42. Joel
Chapter forty-two
Joel
I rock my midday schooner from one side of the rounded glass heel to the other.
The froth slowly pops and slides down the glass’s inner wall, the tiny spray mixing its tart scent with the aroma of frying grease and human sweat.
The beer garden’s courtyard crowd has grown steadily over the past hour now that people are out seeking lunch.
At my feet, Jock snuffles, his blocky nose making him wheezy at the best of times, but now he snorts and sneezes at the influx of odors. He’s already wound himself around the table leg three time. Instead of untangling him, I leave him trapped against my thigh, the body contact oddly reassuring.
Find out what she thinks, Jeremy said.
I can’t get those words out of my head. Willow’s got no reason to think anything about me; we’ve barely even introduced ourselves. She just threw herself at me and I picked her up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
If I went back, would she do it again?
But right now, I’m not sure I can trust myself. I loved Tracey for two years years, but I’ve walked away from her like it’s nothing. The ache in my heart disagrees with me, but regardless of my emotions, I’ve severed ties with chilling finality.
What if that’s all I amount to? A useless man without a heart? One who never tries hard enough, or can’t keep a relationship. Perhaps I have an inbuilt flaw lodged deep inside me. If that’s the case, I can’t inflict myself on someone like Willow.
Someone like Willow? I scoff under my breath. Makes it sound like I know exactly who she is.
Jock turns his head and whines, nostrils snuffling.
I hiss under my breath and undo his leash, holding his collar firmly as I unwrap the length from the table leg.
“Just sit still for a bit,” I mutter, clipping the end back onto his collar loop and pressuring his rear end.
The tawny dog stubbornly resists the push, swinging out into someone’s path.
“Sorry,” I mutter to the person who almost spilled their drink, guiding Jock’s hips back beside my chair. He disappears under the table instead. “You’re not nearly as well behaved as Mr Shares,” I scold.
The boxer grins at me, tongue lolling out and drool leaking from his lips thanks to the food scents pouring out of the kitchen.
My smile relaxes and I grab him around the ears, tousling playfully.
Hard to stay depressed with that foolish face grinning back at me.
Even though he was a rescue dog, what were we thinking when we decided to get a boxer?
They’re notoriously hard to train, and clearly neither Tracey nor I had enough time to give such a big, energetic dog.
And yet I can’t find a shred of regret in my heart. Not for Jock’s existence, anyway.
“Guess we better find a house with a yard,” I muse into my froth before taking a big gulp. The cold beer washes down my throat, bringing a touch of refreshing coolness under the heat of the day.
Willow's estate has an enormous yard; it’s basically a paradise for energetic dogs.
The sky behind the Bank of America Plaza deepens with a heavy purple tint, the early promise of an incoming summer storm. Might blow past the city yet, but we haven’t had any big ones lately. I’ll need to get Jock inside before it hits.
The waiter arrives with my chicken and avo Turkish roll, and I push food into my mouth that’s never gonna fill the hole in my stomach. No food ever will, because it’s not a physical pain. It’s not even relationship related.
It’s like a new part of me has ripped open, all thanks to a shocking Jasmine scent.
I can’t say I’m really in touch with my alpha instincts.
Since the first time Tracey said any show of alpha spirit scared her, it became second nature to hold myself in check.
But now it simmers below the surface, as tangible as the storm rolling in over the city and equally as powerful.
Daring me to try stuffing it back in its soul box after tasting my omega.
Jock turns back, whacking the chairs at my table so loudly with his tail that I wince. When he lays his head on my knee and implores with big brown eyes, I cave and feed him some of the chicken pieces, getting a handful of drool for my efforts.
I stare at the silvery wet trails for a moment before wiping them off on my shorts.
That’s all my efforts have ever amounted to—a handful of waste left in an empty hand.
Well, except for a thriving business that’s groaning under the weight of my absence.
If I really don’t plan to return, I’ll need to take a pay cut and hire another electrician.
I groan softly and lean my chin on my clean fist.
A woman across the courtyard laughs, tossing back her head and making her blonde hair shimmer.
Looks a lot like Willow from behind. For a moment I live on in a daydream.
Willow, out with her friends, when I stumble upon their gathering.
I pull up a chair, insert my way into her conversation.
Say something dazzling that makes her smile.
I can be a good conversationalist, when I need to. Even read books on it and shit. Make a person feel special and listened to. Then what? A stray, accidental touch across the knuckles. Sparks fly, my belly flip-flopping like I’m a teenager again.
And all the while my alpha instinct rages with the need to drag her into my van and bond her right there before anyone can steal her away.
It’s such a carnal, animalistic need that my breath catches. My cock stiffens painfully, trapped in my underwear, living proof of the dilemma stirring my soul.
I’ve never felt this strongly about a woman before. Or about a human, career, person, or power. One breath and my internal compass swung completely in her direction.
When my friends talked about scent matches, I’d give a tight-lipped smile and nod. That was always for other people. Didn’t seem logical enough for me. But now? Now I’m drowning in that very ill-logic. Just the memory of the woman who wrapped her arms around me briefly has me quivering in my boots.
And so, I have a decision to make.
Do I reach out, see if she feels the same way about me? Risk another entanglement, but this one with the essence of myself on the line? If it doesn’t work, I’ll break for sure this time.
A pitched male voice rises above the hum of the crowd. “Oh, my stars, is that the bastard himself? I cannot believe my eyes.”
My stomach sinks with unhappy recognition
Beau sashays through the crowd and leans his forearms on the back of a chair at my table.
A rich omega-level scent, underpinned with a chemical edge, drifts through the air around him.
Rowan falls into place beside him, one arm hooked around his lover while Pete pulls out a chair and drops into it, arms crossed over his chest.
Their eyes flash, sharp as daggers.
I lift my beer as if to toast them.
“Fancy seeing you lads here,” I say.
Should’ve known it was possible to run into a familiar face, since we’ve all met here to eat a few times.
Beau sniffs. “Looks like this place has gone to the dogs.”
“No need to cast shade on Jock,” I snap back, patting my dog’s head.
Beau stiffens; I don’t think he realized Jock was under my legs.
“Shit. Is he the one you stole?” he asks, upper lip lifting.
I hold his gaze. “So that’s the story she’s spinning?”
Beau draws himself up straight and pokes one glittering nail in my direction. “Story? You think there’s any way you come out of this looking like the good guy? So shameless.”
I shrug. His words needle me, but if nothing else, I’m thankful to know these fellows aren’t my real friends. “Well, paint me as the villain if you want, but Tracey’s the one who cheated on me. And she had no objections when I took Jock.”
I lean back in my seat, not wilting even a fraction.
Beau flinches enough to rock the chair he’s gripping. He glances at Rowan, his hard gaze suddenly uncertain. Guess my ex didn’t tell them either of those parts.
“I don’t know what she’s labelling me,” I push on, rising to the opportunity to defend myself, “but the cold hard facts are I came home and found another man’s used underwear under my pillow.
Apparently, Tracey believed she could add to her pack without discussing it with me.
If you’d all be cool with one of you fucking around behind the others’ backs, then by all means, cast your shade.
” I open my arms in invitation. “Let’s see what years of friendship is worth, shall we? ”
Beau’s jaw works. “That’s no excuse for being an asshole about it and cutting her off without a word.” He points to Jock, eyes lighting up. “And stealing her dog!”
I stare at him for a moment. Beau’s young, excitable, and lives for drama. He’s worked himself up into such a fury that nothing I say will ever reach him. “I hope it never happens to you.”
I switch from their omega-wannabe and lock gazes with Pete.
“There’s a free table in the back,” he says quietly, gently pushing on Beau’s shoulders.
I wave my hand toward the back of the garden. “Good idea. Don’t sully yourself by hanging around the bastard.” A small smile tugs on my lips. “Just hope you don’t ever get on her bad side, ’cause you’ll be the next bastard if that happens.”
Beau grabs Rowan’s hand. “Of all the nerve!”
Pete lingers, bouncing one leg. He barely meets my gaze. “Sorry, man. I knew there had to be something else going on.”
Pete’s always been more levelheaded, slower to speak and quieter.
I slump a little, deflating now that his antagonistic partner’s out of earshot. “I don’t think this was the only time.”
He winces and looks away. My heart speeds up a little. Maybe he knew something all along.
“You shouldn’t keep Beau waiting,” I tell him, a bubble of sadness welling up within.
I’ll miss Pete the most out of all our friends.
Still he hesitates. “Um.” He dives one hand into his mahogany hair. “I tried calming him down. Just didn’t expect to run into you here.” He glances over his shoulder. “It’s kinda hard to take sides in this situation, if you know what I mean. Like, it’s a rock and a hard place.”
I fiddle with a hot chip pinned under my sandwich, freeing it from the crush as I gather my thoughts.
“I get it, Pete. You were Tracey’s friends long before I came along. And you have your family to live with.” I nod in the direction the other two men disappeared.
His jaw ticks. “Yeah, family first. Again, I’m sorry, Joel.”
I half rise out of the chair and offer him my palm. “At least I know you won’t be thinking the worst of me.”
He shakes my hand, a regretful look in his eye as we part ways.
I watch him wind through the compact space, his words echoing in my head.
Family first. Somewhere along the way I became others’ opinions first. A teenage boy laughing at me made me embarrass my girlfriend.
After that, I spent years not trying to rock the boat.
I bent over backward to impress the so-called friends who just shut me out of their lives. I even pushed aside my own twin.
I scoff under my breath and tear a mouthful out of my food. I sidelined Jeremy to hang with those fake dimwits who never had my back.
And what did I get in return? Nothing but pain. When the hell did I care so much about others’ opinions anyway? I trace back my history but can’t pinpoint it. Maybe only therapy can help me with this one. But the realization plants a deep echo in my soul.
I can’t keep living my life this way. Not when the most important things I’ve ever encountered are now at stake.
Yeah, Willow might not feel the same way about me, but even as I chew on my sandwich, acknowledging that fact, a deeper truth settles in my soul. Not trying is far worse. Like Jeremy said, I haven’t even had a conversation with her to find out how the scent-matching has impacted her.
If I walk away now, I’ll lose her and have to live forever with a gaping wound in my heart, one that no amount of time will fill. All because I’m worried she’ll tell me to go away? Or that I’ll be intruding on Jeremy and Alessandro’s territory, without ever speaking to them about it?
Fuck that.
I drop my half-eaten food onto my plate and shove my chair back in a rush.
“Time to go,” I tell the dog wrapped around the table leg. I can’t get his leash unwound fast enough; my heart pounds a busy staccato urging me to hurry. Every moment I spend away from Willow is painful.
Half-blind with urgency, I stumble my way out of the small pub and find my van. Jock loads himself into the passenger seat and sits up expectantly. To be sure he can’t climb across me while I’m driving, I loop his leash around the headrest. Every action feels too slow and I curse under my breath.
The first few splatters of rain hit the windshield as I speed up out of the parking lot, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel at every intersection. A crack of lightning arcs over the purple-backed clouds, beautifully sharp and burning an after-vision in my eyes.
Thunder rolls.
“Whoa,” I murmur, as two more bolts play tag in the clouds. It’s the kind of lightning that makes fantastic city skyline photos.
Jock whimpers and recoils against the passenger seat. I reach across to pat him. “Yeah, I know it’s loud, but we’ll be okay.”
I smile and take the on ramp to get me out of the squeezing inner city.
Jeremy and I grew up playing outside, waiting for the first big drops to fall, trying to catch them on our tongues. We drank big draughts of the ozone air and the rising wind that sends tumbleweed running, before dashing inside at the last moment to avoid getting soaked.
I roll down my window. It’s faint, overshadowed by the human and metallic layers of a city, but I catch a whiff of the storm’s petrichor rushing through the gap.
My life’s in a storm right now, one where past and future collide. But this time, I’ll be the storm chaser running toward it.
That thought lasts until I pull up in Willow’s front yard. The gate’s open, but neither Jeremy nor Alessandro’s vehicles are parked in the drive. Despite the walls between us, the omega's terrified screams ring out through the yard. Only the rumbling thunder masks them.
“Willow?” I shout, bolting up the front steps and launching myself at the door.
It’s locked.