Chapter 37
chapter
thirty-seven
This has beena long time coming.
Honestly, when Smith finds me sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of the night, waiting for him to walk in, I’m shocked he seems even marginally surprised.
Of fucking course I’m here to call his ass out.
Who does he think he is? As if we didn’t sleep in the same house growing up. As if we didn’t claw our way up from the gutter to build this one together.
The back door falls shut behind him. His brows arch. “Cass. What are you doing down here?”
I crack my knuckles, staring at him over the spotless expanse of the kitchen island. This place really is immaculate. Remi must be working herself to the fucking bone. The thought puts a growl into my voice as I pin him with a glare.
“Waiting.”
Smith scowls, sighing. “Cassian, it’s after midnight, and I haven’t even eaten?—”
“But you will,” I cut in. “Because Remi left you a plate. Made you a special meal, actually, since D and I ate with the team and she had dinner with her friends.”
I turn, pointing at the stove. “So, she stood there and prepared a whole-ass meal for you. The ungrateful asshole who won’t even talk to her.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “You forced her to move in here!” I shout. “You barked her out of her home and put her in a dusty spare bedroom with no nest. Last week, I found her in my closet, Smith. Hiding. Because of you.”
He swallows but doesn’t move to speak again. Instead, he drops his briefcase and slips his hands into his pockets, nodding at me to continue. My next statement hits him like a bullet.
“She was harassed tonight. By a reporter. It happened in the tunnels, after the game. She was waiting there for us. Alone. Because you weren’t there.”
Charred coffee swells to fill the room. He speaks through his teeth, barely moving his lips. “Is she all right?”
I checked her over myself, twice. Even after seeing that the guy didn’t leave so much as trace of his scent on her, I still had to talk my Alpha down in order to leave her upstairs.
“She’s fine,” I mutter, trying to convince myself as much as him. “Damon drew her a bath.”
His glower deepens. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be up there? Is Damon capable of controlling himself?”
The question infuriates me, because anyone who had observed Remi with Damon would find it ludicrous. But he actually seems concerned. Which shows just how out of touch he is.
“Have you even seen her with Damon?” I ask, spewing all of the vitriol I’ve been storing up over the last week. “He’s been taking care of her every damn day. Cuddling with her, watching her shows, listening to audiobooks so he can follow along with whatever she’s reading. He’s a good fucking alpha to her. It’s bullshit that you don’t know that. You should be here, watching and finding a way to be a part of this, too.”
He ducks his head like he’s dodging a physical blow. I see it, then—the tension in every line of his entire body. His jaw, clenched so hard I can hear his teeth grit.
“She’s perfect, Smith. So goddamn beautiful and sweet and just—fuck, what is wrong with you? Don’t you want her? How are you avoiding her like this?” I demand. “It’s Damon’s turn to sleep in that shitty-ass bed you threw her in, and I’m climbing the walls because I can’t be with her. Don’t you feel it?”
He’s going to mutter something about his rut blockers, and I’m going to have to kick his ass into next year. Or he’ll make excuses.
The room isn’t ready. He has too much going on at work to come home for dinner. She isn’t complaining, so why am I?
Because she never will. She’s too scared that he’ll reject her. Send her away. Take yet another home away from her.
Because he’s hurting her. And I am her protector.
He opens his mouth. And, I swear to God, I’m ready. Ready to pummel him. Or challenge his leadership.
But then he says the two words I never thought he would.
“You’re right.”
My entire face crumples. “What?”
“You’re right,” he repeats. “I’ve been out all day, thinking about this. Her.” He raises his dark eyes to mine, pained. “Did you know she’s been sneaking out of here every morning to work at the coffee shop?”
She’s been doing what?
“She goes for walks,” I correct, repeating what she told me.
His smirk is humorless. “Smart girl,” he mutters. “She is technically walking. To the bus stop. Then she works an eight hour shift and comes back here in time to make it seem like she’s been home all day.”
Oh. Holy. Shit.
How did I not notice that?
He’s right. She’s smart. She told us she likes to go for early-morning walks. Which isn’t even really a lie… it just isn’t the truth either.
I collapse onto a barstool, jamming both hands through my hair. “Fuck.”
Smith edges closer, until he’s standing at the opposite end of the island. Pressing both palms into the squeaky-clean, polished stone, he stares sightlessly down at the note she leaves for him each evening.
“Yeah… I know,” he croaks, pausing. He clears his throat. “The thing I can’t figure out is why she feels like she needs to do all of this. She knows you adore her. And Damon, obviously. We moved her in here, took on all of her expenses. Why is she trying to do everything on her own? Why keep showing up at the shop?”
I glare at him, refusing to believe he’s this clueless. Then, it occurs to me that he might actually have no idea what she went through.
Did I ever mention it? Probably not. I wouldn’t have broken her confidence that way, back then. And once she was gone? It would have felt like talking shit about someone I used to care about.
Still cared about.
Will always care about.
Will always… love.
So goddamn much.
My chest tightens, aching as I rub my palm over my sternum and stare my brother down. “Smith, think about it. Think about where she lived.”
His brows fold over his dark eyes. “I know she has no money. I’ve already given her the pack’s card, and she knows we’ll pay for anything she?—”
I shake my head. “No. Smith. Think. She was an orphan. A true one—not like us. Compared to her, we were just… unlucky. Our parents died—but at least we had parents. A home. A family. And then we had each other. She was just alone, Smith. No one wanted her ever. Not even her own mother.”
Saying all of this shit—it hurts. Every word feels like a thorn, torn from a tender spot at the base of my throat. They scrape out of me in rusty rasps.
“I used to watch her,” I whisper. “When other kids had visitors on the weekends. She sat at the top of the steps and saw them all go. No one ever came for her.”
Smith’s features crease in a wince. “So she’s doing all of this… to show that she’s appreciative?”
The whole ripping-his-arms-off thing Damon suggested is sounding more and more appealing.
“No,” I grind out. “She’s scared. She went to foster homes. They all returned her. No one wanted to keep her. I imagine she worries you’ll do the same thing.”
Smith snaps upright. “I would never, ever send her away,” he growls.
I arch a brow at him. “I would never, ever let you. But I’m not the one who feels insecure, here. You need to figure out how to make her feel like she has a real place in this pack. Especially if you ever expect to bond with her. Jesus, Smith, you won’t even talk to her—you think she’s going to want you inside her mind?”
He scowls. “I’m trying not to scare her! She’s afraid of me!”
I wave at hand him, the way he’s glaring and bellowing and pumping out waves of aggression that would bowl over a weaker alpha. And swamp an omega like a tsunami.
“Yeah, no shit.”
For a long moment, Smith just stares at me. His dominance pummels my resolve, telling me to back down.
But for Remi?
I never will.