Chapter 19
chapter
nineteen
I don’t often feel stupid.
Guilty? Yes. All the time.
Guilt has been my constant companion since Spencer was old enough to talk to me about what he went through in the same household that raised me like a prince.
It only got worse when I got older and realized how privileged our family was. And then even worse, again, when I got into politics and saw just how much I wasn’t doing. Couldn’t do.
I’m also all too familiar with doubt. I’ve always wondered if I was doing the right thing. For my brother, my pack, the people who elect me. Hell, the people who didn’t elect me, too.
But stupid? Embarrassed by my own cluelessness?
No. This seething burn of humiliation in my stomach is brand-new.
Well-deserved, though, for many reasons. Chief among them, at the moment, being the fact that I honestly thought this omega might not hate me.
Back at the police station, before everything went wrong, it felt like we connected. I felt it again when I was tending her bond mark. And the instinctive reaction my body had to hers is undeniable.
I knew what to do. It felt perfectly right to care for her like that. I wanted it to mean something.
And the longer I sat in her suite, looking around at all the furnishings I chose ages ago, wondering how she would feel about them… I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to believe in the best-case scenario. Or needed to.
Either way, I’m doomed to disappointment.
From the second she realized I was in the room, she’s been terrified. Filled with shame, regret, doubt, and anxiety.
The best thing I can do for her right now is leave. But I promised the guys I would have this conversation. Avery was right; we need to know what led her to the police station tonight.
Spencer also had a point—there are practical matters at play here. If she doesn’t choose to stay, I’ll begin a slow, painful unravel. If she does stay, then I’ll have to deal with those consequences too.
The press won’t like it. Neither will a lot of my constituents.
But, of all of us, Jonah made the best point of all.
We have to try.
Even if it means humbling myself to her every single day, I want to try.
Her sweet, sad face pinches as a wave of apprehension swamps us both. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like she can feel my emotions anymore.
Figuring out how to stop assaulting her with my feelings took much more effort than I ever expected. Even now, it feels unnatural. Instead of a closed curtain, the way Dr. Monroe described, it’s more like a door I have to lean against at all times.
She isn’t blocking me , though.
Which means I feel everything she does.
It’s a one-way street, but at least it won’t cause her any distress. I almost told her about it a moment ago, but she’s already so overwhelmed. I don’t want to burden her with one more thing. Ever.
That’s what the noble part of me argues, at least. The less-gallant piece hisses that there’s a chance this omega will never let me get close to her any other way. Experiencing the frayed fragments of her feelings might be as close as I ever get to a real bond with her.
And I would deserve that rejection.
“W-what do you want to talk about?” she stammers.
Everything .
The word sticks in my throat. Pitifully, painfully true.
I want to know her, so badly it literally feels like it’s killing me. But why would she ever want to share anything with me? I’ve already proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she can’t trust me.
It’s better if she doesn’t, anyway. I no longer trust myself. And her safety is now this household’s top priority.
“A variety of things, but we’ll stick with the essentials,” I hedge. “Obviously, you’ll need decent clothes, shoes, and other personal effects. I have an iPad here that I’ll give you to use until we’re able to source a proper phone—on it, you’ll find links to our pack’s personal shoppers. They upload options, and all you need to do is choose whatever you like. I’ll make sure it all gets here as quickly as possible. ”
Serena blinks, her face carefully blank. Hiding the nausea shifting in her stomach. “What will I do? While I stay here?”
Of all the questions I expected— how could you do this? What the fuck is the matter with you? How far away from me can you move within the next twelve hours? —I never expected that one.
What will she do ?
I look right into her eyes, flexing all the alpha power I possess. “Whatever you want.”
I’ve never meant anything quite so much. She can literally have anything she asks for. If she wants a private plane to Tahiti, I’ll book one. If she asks for a limitless credit card, I have four in my wallet. If she wants to work or study or book daily appointments at every spa from here to L.A., she can have it all.
Any of it.
But she just stares at me as her insides fill with dread .
I don’t understand why. What does she think I mean? Or maybe she just doesn’t believe me. I can’t say I blame her.
So I try one more thing. “I can get you your own apartment, even,” I offer, repressing the way my entire body wants to cringe at the thought. “Anything you’d like.”
Serena’s emotions are a thorny tangle, but she bites her lower lip slowly, her face still carefully blank. “I—might like to stay. For now.”
Relief swamps me, and then doubles when I remember she can’t feel how enormously thankful I am. “Very well. I’ll leave the iPad for you to make your wardrobe and food selections. Jonah didn’t know what you’d like to eat, but he was worried you may be hungry, so he made you a sandwich. It’s here on the nightstand for you.”
When she bites her lip harder, I see that her teeth are relatively straight and white. Which strikes me as odd, given how poorly she was cared for in other ways.
Then again, her hair is perfect, too. Long and smooth. I’ve known enough women to know that there’s some sort of chemical straighter and shining lacquer on it. Her brows are neatly threaded; her nails are long, almond-shaped, glittering with nude polish.
And when Jonah shoved that bodysuit aside earlier, I couldn’t help but notice that she’s waxed perfectly smooth?—
Jesus, Alpha. Not now .
I force myself to focus, squinting at her in the dark.
What sort of situation would leave an omega underweight, nutrient-deficient, and riddled with healed injuries… with perfect hair and nails—and the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen?
Fucking hell—not now!
“Would you tell me…” I prompt, speaking through gritted teeth while I ignore my throbbing knot, “what happened to you?”
She huddles lower on the bed, looking so small and tired suddenly. The feelings that swirl through her are devastating, but her voice is so soft. “I’m sure you can guess.”
I don’t want to guess. I want to know.
Mostly so I can assure her that no matter what she did before or wants now, there’s no reason for the self-loathing swarming her stomach.
As I stare at her, trying to summon patience, the sick swell in her gut doubles, and a matching pulse of guilt fills me. There’s so much shame . Mine makes sense, but hers? I don’t understand it.
This omega looks like she’s wasting away. She needs to eat . And sleep more. If I keep pushing her, she may not be able to do either tonight.
“We can discuss it some other time,” I decide, stepping away. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
That nagging feeling of unnaturalness assails me. I don’t really want to leave her—but relief rolls through her half of our incomplete bond, so I turn to go.
“Tristan?”
Her quiet little voice says my name for the first time, and my heart clenches.
I look over my shoulder in time to catch her swallowing hard. One of her manicured hands floats up, tracing the mark I left in her neck. “Th-thank you. For letting me stay here.”
The words are daggers. They sink into my middle and twist. I’ve done nothing— nothing —to deserve this woman’s gratitude.
“Don’t thank me,” I order, unable to bear it. “ Never thank me.”