Chapter 2
Chapter two
ASH
I jolt at the two little dings. My heart stops for a second and then kicks in like it’s falling down stairs.
The sound feels so loud that it won’t actually fit in my head.
I want to cover my ears and duck, but instead, I wipe my hands on my apron.
The last thing I need today is to drop another platter of fries.
There are four plates at the window. After my first week working here, my arms were so sore and tired I couldn’t even lift them to take my ponytail out.
I’d wondered if there were training programs just for diner waitresses.
Am I supposed to be spending my time in the gym working out my biceps or something just to do the job?
Kai, our busboy, can carry twice as much as I do, and it never fazes him.
He isn’t even an alpha, and he can carry an entire stack of plates balanced on his fingertips.
And Estelle? She can line up two plates on her forearm and carry two more in her free hand without breaking a sweat. She grew up working here, so maybe it’s just in her DNA. Maybe it’s because she’s a beta?
Maybe omegas are just weak.
“Ash. Order up.”
Ed hits the bell two more times, even though I’m standing right here. They are still gunshot loud, but it doesn’t hurt as much.
I smile weakly at the cook, but he doesn’t look up from the grill. The plates are sitting in the pass-through under the lamp, catching the light, minding their own business in the spotlight.
Lies. It’s a trap. They don’t look dangerous, but even one minute under the heat lamp turns them into lava.
I don’t know what these plates are made of—probably military-grade ceramic—but they hold a grudge and bite back as if they are getting revenge for their fallen brothers.
I’ve broken so many plates, I don’t blame them for lashing out.
I tap a finger to the edge of the first plate, just testing, fast. No yelp, no hiss, no instinct to shove my finger in my mouth. Safe enough. The first time I burned my fingers, Estelle bumped my hip and told me I’d have to develop “asbestos fingers”.
I look over at table three. I’m pretty sure they’re betas, so I think it will be fine to make two trips. I get a firm grip on two of the plates and hold them high as I skirt the edge of the counter. The lunch rush is mostly over, so I don’t have to tango with customers on my way to the table.
“Here you go,” I say. The betas sit up straight and move notebooks and printouts to clear space.
“No. We have to be front row. It’s Rush McGraw. At the Opry,” the blond says, tapping his finger on one of the papers.
I drop the entrées, a burger and chicken and waffles.
Estelle yelled at me on my first day, when I hadn’t brought both entrées at the same time.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I dart back for a plate of onion rings and a side salad.
The scent of the fried, greasy goodness makes me want to weep.
I’m used to being hungry. I am not used to being hungry around food that smells this good all the time.
“What would you do? Floor or balcony?” The blond looks up at me like my opinion matters. I glance at the paper. “Rush McGraw: The Shiny New Penny Tour at the Opry. One Night Only.” There’s a price list with numbers I can’t afford, even if I save for months.
“You’re going to pay to see country music?”
His face falls like I had just kicked his puppy. My face flushes hot. Great, Ash, there goes another table of tips.
“I meant to say, that’s a lot of money to see a concert. Can I get you another soda?” I cringe and correct myself. “Coke, not soda. I’m never going to get this right.”
My brother once told me that I just needed more practice with people.
Be like Reed. You can do this, Ash.
The other beta snorts and flips his brown, shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Girl, don’t worry about it. We’d spot you as a northerner right quick, anyways.”
“But I’m from Florida.”
“Half of Florida is made up of snowbirds and New Yorkers, so same diff.”
“You’re right about that.” I almost laugh.
“So, uh,” the blond taps the flyer on the table, “if we can get tickets, you want to come with us?” His smile is honest. And that makes me nervous.
“I’m not allowed to date.” The words fall out of my mouth before I realize it. “Customers, I mean. I don’t think we can date customers.” God, I sound like such a goober. I turn my head as the bell on the door jingles.
Marilyn blows in with her perfect hair, perfect nails, a ruby red suit dress, and shoes that look like they came right off the runway. She has one of those giant designer bags hanging off the crook of her arm.
She pantomimes with big gestures that she’s going to take a booth. I want to like her. I do like her. For an alpha, she’s not all… alpha-y.
I had almost given up hope. Marilyn canceled on me a bunch of times with some emergency or another. What kind of emergencies did a hockey team have?
I step around Estelle and pull down two coffee cups.
She’s leaning with her forearms on the counter and hip cocked.
Everything Estelle does looks sexy. Even though she’s a beta, she has the confidence of an omega with a pack of alphas around her.
She watches me like a hawk, like she already figured out all the secrets I can’t tell anyone.
I glance back nervously at Marilyn as I fill our mugs. Maybe I should have suggested we meet somewhere else.
“I’m going to take a break if that’s okay.” I arrange the coffee on a tray with a ton of creamers and sugar. The coffee is free for employees, but after just three weeks working here, I still prefer it with a ton of cream and sugar.
“Sure, babe. I got your tables,” Estelle says, drumming her coffin nails on the counter.
I blow out a breath and lick my lips. I should have practiced more. I squeeze my fists to stop them from shaking. I need to stay focused on the goal.
“Ash!” Marilyn’s voice is bright and cheery.
Hearing that name still gives me a little thrill.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. It was an accident, really.
When I asked about the help wanted sign in the window and Estelle asked me for my name, I stuttered and only got out “Ash” and not “Ash Lynn”.
I felt so dumb. I mean, who gets their name wrong?
So, I didn’t correct her. Now it’s too late.
But that is going to work for me now. Pierce and Liam knew “Lynn”, the stupid baby sister of the best friend they murdered. But Ash? She’s a grown-up omega.
Marilyn practically purrs as I clatter the mugs to the table and dig out the Sweet’N Low packets from my apron pocket. I slide into the booth across from her, before she can do something insane and go in for a hug or kiss my cheeks.
“Do you want pie or something?” I ask as I rip open five sugars.
“No, dear, I’m fine. But how are you?”
“Oh, fine, you know, just trying to get past it all.” I wave my hand like it’s no big deal.
Marilyn grimaces and ignores her coffee. “I know Timber is a bit much.”
“But you didn’t expect him to publicly humiliate me?”
“Ash, you’re right,” she sighs and switches gears. “You were doing me a favor, and you didn’t deserve that.”
“Timber didn’t seem to appreciate the favor.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” She puts up her hands in defense. “I knew this had the potential to end badly, and I didn’t prepare either of you.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter. I did spend two days replaying it in my head. But the Timber part of the date wouldn’t make the top-ten list of horrible things in my life.
“He was exactly what you said he’d be.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Rough. I can deal with rough.”
Her mouth tightens, and I look away.
“It wasn’t him,” I say, quieter. “Not really.”
“No?”
“You know another omega crashed our date, right?”
“Oh.” Her voice tightens.
“Yeah.” I cringe, and it’s not fake. I’ve never had an omega friend. Not that I expected Ollie and me to be best friends forever. But I had hope. And she had wanted nothing to do with me.
“Ash…”
I cut her off. “I know this wasn’t supposed to be a magical scent match date night or anything. Alphas are always jerks, and that’s fine, but I thought, I don’t know,” I shrug and stir my coffee again, “omegas are supposed to stick together or something.”
It’s quiet for a moment. If I push now, will that be too over the top?
“Timber treating me like dirt is one thing, I’m used to that, but an omega…”
Marilyn takes a sip of coffee. Does she look uncomfortable?
“I left feeling like I’d failed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking,” I continue. “Which is silly. I know that. But it’s hard not to internalize it when everyone else at the table already seemed…” I let that hang and shrug again.
Marilyn sighs. “Ash.”
“I’m not saying Timber did anything wrong on purpose,” I say. “He was overwhelmed. I could see that. But the way she looked at me…” I trail off, letting the implication do the work. “It made me feel like I’d walked into a room I wasn’t supposed to be in.”
“That’s on me,” Marilyn says.
I hold my breath. I want her to feel bad for me, but not think I’m totally pathetic.
“Really, Ash.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “I’m better than this. I put you in an impossible situation, and I’m sorry. How can we make this right?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh heavily—maybe too heavily. “I wish I could just have a do-over, you know?”
Please, please, please, please, please.
“A do-over?”
I stare into my coffee. This has to work. All I need is a date, just a date. A chance to get close to them.
“I mean, you don’t want your dress to go to waste, right?” I manage to look at her. “I just wish I had someone to wear it for.”
She doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t she saying anything? She should say, ‘Ew, no, Ash, you’re gross.’
“Timber mentioned one of his teammates. He went on and on about him. Brian? Bruce? No…” I snap my fingers, pretending it just popped into my head. “Beckett. He’s supposed to be nice.”
“Beckett?” She looks surprised. “Beckett,” she says his name again, almost to herself. I can see her wheels turning.
She leans back, letting the booth steady her as she scrapes me up and down with her eyes. I try to look as hurt and innocent as possible. Just a poor, defenseless omega who has no hidden agendas. Nope.
“Beckett is a sweetheart,” she says, but her eyes narrow. “And he’s…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. “Well, never mind. I don’t know much about his pack, however. They’re not very involved with the team.”
My mouth waters like I’m about to be sick. His pack. Packs are bad. One alpha is a jerk, but together in a pack they’re worse. His packmates are the worst of the worst.
“Well, it’s just a dinner, right? Just with Beckett? You owe me a fun night in my pretty dress.”
Marilyn folds her hands. She’s quiet for too long. I need this to work.
“I’ll be honest with you. Beckett is a doll. But he’s not in a great place right now. He’s going through something with his career, and I suspect in his personal life too.” Then she says almost to herself, “He really does need the stabilizing force of an omega in his life.”
“Or,” I counter, “maybe he just needs a normal dinner? You told me you wanted to avoid ‘puck bunnies.’” I drop my death grip on the coffee cup long enough to throw air quotes. “I don’t care about him being famous. It’s just dinner, right?”
She isn’t going to go for it.
“Timber made a huge scene. He made me feel like dirt.”
I don’t feel guilty about exaggerating. I’ve been replaying that moment over and over for weeks now.
Timber was just flustered. We both knew we were there for the food.
He thought he was making things better by introducing me to a teammate, and all his words got jumbled.
Relatable, actually. It wasn’t his fault that his teammate has murderers in his pack.
When I saw them across the room with Beckett, two faces I thought I would never see again, my heart shattered. Liam. Pierce. The ones who should have protected my brother, should have protected me. The ones I’ve blamed ever since.
It all collided at once.
Timber then caused a scene, or I did. I can’t remember the details. Things got foggy.
I slump forward and make myself look as defeated on the outside as I usually feel on the inside.
Marilyn takes a steadying breath and pulls her phone out of her giant bag, tapping it a few times.
“The team’s on the road.” She scrolls for a bit. “They have an away game tomorrow.”
I do my best weak smile and cross my fingers under the table. Marilyn taps rapidly with her thumbs. I’ve never seen anyone text that fast.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Ash, so that no one has mixed expectations. I’ve known Beckett for a bit, and he’s never once shown interest in an omega. As a matter of fact, I think he’s avoiding it on purpose.”
“Great, I’m not looking for a pack anyway,” I lie. I’m not looking for a pack. I’m looking for that pack.
We talk logistics for a few minutes. She scribbles my availability on a blank sheet from my receipt book. She doesn’t really need to make a note. My availability is wide open except for the three mornings a week I work here. It’s not that complicated. I’m not that complicated.
I try hard to focus on the last details and her drawn-out goodbye. She gives me another round of apologies for Timber, and I mostly just smile through the conversation.
As she leaves, I watch her go, my panic mounting. I don’t even clear the table, afraid I’m not going to make it as I bolt down the hallway to the bathroom.
I push open the door and brace myself against it. It’s like I’m twelve years old again, all the fear and anger rushing into me. If I close my eyes, I can picture Reed lying in his own blood.
Stumbling forward, I grip the sink. I cup my hand under the faucet and take a mouthful. The metallic taste of the water is better than the bile burning my tongue.
I wipe my hands on my butt. My fingers hit Reed’s pocket knife.
I’ve been running through the plan for days and days. Go out with Beckett. Seduce him. Make him like me. Make him leave his pack. Hurt them like they hurt me.