Chapter 11 #3
We pay—he doesn't let me contribute—and head outside. His truck is parked down the street, a beat-up black Ford that somehow fits him perfectly. Dark. Solid. A little dangerous.
The drive back to my house is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just... loaded. Like we're both processing everything that just happened.
Every so often I catch him looking at me. His hands are steady on the wheel—the same hands that gripped my hips three days ago. The same hands that could probably—
Stop. Don't think about that.
But I can't help it. Can't help noticing the way his jaw tightens. How his scent fills the small space of the truck cab. How easy it would be to reach over and—
"Stop thinking so loud," he mutters.
"I'm not—"
"Your scent's all over the place." He doesn't look at me. Keeps his eyes on the road. "I can practically hear you spiraling."
I don't answer. Can't.
When he pulls up in front of my house, I see Ben's truck in the driveway. Lights on in the garage. He's home, working late like usual.
Which means he has no idea where I've been. Who I've been with.
At least, not yet.
"Yeah." I unbuckle my seatbelt, reach for the door handle. "Thanks for dinner. And the conversation."
"Anytime." His dark eyes hold mine. "Bea?"
I pause. "Yeah?"
"Stop running." His voice is rough. Serious. "From the alley. From River. From whatever this is. You can't figure it out if you keep running."
The words settle heavy in my chest. "I'm not—"
"You are." He leans slightly toward me. Close enough that I can smell him properly—ink and leather and something darker. "You ran from me three days ago. You ran from River tonight. And you're about to run from this conversation."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"I don't know how not to run," I admit quietly.
"Then learn." His hand moves—almost touches my face, then drops. "Because whatever's happening between all of us? It's not going away just because you're scared of it."
I nod, not trusting my voice, and climb out of the truck.
But I barely make it three steps toward the house before the garage door opens and Ben emerges, wiping his hands on a rag.
He takes one look at Grayson's truck. At me. Then grins.
Oh no.
"Bea. Inside." His voice is way too cheerful. "I need to have a word with your friend here."
"Ben—"
"Inside, little sister." Still grinning. But his eyes have that protective glint. "Now."
I look at Grayson. He's leaning against his truck, completely relaxed, almost smiling.
"Don't kill him," I tell Ben.
"No promises." Ben's still got that terrifying cheerful smile.
I shoot Grayson an apologetic look and bolt for the house.
Behind me, I hear Ben's voice drop. "So. You're the tattoo artist..."
I don't wait to hear the rest.
Inside, I kick off my shoes and beeline for the stairs.
"Bea?" Mom calls from the living room. "Is that you? Who was—"
"It's me! Everything's fine! Going to bed!" I take the stairs two at a time.
"But it's only—" Dad starts.
"Very tired! Long day! Goodnight!"
I make it to my room and shut the door, leaning back against it with my heart pounding.
Through my window, I can see Ben and Grayson still talking in the driveway. Ben's gesturing. Grayson's nodding, arms crossed, looking entirely too relaxed for someone getting the protective brother talk.
I collapse face-first onto my bed.
That was a disaster.
Seth saw me with Grayson and looked hurt. Ben's going full protective mode. I still haven't dealt with the River situation. And I told River I had to meet Ben at Millie's—but ended up having dinner with Grayson instead.
"I am such a mess," I mutter into my pillow.
A few minutes pass. Then my phone buzzes.
Ben: We need to talk tomorrow. About everything.
I groan. Of course.
Another buzz.
Grayson: Your brother's protective. I respect that. But he's wrong—I'm not being "nice." I want you. Same as I did in that alley. Sleep well, Bea.
I stare at that second text for a long time.
I want you.
Not past tense. Present. Still.
Which means Grayson's interested. Really interested. And not hiding it anymore.
Just like River. Just like Seth.
Three alphas. All interested in the same confused, overwhelmed omega who can't even manage to text her brother back without creating a crisis.
And Grayson's right—they weren't being nice. None of them were "just being nice."
River told me he was attracted to me. Seth told me about his first kiss—with me. Grayson held me against him in that alley, forehead to mine, and told me exactly what he wanted.
They all want me.
And I—god help me—want all three of them back.
The realization sits heavy in my chest. Not scary anymore. Just... true. My body's known all along what my brain has been fighting.
I pull my pillow over my face and groan.
Tomorrow. I'll deal with all of this tomorrow.
Right after I figure out how to face River at work after lying to him about why I needed to leave, apologize to Seth for hurting him, explain to Ben that I'm not losing my mind, and somehow address the fact that Grayson Cole just admitted he's still pursuing me.
Easy. Totally manageable. Just another normal Tuesday in the life of Bea Wilson: Professional Disaster.
I'm so screwed.