Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
ASH
I knock twice and wait. I’m doing this regardless.
The neighborhood is nice. All the houses are enormous, all the cars look expensive, and nothing needs a fresh coat of paint. There’s a big SUV in the driveway and a smaller car. A Charger. Reed didn’t have a car, but Pierce did—a beat-up pickup. He always talked about getting a Charger.
The door swings open and my brain seizes.
Liam.
Not as tall as I remembered, but I was twelve when I saw him last. I barely came up to his armpit back then.
He was already an alpha and twenty-four, just like Reed.
He’s not as skinny. He’s probably not hungry all the time now either, like I was, like we all were.
He looks older, but tired. And he’s beautiful now.
That part stings. I expected him to look different, but not this good.
I look over at the Charger again. Would Reed be driving that? Would Reed be good looking too?
“Can I help you?”
“I’m—” I yank the words back into my mouth. I almost called myself Lynn. I don’t remember much about my mom, except for the stories Reed told me. One was about my name. She’d been angry that Papa would only call me by my middle name.
“I’m Ash. Beckett invited me over?” I try and fail to make that not sound like a question.
“Oh. Hey,” he says, swinging the door wider. “Come on in.”
My mouth isn’t working so I just nod. My hands are cold.
I’m standing in front of the guy who used to sneak me snacks and stand next to Reed no matter what.
No, that’s wrong. He is also the guy who stuck with Pierce.
He wasn’t there that night, but that doesn’t mean Liam didn’t also leave Reed bleeding on the living room floor.
“I’m Liam.” He offers me his hand.
I smile tightly, even though my lips feel like they’re trembling. The second our fingers connect, everything wants to rush out.
He drops my hand and jams them into his pockets. The house smells like smoky cinnamon and the laundromat. I want to breathe it in deep, but I’m afraid it’ll make my head spin.
“Beckett’s downstairs,” Liam says and then adds, “We have, like a media room.” Like he knows that’s kind of creepy. “You want anything? Water? Coke?”
I shake my head. His hand grazes my back as he steers me toward the basement stairs, and I don’t flinch at his touch but at the memory.
Me upstairs, hands clamped over my ears, listening to Papa and Reed go at it.
Liam paced my bedroom. Then he grabbed his backpack, yanked out his Discman and those fat headphones.
He kneeled, fitted them over my head, and showed me the buttons: play, skip, volume.
He cranked it up, and suddenly all I heard was screaming guitars and melodic voices, so loud it erased everything else.
I clamped my hands over the headphones, and Liam smiled, then left the room. They all had black eyes the next day.
I blink and the memory’s gone. I take the stairs without looking back at Liam.
The basement isn’t creepy at all. It’s warm, with buttery light and carpet so soft I want to roll around on it.
There’s a U-shaped sectional sofa bigger than my whole apartment, a wall of bookcases crammed with trophies, game consoles, and battered novels, and workout gear everywhere.
Beckett is curled up on the couch, blanket to his chin.
“Hey,” I say. He jumps, then stands.
“Hey,” he echoes. Stepping forward, he gently takes my coat and drapes it over the back of a chair. Then he leans in and kisses me. His lips are soft. I tense and then relax. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Well, you do owe me cake.” I pause. “And other things.” I whispered the plan over and over in the car on the way here. Get close to Beckett, figure out a way to make them hurt. Guilt settles into my tummy at his blush and goofy smile, but I push it away. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Much better now. Come sit.” He tugs me by the fingers. I let him pull me to the couch, dropping my bag on the floor. The leather is cool but soft. I barely perch on the edge like I’m afraid it will bite me.
Beckett sinks to his knees in front of me. My pulse stutters. He picks up my foot, unlacing my sneaker, and slips it off. He does the same with the other, lining them up next to my bag. His hands are warm, and I shiver.
“So, you hurt your head?” I say, the words clumsy. I want to fill the silence, keep things moving so I don’t have to think too hard about the way he’s looking at me.
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Concussion and dehydration. The IV helped, but my head’s still a mess.
Sorry it’s so dark. That’s why.” He gestures at the dimmed lamps and the blackout curtains.
“One of the downers about concussions: low lights and no screen time. I probably shouldn’t even be watching TV. ” He laughs and winces.
Leaving space between us, he settles back on the couch. I try to relax, but every cell in my body is aware of the empty spot next to him. He picks up a tablet and starts scrolling.
“Alright, movie rules. No true crime, no documentaries, no history, and absolutely no dogs dying.”
I snort. “No pack romances. I hate those.”
“Noted.”
We scroll through the endless options, vetoing each other’s choices until a title flashes by that I can’t resist.
“That one,” I say. My throat is tight. “That was my brother’s favorite.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I want to pull them back, but Beckett just nods and selects it.
“Guns and cars it is. It’s Pierce’s favorite too.”
The opening credits roll. Without warning, Beckett reaches for me and picks me up like I don’t weigh more than a stuffed animal, pulling me against his side.
He’s on the part of the sectional that lets him stretch his legs out.
He tucks a blanket around us, taking forever to make sure every inch of me is covered, even my feet.
I don’t know if it’s the blanket or the way he’s holding me, but I feel safer than I have in a long time. And it smells so fucking good.
“This is a bad idea.” Shit, I hope I didn’t say that out loud. So, I cover with, “It’s like a nest in here. I might fall asleep.”
Beckett laughs. I feel it more than hear it. He kisses the top of my head, his arm heavy across my shoulders. He starts tracing lazy circles on my arm, and I melt into him. I can’t help it.
“I fully support naps. This is Liam’s favorite room. He built this custom LED lighting system that syncs up with the sound. If it’s cool with you, I’m not going to turn it on right now.”
I nod. How can something feel safe and dangerous at the same time?
***
I jolt upright as explosions and gunfire rip through the room. I don’t recognize where I am for a second. The chaos is just on the TV. I take tiny breaths and hope my heart doesn’t explode too.
I look over my shoulder. We did nap. Beckett is snoozing with a smile on his face. His long legs are twisted up in the blanket. The bruises under his eyes are fading to that ugly yellow you can’t cover with any amount of makeup. Even the scrapes on his knuckles look better.
Beckett’s cinnamon scent is everywhere. But it’s not sweet like the cinnamon rolls we sell at the diner. It’s grown-up and real, not like candles and room sprays.
I slip off the couch and tug the blanket up around Beckett’s shoulders. I really shouldn’t sneak around, not in someone else’s house, and Liam and Pierce are probably here somewhere. But my mouth is so dry it hurts.
The stairs creak under me as I climb. They aren’t a straight shot. There’s a landing, then a turn about halfway up.
“Oh!” The sound escapes me as I hit the last part of the stairs. Liam is sitting on the very top step, elbows braced on his knees, his head in his hands.
He takes a breath and looks up, and his eyes are drowning in hurt and worry.
“You scared me,” I say, my heart thundering in my own throat.
He scans me head to toe and back again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lurk.”
“Were you… spying on us?” I try to make it sound light, but my voice wobbles.
He holds my gaze, evaluating. Then he sighs. “No, I’m just trying not to hover. Beckett’s hurt, and he’s not taking it seriously. And I didn’t want to…” He gestures at the air, frustrated. “Well, he’s… Head injuries are pretty serious. And I can’t not… Well, you know.”
I nod like I understand. Maybe I do. Maybe if I had someone like Beckett in my life, I’d hover and worry too.
“Can I get you water or something?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Sure.”
I follow him up the stairs and into the kitchen.
The house isn’t new; it’s definitely lived-in.
A calendar and magnets are on the fridge.
There’s a fruit bowl with a banana way past its prime.
Clutter on a sideboard, a basket of car keys and mail.
It smells like laundry and toast and something faintly floral.
“I think TV lied to me,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Liam asks, opening the fridge.
“Oh, you know. Beckett is like a famous sports guy. I thought they all lived in mansions with indoor basketball courts.”
He gives me a look, like he’s trying to inventory every single thing I say and do. Why did I think I could do this? Liam’s always been smart. He’ll figure it out.
“Yeah, well, that flashy kind of life doesn’t really suit us. Doesn’t suit Beckett. That’s never really been his style.”
“Oh,” I say. He grabs a bottle of water and twists it open for me. “Thanks.”
He leans against the counter, arms folded. “So, have you known Beckett long?”
I shrug, trying to keep it casual. “No. There was this whole PR thing. We met yesterday.”
He nods. I feel like if I lied, he’d smell it on me. I don’t know what Beckett’s told him.
“Don’t you have another packmate?” I change the subject.
“Yeah. Pierce.”
I don’t ask where Pierce is, even though I want to. Even though I don’t want to. Trying to play cool around Liam is hard enough.
Liam looks at me probably how I looked at Estelle the first time we met. Suspicious, assessing what game she was playing. Now that it’s just us, I can pick out his scent more. It smells like wood and something sweet and smoky, maybe.
I resist the urge to brush my bangs down to hide my face more. Does he recognize me? It’s been a long time, and I was just a kid the last time he saw me. I’m all grown and an omega now too.
He’s about to say something but the doorbell rings. I jump a little, but he doesn’t. His eyes narrow, like he just figured something out. He flashes me a smile and walks past me to the door. I take a sip of water and try not to watch him.
He’s… very handsome. More so than I remember. But so different from Beckett, less big, less cuddly, but more… I don’t have words for it. It’s that feeling that you know everything is just handled. Whatever it is, it’s handled. I fan myself; it’s hot in here. This house smells too damn good.
He’s back in seconds with half a dozen plastic bags hanging from his fingers. He puts them on the counter, and they make that horrible crinkling sound. I hate putting together to-go orders at the diner. The bags feel worse than they sound.
I raise my brows. “Whoa, are you having guests?”
“You obviously have never fed a professional athlete.”
I stand on my tiptoes to see into the bags. Liam begins to stack styrofoam cartons and quart containers on the island counter.
“We usually meal prep for Beckett during the season. Steak and broccoli. Chicken if he’s feeling wild.”
“Broccoli’s terrible,” I mutter.
Liam pauses and looks at me. Something about that breaks the ice just a little. I’m not sure why though.
“Yeah. The only veggie we had as kids was broccoli, microwaved until it was limp and gray.”
“Cheese can’t even fix that.” I snort.
He cocks his head and looks at me weirdly again. “He’s out with an injury for a week or two, so I figured this was a good excuse to ruin his macros.”
“What’s a macro?” I ask.
“Fuck. Pierce is gonna…” The bags are crinkling too loud for me to hear the rest of that.
“Oh man, did you get ribs?”
I jump again at the sound of his voice. Liam catches that and watches me, not Beckett as he comes into the kitchen.
His hair is all messed up, and he squints at the brighter lights of the kitchen. He looks adorable. His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, showing a stripe of skin across his stomach. I focus on the food containers. Am I sweating?
He circles the island, eyes scanning the spread, and as he passes behind me, his hand brushes my waist as he leans in to kiss my temple. I shiver. He does almost the same thing to Liam, a quick, casual touch at the small of his back as he reaches for plates.
My chest gets tight. It would be so easy to imagine this is real. But I can’t get attached to that idea. Or them. This will never be my future.
“Shoot.”
“What?” Both Liam and I say at the same time. We exchange a look.
“Red Velvet.” Beckett tilts the take-out container towards us so we can see.
“What? You like Red Velvet. Wait. Did the team decide that dessert has bad vibes again? We did that with pudding, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
“Pudding does have bad vibes,” I offer.
“See! Even the pretty little omega gets it.” Beckett beams at me, and the temperature in the kitchen jumps a hundred degrees. “Nah, Red Velvet is fine. But it means I still owe you cake.”
“Oh.” I blush like a stupid little omega.
“I might have to resort to baking one for you.”
Laughter erupts from Liam until he has to wipe a tear from his eye. “I would pay cash money to see that.”
Beckett is smiling as he piles a plate with ribs, brisket, mac and cheese, something green, and a biscuit. He takes the plate and wiggles his fingers for me, then leads me to the table by the huge windows.
“If you can’t guess,” Liam says as he sits with his plate, “Beckett can’t cook. When we moved in with him, he would just put frozen burgers in the microwave.”
“Protein is protein, man,” Beckett says as he moves a rib off of his plate to mine, like the mountain of food in front of me wasn’t enough.