. Snapping the whole thing together before I can. “She planned this damn event, didn’t she?”
“ Carajo ,” Dante curses, pulling at his tuxedo’s lapels. “Of course she did. Look.”
He nods at the photo wall across the room. Hundreds of pictures of the children our money has helped care for, all arranged on the foam boards Bridget’s been working on over the last two months.
She made them.
Adrian’s low growl doesn’t make sense for a moment—how can he be anything but awed? —but then he explains, “She wasn’t even going to come tonight. Her sister told her she’d just embarrass herself.”
After she must have spent hours — weeks —planning this with her best friend and the Ash Pack omega, Meg… Bridget wasn’t going to attend .
She didn’t even have a dress. Adrian thought ahead and had a selection of evening wear tailored for her, but…
It’s no big deal .
I can hear our omega saying the words. Believing them. In her mind, all her hard work and selflessness were just… her life. Her passion. She didn’t expect any credit or prestige in return.
But look what she did .
She took our money—the funds I never had one single damn clue what to do with—and made something amazing.
“Bridget did a great job with this, huh?!”
The burly blond man, suddenly shouting at us, grins as if we should know who he is. I don’t, but I recognize the guy next to him—the Ospreys’ quarterback, Declan Howard. He rolls his eyes and shoves his packmate.
“Jesus, Theo.” Then, to us, “This is Theo. I’m Declan. We’ve been working with your omega to plan the event.”
Our pack alpha shakes his hand, introducing all of us before adding, “We’d love to get more involved.”
Theo snorts, grinning. “Are you guys kidding? You’ve basically single-handedly funded the new house! Thirty-six kids have been adopted so far this year because of you guys!”
Because of Bridget.
I hear my internal correction echo through all four of us.
Colt and I glance at one another, then Dante.
We all turn back to Adrian, who projects a steadying beat of certainty as he replies, “The recognition—for all of this—needs to go to Bridget, not our pack. I would consider it a personal favor if you could ensure that she receives complete credit during tonight’s proceedings. By name.”
The two Ash Pack alphas absorb his solemnity and look at each other, nodding. “We can do that,” Declan shrugs. “Ronan, Meg, and I do the speeches. I’ll tell them both, and we’ll adjust our tribute.”
Adrian gives a grateful sigh. “Thank you. And if we can ever help in a more hands-on way, we would appreciate the opportunity.”
Theo’s green eyes look a lot like Bridget’s best friend’s—the perky little omega, Emma.
This must be her brother . He even bobs his head the same over-eager way.
“For sure!” he crows. “You know, a lot of the kids love sports. We do football clinics for them at our facility, but adding baseball would be cool!”
Dante claps his hands, a look of sheer relief blurring into his determined expression. “Hell yeah. Sign us the fuck up.”
I can’t quite stifle the reflex to check in with Colt; but the alpha who used to be our resident nay-sayer already has his phone in his hand, extending it to Theo.
“Put your number in, and I’ll call you guys about setting something up with the kids.
I know a high school team that needs volunteer hours anyway. Maybe they could help out.”
A warm emotion balloons behind my ribs. Pride, I think.
I swallow mine, but Dante can’t quite hide his shit-eating grin. Colt mutters, “Shut up,” at both of us, and Adrian smiles the same second I do.
This is probably the first moment we’ve felt like a real pack without Bridget here to center us. A familiar ache swells on the left side of my chest. Longing and need—the desperate wish that I could just reach out and touch her.
Internally. Through a bond.
It’s gotten steadily worse over the last two days. Being away from her has been torturous for so many reasons.
It was one thing when we got to see her and hold her at the end of every day. Test her perfume. Watch each flicker of feeling on her face. But being away? Not knowing how she is because I can’t see her or sense her? It’s been unbearable .
Adrian shakes the Ash Pack alphas’ hands again, committing to a round of drinks with them and their pack leader later in the evening. I can barely listen, scanning the crowd for Bridget’s distinctive hair. Needing her. Feeling my blood heat and my skin prickle.
Oh shit.
Is—am I about to?—?
Dante is nearly as agitated, thrusting a hand through his pomade-styled hair. Adrian releases another deep breath, tugging at his bow tie. Colt shifts on his feet, too, grunting at his phone screen.
“She’s not here yet,” he mutters. “She told me she’d text me when they were pulling up.”
Seriously? Then what the hell is this squirming pulse snapping along my nerves? Firing them up. Leaving every neuron lit. Every part of my body hard and needing and?—
Oh God.
Oh God .
What is that?
Aside from soul-crushing, life-ending perfection ?
Shit. Fuck.
No .
It is a rut.
Because this? The air I’m breathing?
The scent ruining me?
It’s o ur mate .