Chapter Seventeen – Jess #2
If only I had special memories like that, traditions that happened year after year, holiday after holiday.
Honestly, I barely remember the time before the accident.
It’s like my brain purposefully blocked all of those happy memories out, knowing I’d never be that happy ever again.
Having them within mental reach would only hurt me in the end.
The lake is a mile or so hike from the house. It takes us about fifteen or twenty minutes to reach it with a walking pace. I’m sure if I wasn’t slowing down the two alphas with my short stature, they could’ve made it much faster.
When we emerge from the forest and I see the lake for the first time, my breath catches as my gaze surveys the area.
The sun sparkles, reflecting on the smooth, calm surface of the water, not a ripple in sight.
It’s no pond. It’s a huge lake full of pebbles of all sizes—and the water?
The water is the clearest water I’ve ever seen in my life.
A small dock is built on the side of the lake closest to where we emerge, and it stretches out over the water a good twenty or thirty feet.
Rourke sets the picnic basket down, along with the blanket, while Asher and I venture toward the dock.
Once we reach the edge of the dock, I peer over at the water. Since it’s so clear, it looks like the bottom is right there, a foot or so beneath the surface of the water. An optical illusion if I have to guess, as there’s no way it’s that shallow this far out.
Fish hover near the dock, ignoring our presence entirely. With the water as crystal clear as it is, I can see each fin, their eyes, even the scales on their bodies. It’s absolutely insane.
“Wow,” I say once I straighten out. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I glance at him when he says that and find Asher staring directly at me.
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I quickly look away and bite my bottom lip, wondering if I’m reading too much into it.
After that dream, after last night… I don’t know that I can trust myself with any of them, honestly. It’s not a good thing to admit.
Rourke joins us on the dock. “Bet this place has wicked fishing potential.”
Asher turns to him. “You fish?”
“Years ago, when I was a kid. Haven’t picked up a rod in I can’t remember how long.” The über chuckles. “It’s been my mom and me for a while, and after she got sick a few years back… well, even before that, fishing wasn’t exactly her forte.”
“I didn’t know your mom is sick,” I say.
“She’s better now, but… I don’t think she trusts she’s in remission.
” His blue eyes are on me when he says, “It’s why I went to the Omega Garden that night, to make her happy.
She’s dying for a grandkid or two. I’ve never really cared either way, but…
she sacrificed a lot for me throughout the years.
I’d like to make sure she’s happy before she—if it comes back. ”
Out of everything he could’ve said, I wasn’t expecting any of that.
It’s why it takes me so long to say, “That’s actually really sweet.
” He’s a momma’s boy, one of the good ones, not one of the ones who only want a mate to replace their omega mother.
There are horror stories about those types of alphas.
“You know,” Asher says, “there are some fishing rods at the cabin. I could run back and grab some. We could do some fishing.”
“Might be fun,” Rourke says.
“You two go,” I say, sinking down to sit on the edge of the dock. I take my shoes off, then my socks, and I roll up my pant legs as far up as I can get them. “I’ll stay right here. I promise I won’t move a muscle.”
“I don’t think so,” Rourke says. “You won’t be staying here alone.”
Asher says, “It’s fine. I know where they are. I’ll grab ‘em and come back. It won’t take too long.” He looks at me. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m there?” Once I give him a shake of my head, he heads off, leaving Rourke and I on the dock.
Rourke sits beside me, although he does not take off his shoes. He simply watches as I bring my bare feet to the water—and laughs when I suck in a hard breath once they’re submerged. The air is perfect, but the temperature of the water is a bit chilly.
Eh, I’ll get used to it.
“Asher seems like a decent kid,” he remarks.
“If he’s a kid, so am I.”
“Okay, point taken. Neither of you are kids.”
I toss him a glance. “It’s okay. You’re just old.”
His wide shoulders shake as he laughs; at least he’s being good-natured about it, just as he’d been at the Omega Garden.
Pretty sure I called him old that night, too.
“I’m not that old. I do prefer the term mature, for future reference.
When you call me old, it’s like you’re calling me nasty and crusty. ”
“Well…”
“Do not call me nasty and crusty. I’m warning you, I will take offense.” He deadpans that, but his faked seriousness doesn’t last long. In the end, we both chuckle.
I sway my feet in the water. “For the record, I don’t think you’re nasty or crusty.”
“No? Then what am I?”
That is a dangerous question with an equally dangerous answer. With those tattoos on display, with how tight that polo is on his torso… he is the epitome of masculinity, without any of the red flags that sometimes come with it. He’s everything an alpha should be.
I don’t answer him, not right away, causing him to squint his eyes at me and prod me, “Well? What am I, Jess? Be honest. Dig into me. Be as mean to me as you want. Show me that fire you had at the Omega Garden when you were trying to get me to go away.”
“Apparently being mean to you doesn’t affect you the same way it affects most alphas,” I say with a dramatic roll of my eyes and a flip of my hair.
“So, I guess I’ll tell you the truth. You’re—” Gosh, I can’t believe I’m about to say any of this, but why keep it to myself?
Why not throw it out there? “—very nice to look at. Your tattoos are delicious, and your muscles are to die for. You are the definition of eye candy when it comes to all alpha-kind.”
Rourke flashes me a set of perfect pearly whites. “Damn. Don’t stop there. Keep going. My ego could use a few more compliments.”
“Sorry, that’s all you’re going to get from me,” I tell him with a shrug, and he visibly pouts for a few seconds before his grin deepens.
“If you would’ve talked like that the night we met, you know damn well you would’ve had an offer.”
“So all you want is an omega who feeds your ego compliments? Sounds like a boring life.”
He scoffs. “Of course not, but I do want an omega who’d keep me on my toes. Call me crazy, but I think you’d do just that.”
I have to look away from him, mostly because his intensity is overwhelming in both the best and worst way. “I think this conversation tiptoes on dangerous territory, Rourke. It’s probably the very definition of inappropriate, given the circumstances.”
“To be clear, the circumstances you mention… you’re talking about your heat and not being matched before it arrives, right?” Though I’m not looking at him, I can feel him staring holes into the side of my head. “You aren’t talking about Asher and Mason.”
That makes me glare at him. “Why would I be talking about Asher and Mason?”
“I’m not blind. Asher cares for you, and Mason… I think he’s there, too. I’m just wondering if you’re still going to want to be alone after you get your inheritance, or if, maybe, you’ve found yourself a little pack after all.”
I literally cannot believe what he’s saying. The audacity. The unmitigated gall. I should get up and walk away from him, but since we aren’t at the house, I don’t think the alpha would let me storm away in peace. He’d follow me to make sure I got back safely.
“For the record,” I speak through gritted teeth, “I’m not talking about them.”
“Good. For the record here, I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go.”
“You’re something else, you know that?” I huff. “You track me down, think you know everything, and then you—you act like this.”
Rourke gives me a smirk. “Is there something wrong with how I’m acting?” The way he asks, it’s evident he already knows the answer and he just wants to hear me say it, the jerkwad.
“Yes.” The word leaves me too quickly, then I realize I should’ve said the other word. “I mean, no. I… can you stop looking at me like that?” In my chest, my heart is speeding up, beating so fast it might pop out and run away. Or explode. Either way, that’s bad.
The sunlight twinkles in his beautiful blue eyes. “How am I looking at you?” Again with a question he already knows the answer to. An über alpha as intense as him, he has to know the power he holds over omegas and betas, and even other alphas.
And to an unmatched omega like me? He’s catnip. I could breathe him in and get high off him, even without drowning myself in his scent, apparently. Who knew not being able to smell him wouldn’t stop my body from intrinsically craving him like he’s the drug I’ve been waiting for my entire life?
“You’re looking at me like…” For some reason, I can’t say it out loud. Like you want me. Like you need me. Like I’m yours. No matter how my mind spins it, I can’t say it to him. If I voice it, I’m afraid it’ll make it all the more real, and I don’t need any more complications right now.
His deep voice lowers to a whisper, and that whispered voice of his creeps across my skin and makes me shiver: “I’m here to make sure you’re safe and you get what you want, but I’d be lying if I said that’s all.
I felt it at the Omega Garden, and I know you feel it, too.
You have to. There’s some kind of invisible force drawing us together. You have to feel it.”
I do. That’s the scary thing. I do feel it, but I’m a deer in headlights right then, unable to say anything, unable to do anything other than stare at him with wide eyes and suddenly clammy hands.
“I try to ignore it, I do, but anytime I see you, anytime you’re close—” The hand resting between us on the dock moves an inch or so closer to me, not quite close enough to touch me, but enough movement that I detect the underlying sentiment.
“—I get that same feeling all over again. It doesn’t even matter that you hide your scent. My inner beast knows.”
My throat is dry. I want to get up and leave, end this conversation before he can say anything else, but I’m frozen where I am, rooted in place by some magical force.
Rourke says something that definitely would have knocked me off my feet if I wasn’t already sitting down, “I think we’re scent matches.”
Scent matches. The stuff of fairy tales.
They say you’re insanely lucky if you meet your scent match in your lifetime.
Some people are lucky enough to have two or more, but most people live their whole lives never meeting their supposed scent match.
Some people don’t even think such things are real.
What about me? Do I believe in scent matches?
At the very core of the issue lies a problem: scent matches are supposed to instantly recognize each other by, you guessed it, scent. The mere scent of your match is supposed to send you into overdrive, make you lose your mind, maybe even turn you into a different person.
How can I have that when I’m as damaged as I am? How can I have a scent match when I can’t smell him?
But all the other things that supposedly come along with scent matches…
there’s something between us, I can’t deny it.
The way my heart acts up, how my breath seems to catch more often when he’s close, how I think he’s the most attractive alpha I’ve ever seen.
I could rationalize away one or two of those things, but now that the words scent match are in my head, I can’t shake them.
A long, tense minute passes before I echo faintly, “Scent matches?”
Rourke nods once. “I spoke to my friend Pax about it, asked him what it felt like when he found his. Everything he described, it’s the same thing with me when it comes to you.”
My mind is racing, my thoughts bouncing around with no destination.
I feel lightheaded, a little dizzy. Rourke can’t be my scent match.
It’s ridiculous. It’s preposterous. I mean, what are the odds?
What are the odds he’d show up at my last stint at the Omega Garden, that he’d approach me, take all of my insults by the chin, and be my freaking scent match?
It’s a cosmic joke. It has to be.
I don’t know what to say at this point, and the way Rourke keeps looking at me makes me feel strange, like he’s expecting me to leap into his arms or something. Or maybe that’s all in my head and he just wants me to say anything, to give him an ounce of affirmation.
I’m slow in standing, only when I’m certain my legs can carry my weight.
Getting up is the last thing I want to do—of course, I want to crawl on his freaking lap and whine out my frustrations, feel his strong, firm hands everywhere on my body—but putting space between us is probably the smartest thing I can currently do while I reckon with everything he told me.
“Don’t follow me,” I say. “I need some space to think.” I leave my shoes and socks on the dock as I walk away, and I hope that makes it clear I don’t plan on going too far.
Rourke turns to watch me go, and thankfully he doesn’t get up and try to follow me.
I make it to the folded blanket and the picnic basket, and I grab the blanket and spread it out among the pebbles that line the shore.
Once it’s spread, I sit down on it, and a few moments after that, I collapse backward and stare at the blue sky overhead.
More clouds dot the pretty blue, but they seem to miss the sun’s path each time.
Even now, even though I’m not side-by-side with Rourke, my heart still struggles to slow its pace.
He thinks we’re scent matches. Maybe it’s true.
Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m losing my mind when he’s near.
Maybe the only reason I’ve been able to keep my mind intact is because I can’t smell him, and maybe the only reason he hasn’t gone bananas yet is because of the cream I lather onto my body after every shower.
I wear that cream to lower the temptation, the possible attraction. I knew coming here with Asher would be a risk, and I wanted to be as prepared as possible. Not in a million years did I ever believe Rourke would show up and that he’d claim we’re scent matches.
Scent matches. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to. Even if, by some miracle, this plan of mine works, if Rourke is truly my scent match, I don’t think he’ll ever want to be kicked out of my life.
This makes everything so much more complicated.