Chapter 53
Chapter fifty-three
PIERCE
Three pairs of shoes stand around the mess. Red. With chunks. Splatter.
The torn grocery bag floats away on the breeze.
“I’ll get the hose,” I say finally, but my feet don’t follow the command. I crouch down and methodically pinch the larger shards of glass first. It didn’t shatter completely on the walk, more like the glass just gave up and cracked into five or six big pieces. The lid is even still attached.
“Well,” Liam says, clearing his throat. “I’m never going to look at spaghetti sauce the same way again.”
It’s a terrible joke. But we laugh anyway. Liam strips a bag off the gallon of milk so I can safely collect the pieces of the broken sauce jar.
“You okay?” Liam asks me.
The question irritates me only a little.
The two of them have been doing that tiptoeing through egg shells shit for a few days now.
I get it. But it’s still irritating having them ask me constantly if I’m okay.
I don’t think I am, but that’s beside the point, and they don’t need to know that right now.
I nod without looking up, still picking glass from the sauce splatter. “Just don’t want anyone stepping on this.”
I hear Beckett’s quick intake of breath. I can predict what he’s going to say at this point.
“She should be here, with us. We should be taking care of her.”
Nailed it.
“We agreed to give Ash space. She’s safe at Bella’s house. In Bella’s nest. There’s a stuffed elephant…” He trails off, not needing to finish the speech he’s given a hundred times a day.
I shake my head. We’re predictable at this point.
“You need to take a nap. You have to fly out for a game and you haven’t slept well,” Liam says, switching the intact grocery bags and the milk to his other hand so he can check his phone. “I’m meeting Estelle in a little bit. After we talk with Chantel and Marilyn, I’ll get all the details on Ash.”
I stand up with the bag of broken glass.
It clinks like a broken windchime. There are still probably little shards that I’ll have to sweep up once everything’s dry.
I’m going to run out of household maintenance projects.
None of us are sleeping. Beckett’s watching old hockey games.
Liam’s glued to his computer. I’ve been tightening doorknobs, rubbing scuffs out of the baseboards.
I’d rearrange the junk drawers, but Liam would have a meltdown if I moved things in his kitchen.
I’m just about to ask what we’re going to do for dinner now, when the sound of tires screeching to a stop cuts me off. We all turn as one, watching as the SUV rocks to a stop and the window rolls down. A blonde head pops out.
“Hello, hockey boys! Special delivery!”
The passenger door opens, and Ash steps out.
She looks smaller than I remember, in a baggy Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt and jeans that don’t really fit. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she has dark circles under her eyes. She’s bouncing from foot to foot on the curb.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Then she’s sprinting across the lawn and launches herself at Beckett. She hits him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, her arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his waist as he lifts her off the ground. His eyes close, face buried in her hair.
“Come on,” Liam says finally, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get inside.”
Beckett carries Ash into the house without setting her down, without loosening his grip for even a second. I wave the SUV off, grab the grocery bags, and follow behind.
“It’s okay,” Beckett murmurs against her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I hover uncertainly at the edge of the living room. Her scent suddenly fills the house, and I’m caught in a cloud of peach. Liam touches my elbow lightly, guiding me toward the kitchen.
“Let’s give her a minute,” he says quietly. “Help me with the groceries.”
We move through the familiar motions of unpacking bags, putting things away. The normalcy of it feels surreal after everything that’s happened. Liam places a carton of eggs in the refrigerator with exaggerated care. And I can’t look at her. She came back for Beckett, not me.
They come into the kitchen, and I have to edge around them to put away the boxes of mac and cheese. I try not to, but the space is tight, and my arm grazes her leg. The light touch burns all the way to my toes. I clear my throat.
“Hungry?” Beckett asks. He’s still holding her; apparently, the kitchen floor isn’t safe enough.
“We’ve got chips and dip. It’s a little early for lunch, but I could throw some burgers on the grill,” Liam offers.
“There have been so many snacks,” Ash says around a yawn. “Bella has a fully stocked minibar in her nest and a jar of M&M’s this big.” She holds her arms three feet apart, before snuggling back into Beckett’s neck.
“Liar. Even omegas don’t have candy jars that big.” The teasing is a reflex, but I want to choke on my words. What the fuck am I saying? I sheepishly glance at Liam to see how big I just fucked up.
Ash twists around and looks over her shoulder and down her back.
“I’m not lying. My pants aren’t on fire.” Her voice is whiney, and then she sticks her tongue out at me.
All I can do is stand here like an idiot with two blue boxes of mac and cheese in my hands as the love of my life, my best friend, and my scent match stand around chatting about snacks. I had no idea that all it took to fall in love was for a sassy omega to stick her tongue out at me.
“Pierce?” Beckett’s voice draws me back to the present. “We’re going to take a nap.”
I blink back to life to find him still holding Ash, her face pressed against his neck, legs locked around his waist. The words take a moment to register.
“A nap?” Ash asks. “Aren’t you a little big for naps?”
We all chuckle, and Liam shakes his head.
“Professional hockey players need naps,” Beckett explains with mock seriousness. “It’s practically in my contract. Coach rips us a new one if we miss naptime.”
She breaks out into giggles but that dies quickly.
“Uh, he’s mostly serious,” I say.
Liam scratches the back of his neck and squints a little.
“It was kind of an adjustment when we first moved in, actually. We’re all amped up after a game, especially a win, and when games end late, you’re up for hours.
But then he has to get on the ice or fly out early, and I might have an early meeting, or Pierce will have a 6 a.m. client at the gym.
And you can’t work out hard and not rest properly.
It leads to injuries. And if he has back-to-back games… ”
Liam finally takes a breath after his epic ramble and finds Ash just blinking at him. He goes beet red. My god, Liam is nervous.
“Babe,” she says, leaning toward him and putting her hand to her chest. “I’m an omega. You don’t have to work that hard to convince me to take a nap.”
“Come on. Liam has a meeting,” Beckett says to Ash, jerking his head toward the hall before turning that way. As he passes me, he hooks a finger in my belt loop, tugging me along as he carries Ash to his bedroom.
I’m a little too stunned to do anything but follow along.
The room is almost pitch black. He has blackout curtains and lamps on all the surfaces, only one of which is lit right now. Beckett sets Ash gently on the edge of the bed, then kneels to remove her shoes.
Ash has her hands clamped tight to her chest, unsure of what is going to happen next. I’m right there with her.
“Move,” Beckett groans and gives me a shove. “You too, Ash, scoot back.” He kicks off his shoes and crawls to the right side. Ash apparently didn’t move fast enough, so he picks her up gently and nestles her in the center of the bed.
And then he spends way too long fussing. He roughs up the pillows, pulls a fuzzy blanket over us and manhandles Ash like a giant teddy bear, until she’s spooned against him, all cuddled up. Beckett reaches over and ruffles my hair before tucking his arm around Ash.
Her sigh sounds like a purr as he nuzzles into her and almost immediately his breathing goes all soft and even.
“He really is a professional napper,” I whisper. Beckett and Ash both snort.
Within minutes, Beckett’s soft snoring is this soothing vibration that just begs for you to close your eyes. Ash lies still beside him, her eyes wide open, fixed on me across the narrow space that separates us.
Neither of us speaks, careful not to wake Beckett. In the dim light, Ash’s face seems younger, more vulnerable. I can almost see traces of Lynn there.
Slowly, giving her time to pull away, I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face. I don’t really know how to treat her. She’s Beckett’s girlfriend. Sort of. I haven’t really spent any time with her.
But we’re scent matches.
In my entire life, I have spent exactly zero minutes pondering what a scent match would be like for me.
All I know about it comes from books and movies and porn.
They all show this insatiable ‘get on my knot right now’ insta-lust. Yeah, that’s there.
The protectiveness, sure. The possessiveness, duh.
But this feeling twisting my gut, where all I want to do is lay in her lap and hear her tell me I did good…
That’s unexpected, and I don’t know what to do about it.
After a moment, she lifts her hand and cups my cheek, her thumb brushing across my stubbled jaw in a gesture so tender it makes my throat tighten.
I close my hand around hers and draw it to my chest, pressing her palm against my heart. We watch each other in silence, a thousand unspoken words passing between us. Her eyes begin to drift closed, then open again, as if she’s fighting sleep.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, barely audible over Beckett’s steady breathing. “Omegas need naps too.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll go when she falls asleep. I watch as her breathing evens out, as the tension gradually leaves her body, and she drifts into sleep.