Chapter 2
Beck
Mine.
The scent of my past fills my nostrils, and already, it’s hard to think. She’s back. Lo. The one Omega I never could get out of my head.
That luscious scent of brown sugar and peach fills my nose, threatening to wrap itself around not just my head but my cock as well.
I have to get her out of here.
She’s shaking in my arms, barely conscious, her skin warm despite the chill in the air that signals the quick sweep into winter.
I shift my grip, holding her steady against me as the crowd behind us hums with chaos—shouting, sirens in the distance, the dull buzz of too many people trying to make sense of what’s going on.
Lo Marsh is back.
And she’s come back now.
The air around her is thick with panic, the sharp bite of anxiety curling through her scent, all twisted up with stress and fatigue. I want to wipe it away. I want to bathe it off her body. I want to lick—
I shake the thought away as my grip around her tightens. She always drove me crazy.
Knowing her I bet she hasn’t slept in ages, she was always shit at taking care of herself.
Focus, Beck.
I keep my eyes forward and my jaw locked, ignoring the voice in my head as well as the sound of someone behind me whispering her name. Her breath is light and shallow against my collarbone, and her body is too still.
My Alpha instincts burn under my skin, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay steady. She doesn’t need me to come undone.
The crowd parts when they see me moving. Maybe it’s the uniform, or maybe they just know better than to get in my way right now. Either way, no one tries to ask me questions. There’s nothing to say that would make any of this make sense anyways.
She came back. That alone, has my heart beating faster. She came back! And I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel about that.
The truck’s too far and I need to get her inside. I hesitate for a minute, I could take her to my house? Looking up, I can see across the square to my porch. A sardonic chuckle bubbles out of me. This may be the only time I’ve thanked the powers that be to be this centrally located.
I look down at the woman in my arms. She looks like she’s been sleeping in her car for weeks. Her clothes are wrinkled, hoodie torn near the seam, and her knees scraped raw from the fall.
I don’t know where she’s been or what she’s been through, but I know this isn’t the Lo Marsh I remember.
Still, she’s here.
And right now, that’s what matters.
I set a quick pace across the street and through the square. I take the steps up to my front door two at at time and stop right before the front door.
Would she want this? Will she be ok with it? With me? I don’t know where else to take her. I’m sure the town will swirl with gossip, but right now, that’s the least of my worries.
The door sticks at the top, same as it always has, but I manage to get it open without shifting her weight too much. She stirs slightly in my arms, a low sound catching in her throat, but she doesn’t wake.
Inside, it smells of smoke and cedar, with faint traces of kid smell, like bubblegum and PB&J. I carry Lo down the hall and into the spare room, laying her down carefully on the bed.
I can’t risk having her scent in my bed. I’ll never sleep.
Her head tilts toward my hand when I move away, as if some part of her still remembers.
Does she scent me the way I scent her?
I pause, watching her face.
Even asleep—or unconscious, more likely—she appears to be bracing for impact. Jaw clenched. Brows tight. Does she expect someone to shout at her the moment her eyes open?
I don’t like that.
I adjust the blanket around her and step back, trying to ignore the way the scent of her is already sinking into the room. Peach and sugary goodness with that rich molasses tang—a scent I remember too well, even after all this time.
She was never mine. Not fully.
But I wanted her to be.
And I never stopped aching for it.
For her.
I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against the frame, exhaling slowly, trying to clear the static from my head. It doesn’t work. Questions are already building, sharp and unwelcome, rattling around in my chest.
Why now?
Why like this?
Why didn’t she tell anyone?
And why, after everything, does holding her still seem to be something I was built to do?
I run a hand over my face and make my way to the kitchen, trying to keep my steps even. Once the kettle’s filled and set to boil, I reach for my phone.
There’s only one name I trust with something this important, and I don’t waste time second-guessing myself.
Dr. Jasper Quinn answers on the second ring.
“Beck?”
“I need help. I don’t know if you’ve heard…”
“About the accident? And Lo? Yeah, my pack told me.”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “She crashed into one of the Winterfest floats, right in the middle of the parade. Almost passed out in the street. She doesn’t look like she’s been doing well for a while, if I’m completely honest with you.”
Another pause, sharper this time. When he speaks again, his tone is more clinical, but I can hear the edge of concern threading through it. “Is she conscious?”
“Barely. I’ve got her at my place. Put her in the spare room. She hasn’t woken up yet, just stirred a little.”
“Don’t move her again unless you have to. Keep her warm and quiet. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I grip the phone tighter, grounding myself. “What should I do until then?”
“If she wakes up, keep her calm. Don’t ask questions, don’t press her. If she’s been pushing through stress this long, her nervous system’s already on the edge. You can’t afford to trigger anything deeper. Omegas don’t bounce back from that kind of collapse without help.”
“I understand.”
And I do.
He hangs up, and I set the phone down on the counter as the kettle starts to scream.
She shouldn’t have come back here. This town has had it out for her. Whatever she was running from must have been bad if coming back to Honeysuckle Grove is the preferable option.
My inner Alpha growls at that. Is she in trouble? Is she running from something?
She came back alone.
I glance toward the hallway, cursing the voice in my head. Of course my thoughts would only want to focus on that. I can’t afford to be distracted by what if.
Her scent has already worked its way through the air with that soft trace of warmth curling beneath the fatigue. It’s the kind that stays under your skin, no matter how long it’s been.
I have to swallow a growl as I reach for the kettle.
She was never mine, not in any real sense. We were always somewhere in between, want without permission, heat without resolution, too much left unsaid between two people who didn’t know how to ask for what they needed.
But I felt it.
Still do.
The shift in the atmosphere when she’s near. The way every part of me sharpens when she touches my orbit.
And now she’s back, not as the fierce, unrelenting girl who stood in front of the council with fire in her eyes, but as someone barely holding herself upright, bruised and tired.
And she’s in my house.
I don’t hear the truck until it’s much too close.
The crunch of tires on gravel snaps me upright in the chair. Rosie’s laugh, bright and high-pitched, cuts through the quiet before the engine even stops.
Damn it.
I stand, bracing a hand on the doorframe, wondering how I’m going to explain this to my sister and niece. Why a woman from my past is in our home.
The front door swings open, and there she is: Cassie Calloway, in jeans and a wrinkled sweater, two bags hanging off one arm and a squirming six-year-old wrapped around the other.
She makes her way into the foyer. “Beck, you better have coffee made because I—”
She stops short, nose twitching.
Rosie peers around her hip, wide-eyed. “Why does it smell different in here?”
Cassie narrows her eyes. “What the hell is going on?”
I step into the hallway fully, trying to block the line of sight to the spare bedroom. “Cass, not now.”
“No, now, actually,” she snaps, pushing Rosie gently toward the living room. “Go play with your crayons, baby.”
“But I wanna see—”
“Crayons. Now.”
Rosie pouts but obeys, skipping off with her usual bounce. The second she’s out of earshot, Cassie drops the bags and spins to face me.
“Is that her?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Cassie’s already marching toward the hallway, her instincts too sharp, too fast. I block her before she can pass me.
“Cass.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is Louisa Marsh in our house?”
“She’s in the spare room,” I say, low and firm. “She’s hurt. I’m waiting on Dr. Quinn.”
Cassie crosses her arms, jaw tight. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“She passed out in the street,” I add evenly. “Middle of the damn parade. She’s a mess, Cass. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.”
Cassie doesn’t flinch, but I see it, a flicker in her expression, a crack in the armor. She was never heartless, just careful. Too many years spent cleaning up after other people’s disasters will do that to a person.
“She left this town in flames, Beck. Burned every bridge on the way out, including yours. Don’t pretend you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget,” I say, because I haven’t. Not a damn second of it.
She steps closer. “Then what the hell are you doing letting her back into our house like nothing happened?”
“She needs help.”
“And you’re the guy to give it?”
Her voice cuts sharply, but it lands clean. I don’t respond right away. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing. I just saw her fall and moved.
That’s all it ever was with Lo, instinct over logic. Fire before thought.
“She didn’t ask for anything,” I finally say. “But I wasn’t going to let her collapse in front of the whole town. You know me better than that.”
Cassie shakes her head, dragging her hand through her hair. “I just… I don’t want to see you get pulled under again.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.” She sighs. “But you never could when it came to her.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and tense.
“I’m not the same man I was then,” I say.