Chapter 5 Lia
Lia
Idon’t need someone babysitting me while I’m shopping.
“No one,” I say before any other man or Alpha or whatever can speak for me. “I’ve taken care of myself for years with this issue. I don’t suddenly need a bunch of Alphas breathing down my neck.” I turn to Dr. Quinn. “How long until the prescription is ready?”
I watch him type something on his laptop before he looks at me. “Just sent it. Should be ready in about half an hour.”
“And what direction is the grocery store?”
Dr. Quinn points. “About four blocks that way. Go out the same way you came in, take a right, and keep walking until you see the sign for Hometown Corner Store.”
“I’ll walk with you,” a voice says to my right.
I turn my head and see one of those Alphas that’s in my exam room. What in the world made me think it was okay for them to stay? Alphas are always controlling. They want what they want, and they don’t give a flying rat’s behind about what anyone else wants, including an Omega.
I shouldn’t have allowed them to stay. I don’t know what possessed me to say it was okay.
But their intermingled scents rush around my head, wrapping around me like a vise.
Juicy grapes, a subtle mocha scent, and freshly cut grass laced with honey.
It’s a mixture that settles the frustration rising up.
I just need to get home.
“What’s your name?” I ask, staring at the Alpha in the overalls.
He beams a bright smile, like I’ve just agreed to take him to the moon. “Knox Rylan.”
The one who won the pie-eating contest? “No, Knox, you won’t walk with me to the grocery store.”
His shoulders deflate. “But you’re not in any condition—”
I hold my hand up. “I don’t need some random Alpha telling me about what my condition is or isn’t. I know what I need. I’ve dealt with my cyclewide disorder for years. I know what I’m doing.”
“Clearly you don’t,” the Alpha who had me in the alleyway speaks up. “Especially if you’re taking suppressants you shouldn’t be taking in the first place. You’re already putting yourself in danger.”
“And why do you care so much?” I ask.
The look he pins me with makes the Omega inside of me squirm. But I don’t back down. This is my life, and I have a plan. I have a schedule I have to stick to, and then I can take time off to deal with my impending heat.
I’m not going to explain myself to a bunch of Alphas that don’t know how to control themselves once spring turns the corner.
The little girl in the man’s arms whines, and I draw in a deep breath. No doubt, she’s sensing the tension in the room. I have to be strong for her. I have to manage myself better than this.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath before looking back at the Alpha with the glasses. “What’s your name again?”
“Eli Black, miss.”
“You have to go to the store anyway, correct?”
He nods. “For the popsicle molds.”
“You can accompany me to the store.”
“I’ll go pull my truck up,” Knox says.
“No,” I say as I shoot him a look. “Eli can walk with me. The fresh air will be good for his daughter. Dr. Quinn?”
He chuckles. “Yes, Miss Lia?”
“Where do I pick up my prescription?”
“The drug store is beside the grocery store,” my scent-match says.
I peer at him over my shoulder. “What’s your name again?”
He looks like I just shot him. “Walker Boone.”
“Okay, so it’s not Dr. Quinn. Just making sure.”
Knox barks with laughter, and I have to work to bury the smile that threatens to pull across my face. I have to get out of this scenario.
It feels too much like what happened last time.
“Then, at the very least,” Knox says as he puts a hand on Walker’s arm and takes a step forward, “let us follow you back to your place. None of us want to get in the way of anything. We all just want to make sure you get what you need and get home safely. You’ve passed out twice, after all.”
“I didn’t pass out twice,” I say as I snatch up my purse. “I passed out once, and then the pain kicked in. I didn’t pass out again in the alleyway.”
“If you have to split hairs, then you need to be accompanied,” Walker says, and my goodness, it takes so much willpower inside of me not to jump his bones just for more of his scent.
“We won’t get out of our cars. We won’t follow you to your front door.
We just want to make sure you get back to where you need to be safely without passing out behind the wheel of your car. ”
I have to admit, I am worried about the car ride home. I live about twenty minutes outside of town, but it’s a twenty-minute straight shot down a road that’s sixty-five miles an hour. It’s a haul, especially when I’m feeling like this. I don’t like it when I’m backed into corners with logic.
But I’m definitely backed into a corner.
“No one gets out at my place,” I say.
“Done,” the three of them say in unison.
Somehow, that translated into the three of them escorting me up the street to the grocery store, but I’m tired of fighting. I can already feel my preheat clawing at the back of my neck, and the need for my nest is greater than ever. As long as they don’t follow me inside my place, we’ll be fine.
If they do, Pickles will gnaw them down to nubs.
After picking up the things we needed—as well as getting those popsicle molds for Eli’s daughter, Amber—I get back in my car.
Walker closes my door for me taps his knuckles against the hood.
I crank the engine and pull out of the parallel parking space, hoping that maybe I can lose them on the ride to my place.
Maybe we’ll catch a stoplight or something heading out of town.
I should have known better than that, though.
Alpha pride is a stubborn thing to override.
There are three cars behind me while I drive down the road: a truck that is clearly a work truck that Knox drives, an SUV with Eli at the wheel that has slightly tinted windows that looks as if it’s seen better days, and a convertible with the top down and Walker’s scowl leading the charge behind the wheel.
So different, these Alphas.
I swipe my keycard so that the wrought iron gate of my apartment community opens, but there’s a swarm of trucks and cars with lights.
Police cars. Firetrucks. Ambulances. Multiple of each.
My stomach sinks into my toes and I feel the sweat kicking back up again.
It drips down the nape of my neck and makes me frustrated.
I hate dripping sweat.
As I weave around the orange cones and police officers waving me forward, I expect the chaos to break at any moment.
I live toward the back of the community, where the trees shade the complexes a bit more.
The top-level balconies in these buildings get the most shade, and they’re perfect for letting my baking creations cool quickly.
But the throng of trucks with sirens and whirring lights only gets thicker.
“Oh. My. God.”
The three words fall from my lips just as I hear barking. I recognize it instantly—Pickles, my German shepherd. He sounds like he’s outside. Why is he outside?
Suddenly, I’m slamming on the brake pedal, trying to process what’s in front of me as I park cockeyed in a parking space and scramble out of my car.
“Pickles!” I call out. “Pickles, are you all right?”
“Ma’am, is this your dog?” a police officer says as he walks up with my dog on a leash.
Pickles yanks at it, breaking away and sprinting toward me. I drop to my knees on the concrete sidewalk, my arms outstretched as he barrels into them. He rises up, his paws on my shoulders as he licks at my face, lapping up the tears that fall from my eyes.
“Is this your place?” Walker says behind me.
“Good God,” Eli murmurs over my shoulder.
“I’ll go find some information,” Knox says.
All I can do is bury my face into Pickles’ fur.
Anything to keep from looking at the tree limb that has fallen right through the roof of my apartment.