Chapter 33 #2
My body sinks into the pile of pillows like I belong here. Which is dangerous thinking. But the way Ford’s thumb is brushing over my knuckles in lazy circles, the way Hayes is humming under his breath, the way Beck keeps sneaking glances when he thinks I’m not looking…
Yeah.
It’s nice.
I could get used to this.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Confess. Who came up with this whole romantic-comedy picnic scene in the middle of winter?”
All three point at each other. At the same time.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“It was Beck’s idea,” Hayes sing-songs.
“Shut up,” Beck growls.
Ford clears his throat. “Technically, Hayes suggested the lights.”
“And I suggested stealing your nest pillows,” Hayes adds proudly.
Beck’s scowl deepens. “Which was stupid. She needs those.”
Hayes scoffs. “They’re pillows, man. We put them back once we’re done.”
I watch them bicker, warmth pooling in my chest until it’s almost unbearable.
Me. Sitting here in Honeysuckle Grove with three men who should’ve been nothing more than childhood footnotes.
Me, an Omega who swore she’d never let anyone in again, being fed strawberries and grapes and bread and honey under twinkling string lights.
My laugh comes out shaky. “You’re all idiots.”
“Maybe,” Hayes says, rolling onto his side to look at me, expression soft and sincere. “But we’re your idiots.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Because my chest does this fluttery thing, my throat burns, and for once, I don’t have a snarky comeback ready.
So I simply take another piece of fruit from Ford’s fingers and pretend I’m not on the verge of combusting. I let myself enjoy it.
But just when I almost forget everything that happened before my heat completely, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my sundress.
I ignore it at first because pillows, bread, honey, and hunks. Because Beck’s arm is brushing against mine. Because Hayes is humming softly in my ear and Ford is slipping me the last piece of cheese.
But it buzzes again. Longer this time.
I groan as I yank my phone out, ready to turn it off. But then the screen lights up.
Unknown Number.
Shit.
Dylan.
My stomach drops so hard it’s a miracle I don’t throw up the food I just consumed.
My thumb hovers, shaking, before I finally swipe it open.
Unknown Number: You think you’re cute, but you’re about to get what’s coming to you.
My chest constricts. The honey in my mouth turns bitter.
I shouldn’t let them see. I can’t let them see. Not when they’ve done all of this for me. But Ford notices instantly. His hand stills on mine, thumb no longer tracing lazy circles.
“Lo?”
I shake my head too fast. “It’s nothing. Just… spam. Political spam.”
Hayes leans up on his elbows, brow furrowed. “You’re pale. That doesn’t look like spam.”
Beck is already reaching for my phone, and I jerk it away because it’s burning me.
“I said it’s nothing,” I snap.
Beck’s gaze sharpens, heavy as a stone.
“Lo.” Just my name, flat, steady.
A warning from my Alpha.
My throat locks up. My instincts lock up.
I want to lie. God, how I want to lie and shove this down like I always do.
I ruin everything. Everything good that happens in my life, I always find a way to shatter.
I want to pretend the buzzing in my veins is just leftover heat and not the acid-drip fear that Dylan’s words stir up.
But then Hayes sits forward, dimples gone.
“Is it your parents?”
The air whooshes out of me. It’s not, but the second he says it, my stomach twists. Because that’s a whole different landmine, waiting for me beyond this little bubble of ours.
I laugh. Or something close enough. Sharp, cracked. “Wow. Gold star.”
Ford’s fingers tighten on mine, not letting me pull away this time. “What happened? We never got a chance to find out.”
I want to say nothing. I want to joke, to dodge like I always do. But the words get stuck in my teeth, splintering until they taste of blood.
“It was horrible,” I blurt out. “They basically told me I need to get out of this town.”
Silence spreads over the blanket like spilled ink.
Hayes curses low, vicious, and not for show. Beck’s jaw flexes, stone and fire. Ford doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer until his shoulder presses against mine.
“They looked at me like I was…” I swallow hard, throat burning. “Like I was a stranger. Worse, really. Like I was a mistake they regretted making.”
My phone buzzes again, still face up on the blanket. Dylan’s words glowing sharp and ugly in the dark: about to get what’s coming to you.
I swipe it facedown before they can read more. But it’s too late. They’ve seen enough.
Beck shakes his head. “That wasn’t your parents.”
I flinch. Too slow. Too obvious.
Hayes leans in, eyes searching mine. “Lo… who is it?”
And I know this is the moment. This has all come to a head—holding everything in until it rots me, or finally letting them carry some of the weight with me.
My chest feels like it might crack open if I keep it inside any longer.
“It’s Dylan,” I whisper.
The name hangs there, heavy and foul.
And just like that, the date, my perfect little stolen slice of safety, shatters on impact.