1. Chad
CHAPTER 1
Chad
I’ve never been good at hiding, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Running back to this place, away from the city and its people.
My crown’s a little lopsided after Omega in Paradise . But I’ll find my confidence again. I know it. Even if returning to Blue Ridge, Georgia—the one place I swore I’d never see again—is a different kind of punishment. It’s the antithesis of New York City, but maybe it’s what I need.
Although, right this second, I’m going insane with boredom. Ship me back to The Big Apple, anything’s better than this. Three days of isolation in this mausoleum, and I’m ready to claw at the walls. Even the insults from strangers on the city streets would be better than this.
So when I hear my mother’s voice echoing through the front hall, I head over, desperate for anything that isn’t my own thoughts. Even her company’s better than being alone in this house of memories.
Desperate times, right?
I step into the foyer, and she locks eyes on me, raising a finger as she finishes her phone call. The gesture slams me back to summers spent here, always the interruption, always in the way. I shove the thought aside— no, I’m stronger now. I’m a bad bitch. People are lucky to share my air. Nothing can touch me. I repeat the mantra until it feels real again. Fake it til you make it, right?
Finally, she ends the call. “Chadwick, I didn’t realize you were home,” she says, her tone airy, but the words hit like a slap to the face.
I force a smile. “I’ve been back for days.”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes already scanning me, looking for things to pick apart. “Stop pouting like that,” she scolds. “You’ll get lines in all the wrong places.”
“Where are you going?” I cut in, not bothering to tell her I wasn’t pouting and redirecting the conversation before she can tear me down any further. My eyes flick to the purse she’s clutching.
Her face brightens instantly. “The country club. You should join me. That friend of yours from your teens will be there. What was his name? Darrel? Drew?” She frowns, creating a deep crease between her brows that would have her at the Botox clinic if she saw it.
“Dean,” I correct, the name leaving my mouth too sharply. “And he wasn’t a friend.”
He was an obsession. My first heat, and I was like a moth to his flame, ready to burn. What happened was more of a nightmare than a love story. When he found out I had a thing for him—let’s just say it wasn’t the romantic scene I’d envisioned. More like a horror flick, with me as the crazy omega throwing myself at him. And him—God—I don’t even want to think about it.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Well, he’s packless now. Very eligible.”
I swallow. Hard. She clearly doesn’t remember how we were found. I wish I didn’t.
Damn it.
Even after everything, just the thought of him makes my skin flush. I can still recall the first hit of his musk—crisp, like a foggy mountain morning, the kind of fog that clings to your legs as you walk. And the feel of him pressed against me during that brief moment, imprinted on me like a brand. His lips hot against mine.
Before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I’d love to get out of the house.” I snap my mouth shut, regretting the words instantly. Maybe being alone is better.
Her face lights up, but it’s short-lived. Her eyes trail down to my gray sweats and the light blue T-shirt I threw on earlier. “Go get changed. I’ll wait.” Her voice leaves no room for argument, and the way she hikes her purse higher on her shoulder makes it clear she won’t be swayed. I’m just lucky she didn’t bark the command.
Yet.
There’s still time.
Knowing there’s no escaping now that I’ve agreed, I take the stairs two at a time, the sick thrill of possibly seeing the alpha I was half in love with fueling my steps. Not that he’ll even acknowledge me if he recognizes me. And I sure as hell won’t approach him. I’m not the same lovesick kid who would’ve dropped to my knees at his feet from a mere glance.
Still, the anticipation hums through me as I quickly pull on something more appropriate. I should be dreading the inevitable awkwardness if I run into Dean at the country club—his knowing look, the unspoken history hanging between us like a weight. But instead of dread, it’s this electric buzz, like I’m about to step into the ride of my life.
When I return downstairs, my mom’s gaze sweeps over me before she pivots toward the front door, pulling it open.
"That didn’t take long," she says, her voice sharp, like she expected nothing less.
"It doesn’t take much when you’re perfect," I shoot back, forcing a grin, but the sting of her words settles deep, even if I pretend it doesn’t.
I don’t hate my mother. I don’t even hate my father. But I’ve always known my place in their world—a final piece to complete their perfect picture, never more than a requirement. They needed a son, a perfect one, and I never quite fit the mold. I’m sure they were both disappointed when I didn’t turn out to be an alpha. Omegas need emotion, connection, affection—things they never bothered to give me. So I searched for it elsewhere… like with Dean.
He fed that longing inside me. A brush of his hand, a smile—simple gestures that felt like lifelines, things I didn’t get anywhere else. No wonder I became obsessed. His kindness was a drug, and I craved it until it ruined everything.
My fingers tap a restless rhythm on my knee as my mother drives the short distance.
She sighs—annoyance? Disappointment? Who knows. But she doesn’t comment on my fidgeting.
That’s new.
The car comes to a stop in front of the valet, and she slips out with practiced ease. I hesitate, my hand lingering on the seatbelt. My gaze locks onto the building ahead—the place I haven’t set foot in since that night. The memories of that heat slam into me like a tidal wave, and I struggle to push them away.
My skin feverish I moved through the darkened Country Club. The patrons packed up and went home for the night. But I knew Dean was still here. He used the after hours to practice for the Olympics. His dad owned the place, so he could.
Something drove me toward him. My skin tight, perfume seeping off of me like I’m an overripe fruit. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But it feels like if I can just make it to him ? —
Maybe this was a mistake. I shake myself out of the memory. The residual of my first heat clings to me still, but it isn’t like I can just stay in the car. Even with my perfume blooming slightly sickly around me. Papaya and limes, the perfect combination if you’re looking to get drunk on a beach. I should have snagged some of those scent blocking pills from the show for moments like this.
My mother pauses, one hand on her hip as she waits, her impatience barely masked. With a deep breath, I unclip my seatbelt and step out, slipping back into my carefully crafted mask.
Perfectly poised.
Unshakable.
I follow her inside the country club, trailing behind like a dutiful child and not the grown man I am, as she makes her way to a group of her friends.
"Jennifer, you remember my son, Chadwick. He's in town from New York City," she says, her tone carrying just enough pride to make it clear where I fit in her narrative—an accessory to her status, nothing more.
The woman in question turns toward me, a bright smile spreading across her face as she extends her hand. “You can call me Jenny, Doll.” Her southern twang wraps around the words, familiar and warm, like so many in Blue Ridge. People here are all sugar on the surface. It’s only when you scratch the veneer that their true selves start to show.
I take her hand with a grin. “And you can call me Chad, Sweetheart ,” I reply, letting my voice drop into a smooth, flirtatious tone. I give her a playful wink, then lift her hand to my lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles. Her ring finger is bare, and I make sure she catches the fake flicker of interest in my eyes as I glance back up at her. “How’s a beautiful woman like you still single?”
She titters, exactly as expected. It’s almost too easy. Too boring. I know the effect I have on people, especially alphas like her, the ones that don’t have it in them to go after what they want. The moment I release her hand, my mother steps in, pulling her into a conversation about some local event or another. It’s the perfect cue for me to slip away. I’ve mastered the art of turning on the charm in an instant—and shutting it off just as quickly.
A survival skill, really.
Greeting people that know me via my parents and nothing else, I drift toward the courts. My heart beats in my chest at a rapid pace as I push outside. Each fenced tennis court is full. But my eyes land on the one person I said I wouldn’t seek out.
Dean.
And damn does he look like he’s aged like fine wine. The sight of him stops my breath cold in my chest. He has his arms around a striking auburn-haired girl, guiding her as the machine launches balls at them. I watch, transfixed, as he moves with the same smooth confidence I remember, his body aligning with hers, showing her exactly how to hit each ball. When she gets the rhythm on her own, he steps back, watching her like he’s proud of her progress.
Attempting to distract myself, I drag my gaze from him. The girl throws him a smile as she hits another ball. It’s bright like sunshine and warms something inside of me, even if it isn’t directed at me.
She captures my attention in a way females rarely do. Something about her is magnetic. She doesn’t have that commanding alpha presence, so I figure she’s probably a beta. But those tiny white shorts hugging her hips and that red shirt clinging to her sweat-dampened body as she fights against the machine, they’re doing things to me I didn’t expect.
She’s not omega-pretty, but she’s got an aura, a way of moving that makes it impossible to look away. She’s striking and almost perfect.
I lean against the chain-link fence, completely absorbed in watching her. The way she moves, every muscle working in sync as she returns each volley—it’s mesmerizing. There’s something raw and real about her. There’s nothing fake about her. It draws me in. Almost to the point of forgetting where I’m at.
When I turn slightly, shifting on my feet really, Dean’s staring right at me. There’s an intensity and sharpness in his gaze that I remember well. Yet, it cuts through me, lacking any of the warmth it used to.
“Dean?” I call out, a forced grin spreading across my face, pushing down the awkward tension bubbling up inside me. “Wow, it’s been forever. Last time I saw you, I kissed you, didn’t I?”
I let out a laugh, not even bothering to filter myself. I did a hell of a lot more than kiss him. Really, embarrassment should have me red as a tomato and stammering over my words at even mentioning that night. Not that it was the last time I saw him, I saw him after that when he tried to smooth things out, and I pretended like none of it mattered.
But I always rip the bandaid off. They can't hurt you if you put it all out there first. I push open the gate and move closer, drawn to him like he’s the sun and I’m just another planet in his orbit. He probably has hundreds of omegas in love with him by now. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a pack. It was the one thing he used to talk about. And me, being the obsessed boy I was…imagined myself in that mix.
But I remind myself I’m not going to fall into that trap again. I don’t need an alpha to be complete. If these last few months have taught me anything, it’s that.
Dean’s face tightens, his expression hardening. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, his tone cool, distant. He doesn’t like the reminder any more than I do.
Then he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, giving me an eyeful of those perfect abs and obliques that make my mouth water. My breath catches in my lungs as a literal war rages inside me—a slow burn of heat travels straight to my belly from the attraction that’s still very much alive, battling against the chill his words create, trying to drag me down.
I shrug off both feelings and shift my focus to the girl, who’s paused mid-volley to listen in on our conversation. Missed balls bounce around her. I smile, letting my gaze travel over her full, curvy figure. The warmth that settled in my belly slides lower, stirring something deeper. But as our eyes meet, I realize she’s not just listening—she’s watching me.