27. Brylee
27
brYLEE
When I was younger, I used to want to tag along to everything Ted wanted to do…including go to a monster truck rally.
That was a big mistake. Huge.
The arena was the loudest, most aggressive experience of my five-year-old life—yelling alphas, revving cars, crashing and crushing and all kinds of brutality too intense for my fledgling imagination.
I might as well be back in that arena right now, trying to hide my face in my hands. Cringing. Mentally pretending I’m somewhere else as a terrible breeze that reeks of burnt rubber wafts in through our open window and Sam sits down on the bed across from me. My roommate stares at me with a gaze that demands an explanation.
Fucked.
I’m beyond fucked.
If I could run out the door and down the hall, I would. But Colter’s scent wafts into the room, even with all the other unpleasant smells thick in the air. He’s lingering nearby, and I’d much rather face the beta across from me than him.
Fires have been put out around Eros. I can tell because the sirens are turning off now. But nothing’s going to put out the dumpster fire I lit for myself. What was I thinking? Running out without my wig—I wasn’t thinking . And therein lies the problem.
Now I have to explain away my presence here without giving away Teddie’s secret.
I press my lips together in thought.
What excuse makes the most sense?
“Why don’t you just tell me the truth instead of some elaborate story?” Sam suggests gently. His voice is still a little hoarse from the Noth attack.
“It’s classified,” I improv, but that lovely little word seems to get the desired response from him.
Sam’s eyes grow as round as saucers, and he shifts on the bed, leaning back a little. “Oh.”
“Look. Ted is taking care of some things right now. But nobody can know.” I let my expression instead of my words lay out the threat of what will happen if anyone gets wind of this little switch.
Immediately, the beta shakes his head, fingers nervously grabbing the hem of his T-shirt and twisting it. “I wouldn’t tell. Who would I even tell? You’re my roommate…ohhhh. That’s why you never sleep here.”
I tilt my head as I study him. I’m not sure if I should be relieved that he just put two and two together about the sleep situation or if the fact that he’s a bit slow on the uptake means he’s more likely to spill the beans.
What choice do I have, though?
I either trust Sam or figure out a way to get him out of the picture.
He didn’t do anything wrong. I failed. That means I at least need to give him the opportunity to make good on his promise.
But it doesn’t mean I have to put complete faith in him. Maybe I can get Caran to do some digging into his past. There’s probably nothing there except for weird internet kinks I don’t want to know about…but still, sometimes those are the best leverage.
“How long are you going to…?” He trails off almost as if he realizes mid-question that perhaps he shouldn’t be asking.
I give him a tight smile and state, “I wish I could say more, but that’s really all.”
“Okay. Okay. So, just continue on like before?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” He blinks and gives me a bashful smile that seems sincere. I study his face for a second, looking for any sign of a flinch, any flicker in his eyes that says he might be lying.
My stomach doesn’t fully unknot, but it’s the best that I can do…for now.
“Can you find something to do for an hour while I clean up here?” I ask.
“Um…sure, but there’s probably going to be an all-hands meeting or something pretty soon. I think I read that they do assemblies after incidents and after attack simulations and stuff,” he states as he scratches the back of his neck dolefully.
“Fuck. I forgot about that. Okay. Can you at least give me thirty and a massive warning if they’re calling people to assemble?”
“Yup. Can do.” He pops up off the bed as if this is the most uncomfortable place in the world to be right now. He’s not wrong about that.
While he stalks quickly to the door, I try very hard not to look down at my bloodstained hands. I was a disgusting mess of sweat before this attack and now? Now, I’m like the underside of someone’s shoe after a walk through a dog park on a rainy day.
Sam stops with his hand on the knob, turning, his shoulders slightly hunched. His teeth sink into his lower lip, and he looks meek as he says softly, “By the way, thanks for saving my life.” He spins around to face the door quickly as a red flush climbs up his neck.
I wonder if it’s because he’s embarrassed he needed to be saved or if he’s embarrassed he was saved by an omega.
Either way, it’s probably a blow to his ego. If people found out, it would be a blow to his reputation.
Knowing that eases my tension a little. It helps me believe that Sam will keep quiet out of more than just the goodness of his heart. But the heavy weight in the air is awkward with the weight of his gratitude and embarrassment, so I try to lighten it a little. “Maybe Alpha Team X will go a little lighter on us next class. Give us bonus points for surviving a real fight?”
Sam snorts in disbelief, giving a little eye roll. “Yeah. Right. They probably only give bonus points for bullet holes.”
“Too true. I do need the admin to revisit this whole ‘no weapons in the dorms’ policy.”
My roommate stares at me, swallowing hard. I’m sure he’s thinking about how much better he would have fared if he could have been armed. “Me too.”
With that, he leaves, and I head into the bathroom to try to erase some of the blood. The memories won’t wash away as easily…but honestly? I have yet to be hit by a wave of remorse.
Maybe it’s out there, somewhere, building offshore like a tsunami. But for right now, I simply feel an exhausted sort of pride that I protected someone.
I—an omega—protected someone.
I fought an alpha and won.
Twisting the dial and starting the hot water in the sink, I stare at my reflection. And as steam starts to rise from the sink in silver swirls, I smile.
Knowing there’s absolutely not going to be time for the full-on shower I deserve before the admin calls the assembly, I glance around to see what’s available to wash with. There’s disappointingly little. Since I try not to enter this dorm room very often, I haven’t stocked it with more than the bare essentials Ted said I needed to have to get by.
There’s a razor, shaving cream, four-in-one shampoo (disgusting), and a bar of soap. Dammit.
I lather up my hands full of suds from the bar and start to scrub at my cheeks.
At least one good thing can come out of my stupid reveal. I can add some new bathroom supplies in here so I can make pit stops after sweating to death in some of the combat classes ? —
Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, making me jump and soap suds slide down my face and neck like a white beard of bubbles.
Looming in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, skull mask rippling with every breath he takes, is Colter. And he’s taking massive breaths right now…as if he’s pissed.
Immediately and instinctively, I grab the razor and wield it. “What the fuck, man!” I try to verbally chastise him in Teddie’s tone. My wig is still off, but maybe he won’t notice. Who knows what he can see through those tiny eye slits anyway?
But Colter simply shakes his head and steps farther into the bathroom. As if he’s not scared at all of my blade, he turns and closes the door behind him, locking us in together.
My tension ratchets up.
When the massive man turns back to me, I realize that I’m shaking a little bit.
And then he utters one word that makes my shivers turn into wracking jitters.
“Mate.”
My knees start to give out, and he swoops forward, catching me in his massive arms. Cradling me with my feet still limply on the ground.
With all the gentleness he showed me when we were in the forest together, he gently twists the razor from my clenched fingers and throws it into the tub, where it clatters and slides around.
His dark eyes burn fiercely as I gaze up at him, unable to speak, unable to make an excuse. That gaze holds me just as captive as his hands do.
Then, before I know it, he’s somehow got a washcloth. While hugging me against his vast chest, he reaches forward and soaks the cloth beneath the stream coming from the sink. My teeth start to chatter.
“Adrenaline gone,” he murmurs. “It’ll be okay.”
I want to believe him, but my body is rebelling in full force right now. All I can do is cling to him as dizziness and wild emotions flap around within me.
“Breathe,” he coaches.
I try to breathe. Try not to focus on what I’m feeling but only on what I’m observing: in particular, his gloriously large, scarred hand as it dips beneath the faucet.
He wrings more water out of the rag with a single-handed grip than I’d ever be able to get even if I sat on it.
I lean my heavy head back against his bicep as he brings the warm rag up to my face and gently starts to swipe away the bubbles there. He washes my entire face. Slow swirls around my cheeks, soft stripes across my eyes, a sweeping circle around my forehead and chin. All the while, that gaze of his radiates through me as if he’s baring me down to the bone.
Once he’s finished with my neck, he pushes me toward the countertop. “Stand,” he murmurs as his hips bracket mine from behind. And then he drops the rag into the hot water still running from the sink and slowly pulls off my T-shirt. The suit is glaringly obvious then, but Colter doesn’t comment, not even when I tense. And, thankfully, he asks no questions. His massive hands simply search along the back of my neck to find the hidden zipper.
I swallow hard, watching him intently as he patiently peels the suit down enough to free my arms. He’s careful not to bare my breasts, though I can see his massive chest rise in anticipation as the suit gets close—as if he’s fighting temptation.
But some honorable instinct must stop him, because his hands reach only for the washcloth. And then he lifts my arms, washing them from fingertip to base with the same sort of tender attention he used on my face.
While he seems to hold his breath through most of this process, my own breathing has gotten shallower. Not from anxiety but from this display of adoration. Of caretaking.
Goose bumps pebble along my flesh, not from cold or fear, but because I almost feel like I’m floating as he washes me. There’s something deep and profound about it that’s almost spiritual.
Madam Ellora is always spewing out nonsense about how alphas treat their mates—ridiculous things about sweet surprises that are the exact opposite of my lived experience…until now.
I’ve never had an alpha treat me so delicately. So reverently.
When his gaze lifts to find mine in the mirror after he finishes washing my exposed skin, I’m not sure what he sees.
But he’s just broken something inside of me. Some hard shield that I thought was impenetrable—made of steel. He’s fucked with my preconceived notions about alpha males. About what mating means…what it should mean.
My mind is still whirling and spinning as he grabs a towel and dries me off, then carefully helps me back into the suit.
Just before he zips it up, he sneaks a tiny kiss at the base of my neck.
Lightning crackles through me, all the way to my toes, and breaks the silent spell we’ve been under.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I whisper, almost pleading.
“Mate,” he responds, as if that’s the answer to everything.
“Not even your packmates. No one else can know.” Fuck. My illusion is falling like a house of cards.
“No one.” He gives a single nod.
I wait for him to ask why I’m here or what’s going on, but the huge man stays silent.
There’s a loud knock on the door to the room, and I can hear Sam’s voice blunted by the walls and wood, calling out, “Teddie! Assembly! Come on!” Thankfully, he doesn’t enter.
Colter turns to the bathroom door and twists the knob, looking back once before he leaves me speechless as he walks away.
Once he’s gone, I grab the edge of the counter, hunching over it and squeezing my eyes shut as anxiety wallops me. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
But I’m not sure if I believe it.
It’s been an incredibly long time since I’ve had to trust anyone other than Ted or Caran. And now, in the space of a single stupid evening, I’m indebted to two men.
And I might even be falling for one of them.
I blow out deep breaths through pursed lips and stand, because I don’t have time for a meltdown. I have to maintain Teddie’s cover.
“Emotions are just obstacles,” I murmur to my reflection repeatedly as I shove on a new T-shirt and repin my wig.
They’ve always been obstacles…but I don’t know if they’ve ever seemed so insurmountable before.