Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
ASH
The Uber pulls in right behind a black Dodge Charger. The thought of seeing both Beckett and Liam shouldn’t be this thrilling.
Liam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat like he’s some movie star, all graceful, in control. When he turns, his eyes find mine instantly. He looks shocked. Obviously, Beckett didn’t tell him I was coming.
“Ash,” he says, crossing the lot toward me with long strides. Before I can prepare myself, he’s pulling me against him, one arm circling my waist. His lips brush my cheek, casual like he’s been doing it his whole life.
“I…” The words die in my throat. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. I shouldn’t be getting butterflies for Liam Morales.
“Come on,” he says, his hand finding the small of my back as he guides me toward the entrance. “It’s freezing out here.”
He pulls open the metal doors and music hits me right in the face, chased by the smells of sweat and a blast of heat. Liam tugs at the collar of my coat to get me to pull it off.
A few alphas are scattered around the space.
The big scary kind that are all neck and no brains.
None of them pay us any attention as Liam guides me deeper inside.
My eyes go right to Beckett. He’s got a bar of weights across his shoulders, straining as he squats.
His face is red with effort. His T-shirt clings to his body, soaked through at the collar and under his arms.
Pierce stands nearby, clipboard in hand. The tape across his nose is stark white. His black eyes don’t seem to be getting much better. Maybe he’s been getting punched in the face every other day. Should I feel bad about that? No, I shouldn’t feel bad about that, right?
Beckett spots us and almost crashes to the ground as the weights slip. But Pierce is right there, and they manage to get the weights on a rack. I can hear a few choice words from Pierce, which Beckett ignores and jogs over.
“Ash!” Before I can protest, I’m wrapped in a sweaty hug, and all I can smell is Beckett’s cinnamon, like cookies right out of the oven.
“I’ve got fifteen more minutes,” Beckett says, bouncing slightly on his toes. “But after that…”
“After that, you’ve got stretching and recovery. And some cardio. The dreaded bike because running is going to jiggle your little puppy brain too much,” Pierce cuts in, his voice firm. He turns to me. “He’s still on modified training after the concussion.”
“Are you…”
“I’m fine,” Beckett insists, rolling his eyes. “Doc cleared me. Pierce is just being—”
“Your trainer,” Pierce finishes, tapping his clipboard.
“A dick,” both Beckett and Liam say at the same time.
We all laugh, including Pierce.
“Get to it, I ain’t got all day.” Pierce smacks Beckett on the butt as he heads back for the weights.
“I need to take care of some paperwork,” Liam says, his hand brushing my arm lightly, making me shiver despite the billion degree temperature. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I lie. I don’t really want to be left alone with Pierce.
He nods, glancing between me and Pierce before heading toward the back of the gym.
And then it’s just me and Pierce, standing in silence as the gym’s noise swirls around us. We stand side by side, each of us determined not to look at each other.
“He’s showing off for you,” Pierce says finally, nodding toward Beckett. “Usually can’t get him to finish a full set without whining.”
Beckett moves to a new station, bending over to adjust the weights on a barbell. The back of his shorts ride up slightly, showcasing thighs built like tree trunks and a sculpted ass. I stare a beat too long.
“Hockey butt,” Pierce says with a smirk.
“What?” Heat floods my face. I’ve been caught.
“All hockey players have ridiculous glutes,” he explains, sounding almost professorial despite the amusement in his voice. “It’s from the skating stance. Years of driving force from a semi-squat position.”
“What’s a glute?”
“Ass, Ash.”
I look at him and crack up.
“Gluteus maximus. Glutes for short. It’s your butt muscle.”
“I wasn’t…” I start then stop, because the lie is so obvious it’s not worth finishing.
“Sure you weren’t. Nah, it’s cool. His ass is fine. I don’t mind sharing it with you. But if I stare at his ass too long, we’re all going to be in danger.”
I blink rapidly so that the image doesn’t get seared into my head. Danger. It’s Pierce’s scent that’s the danger. It’s so thick I can taste it.
“You smell good,” I blurt out, desperate to shift the subject away from Beckett’s ass.
Pierce’s expression shifts, gesturing to the tape across his nose. “Can’t smell a thing right now. Doc says it’s healing, but everything’s just… blank.” He says it casually, but it upsets him.
I nod, suddenly awkward again. “Must be weird.”
“It’s shit,” he agrees. “Everything tastes like cardboard too.”
Across the room, Beckett has moved on to a different exercise that doesn’t involve his ass. Thank god.
“Do you work out?” Pierce asks.
I snort. “Does walking to the bus stop count?”
His eyes drop to my body, a quick sweep that doesn’t feel invasive, just assessing. “Gotta get you’re your steps in..”
“Right,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “So, what do you have people do? Some ‘skinny omega’ routine?”
“I don’t train people to be skinny.” There’s an edge of disgust in his voice like I said the exact wrong thing.
“I was just—”
“I train people to be strong,” he continues, cutting me off. “I’m tired of omegas coming in here thinking they need to shrink themselves to be attractive. That bullshit comes from fashion magazines and insecure alphas who need to feel bigger than their partners.”
“I was joking.”
His expression softens slightly. “Sorry. Sore spot.”
“Clearly,” I mutter.
He studies me for a moment longer. “You don’t need to be skinnier. But everyone benefits from being stronger.”
“I’m not exactly powerhouse material.”
“Strength isn’t just about muscle mass,” he explains. He steps away from the wall we’ve been leaning against. “Come on. We have to do something productive since Beckett’s not showing off his ass anymore.”
Before I can protest, he’s walking toward a rack of dumbbells. I follow, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Pierce selects two small weights and holds them out to me. “These are just five pounds each. We’ll start with a simple shoulder press. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructs, moving behind me. “Elbows bent, weights at shoulder height.”
I try to mimic what he’s describing, feeling clumsy and exposed. Pierce makes a small sound of dissatisfaction and steps closer. Suddenly, his chest is nearly touching my back, his arms coming around to adjust my posture. His hands encircle my wrists, repositioning them.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair near my ear. “Keep your core tight.”
His palm presses briefly against my stomach.
Heat floods my body. His scent wraps around me.
Fuck me, am I already sweating? A voice in my head screams that this is a bad idea, that I should step away, that this is the man responsible for Reed’s death.
But my body doesn’t listen, leaning back into his warmth.
“Now press up. Slow and controlled,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
He guides my arms through the motion, the movement bringing my back fully against his chest. Every point where our bodies touch feels like it’s burning through my clothes.
“Good,” he says, stepping away abruptly. “Now do ten more on your own.”
What am I even doing here? I suck at revenge. Reed would be so disappointed.
Reed would be stoked.
I keep moving my arms as that terrifying thought races through my brain.
No. Reed’s dead because of them. And all the bad things happened because of it.
I have to keep reminding myself of that.