Chapter Eight ABBIE
“Please, Abbie,” Wings’ voice sounds again from the other side of my bedroom door. “Can you let me in? I just want to make sure you’re okay, butterfly.”
My fingers press against my scent gland before I can stop them. It’s hard and inflamed, unlike my cold, shriveled heart. “I’m fine.”
Wings sighs, and I can’t blame him. I’m like a broken record; I’ve barely said anything else since I stumbled into my apartment two hours ago and made a beeline for my bedroom.
Wings and Pitt were in the kitchen, clearly in the middle of a call since there was a phone between them on the counter.
The relief on Wings’ face tugged at my raw heart, but I didn’t stop to reassure him.
How could I, when all I wanted to do was bury my face in my pillow and scream?
He doesn’t want me.
He wants to start over.
I grind my teeth, biting back another pitiful moan. After all the omegas I’ve seen pass through the clinic doors, I should be immune to the clawing, aching feeling in my chest. It’s just pheromones, after all, and a good blocker and suppressant regime can do a lot to mute the worst cravings.
Oh, yeah? How is that working out for you, Omega?
The irony is like a sour taste I can’t swallow away, because despite all my training and experience, it seems that I’m just as helpless as the rest of my designation.
An attractive alpha doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I curl up like a parched flower sunk into barren soil.
An alpha who let me down wants to make amends, and I don’t know whether to sing from a mountaintop or scream into my pillow.
“Butterfly, if you don’t let me in, Pitt says he’s gonna take the hinges off the door.”
I drag my pillow away from my face and gasp out a snarl of indignation. “Tell Pitt he can take his screwdriver and… screw himself!”
Not exactly a sizzling retort, but I don’t need an alpha to go all dominant and protective right now. Not unless he’s a sweat-streaked stranger with eyes like midnight fire… Or the president of an MC who wants to chase me down and prove how much I mean to him…
Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Is that a serious question?” Pitt growls from the other side of the door, alerting me to the fact that I might be talking to myself on top of acting like a wilting flower. “Because I can’t answer that unless you let me in, sweetheart.”
I slide back against the headboard, my pillow pressed to my aching stomach. “Can’t you just pretend you didn’t hear me?”
“I’ve got pretty good at that lately, but my days of acting like I can’t hear through your door are over, butterfly.”
My mouth drops open, because this is clearly a reference to all the sex Wings and I have been having. Did I invite him to set up camp on my couch? No. But does he still feel perfectly at home calling me out on my nocturnal noises? Obviously. “Goddamn fucking alphas…”
I toss the pillow aside and leap off the bed, stomping over to the door.
The deadbolt is rock solid - probably because of Pitt and his handy screwdriver – and it takes me a couple of tries to get it to slide open.
I’m panting and scowling by the time I’m staring into their worried faces.
“I’m fine, see?” I turn my glare on Pitt. “Are you satisfied, Alpha?”
He jerks at the scathing note in my voice. “No. I’m not fucking satisfied when you look and sound like that.”
“Like what?” I peer down at myself, taking in my skinny jeans and rumpled tee. Okay. So, I have one boot on and the other one… elsewhere. “I’m fine.”
“Maybe,” Wings says soothingly, despite the sour edge to his scent, “but we’re not. We’re worried about you, Abbie. Ark said you ran out of the clubhouse like the Red Demons were on your heels.”
I pull a face at the reference to an infamous MC that, according to rumor, were Satanists who ate their unsuccessful prospects.
“Oh, you’ve all been swapping updates, have you?
” Rejection-tinged rage washes over me and my boot-clad foot taps angrily on the floor.
“What the hell am I, anyway? Your group project? A goddamn club mission?”
Wings stares at me with mounting distress. “Butterfly, you know that’s not true…“
“Do I, Wings? I was convinced we just bumped into each other that day in the grocery store, but from what I hear, it was because Ark sent you to find me. You weren’t really looking for candy corn in June. You were looking for me!”
He blinks in the face of my anger. “Is that why you’re so upset?”
“Yes!” I back up, crossing my arms over that cold, empty spot in my chest. “I thought it was fate.” I give a bitter laugh that’s edging dangerously close to a sob. “How stupid am I? I thought we were meant to be together.”
“We were. We are!”
“How do you know? Because it’s part of Ark’s master plan?” The fight leaks out of me at the hurt in his eyes. “I just need time to… think. Can you give me that, at least?”
“Yes, but…”
Shutting the door in their faces, I stagger towards my bed.
I manage to kick off my boots and drop my jacket, but as I crawl into the tangled sheets, I flinch at the smell wafting up to greet me.
Wings’ sweet chocolate scent is still there, but it’s overpowered by the sour stench of self-pity.
The pillow I clutch to my chest smells like jasmine shampoo and rejection.
He doesn’t want me.
He wants to start over.
How can both things be true? I’m a goddamn mess, and I’m so goddamn angry!
I sink into an uneasy halfway place between stewing and sleeping, only opening my eyes fully when my door hinges creak. Shadows darken the corners of the room, and I can smell bacon and eggs wafting past Wings. “Is it morning?” I ask groggily.
“No, it’s close to midnight, though. Pitt’s making you sneaky dinner.”
I sigh, remembering all the times we snuck down to the club’s kitchen in the middle of the night and made a second dinner out of whatever leftovers we could scrounge. “I forgot to do the grocery shopping.”
“We’ve got it covered,” he says softly. “But I thought you might like to know that Cruise dropped your bike off. Do you want to come down and check her over?”
I wait for the flush of happiness that my queen is safely back, but I can’t get past the ache in my chest. I should be leaping out of bed and rushing to the garage, but I just curl into a tighter ball. “Maybe later. And can you tell Pitt thanks, but I’m not hungry?”
Wings’ head makes a soft thunk as it hits the door. “You’re sure?”
“I’m just really tired.”
“Maybe because you haven’t eaten anything...”
I give a guilty flinch at the worry in his voice but then anger prickles through me again. Hasn’t he seen someone check out for a few hours before? “I don’t feel like it right now. I just need to rest, okay?”
“You’ve been sleeping a long time.” He crosses the room to peer down at me, his fingers feathering over my clammy forehead. “You’re cold, butterfly. Can I hold you?”
I pull my head back out of reach, even as my heart gives a painful throb. “Not tonight. I’m sorry, Wings, but I really want to be alone.”
“Don’t apologize.” His teeth gleam in a sad smile as he turns away. “We all need our space sometimes.”
I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be fine in the morning. I just need to sleep so that I can stop obsessing over a complete stranger and an ancient crush…
All promises that I can’t force past my lips, which is probably just as well, since I wake in a quivering ball, my fingers clawing at my chest. A sliver of light from the hallway spears my gritty eyes, and I scrub at my wet cheeks. What the hell is happening to me?
“Abbie?
“Pitt?” I roll onto my side, panting into the icy cold mattress. “Where's Wings?”
“He’s sleeping on the couch.”
I lift my head, but it takes me a moment to remember where I am. My tiny apartment, with less furniture than a roadside motel. “What about you?”
“I’ve slept in worse places than the floor.”
“Are you crazy?” My carpet is basic, to put it politely, and I can’t remember the last time I ran a vacuum over it, since I don’t happen to own anything more sophisticated than a broom. I push myself onto a trembling elbow and flick back the bedsheets. “That’s not happening. Get in.”
He jolts, like it’s the last thing he expected to hear. “Seriously?”
“I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the night, but it has to be better than the floor.”
“I’m hard to bruise,” he murmurs as he strips off his jeans, leaving him in tight black boxers and a tee. A bolt of something that feels like guilt rocks through me, but he’s too busy sliding in next to me to notice. He runs a big hand down my arm and flinches. “Jesus, you’re freezing, Abbie.”
I could tell him that I’m frozen all the way through to the bone, but I’m too distracted by the hand that’s now rubbing at my arm.
Callouses scrape my sensitive skin, like flint dragging over dry tinder.
That citrus forest fragrance rolls off him and I scoot forward, snuggling into his warmth.
I’m vaguely aware of his hand going still, but I’m too distracted by the curve between his shoulder and ear to care.
There’s a little hourglass tattooed there, and I nuzzle the ink, chasing his scent as I travel across his throat in hungry licks.
“Alpha,” I murmur dreamily. “You taste so good…”
“Abbie?”
I freeze, the hint of warning in his tone washing over me, making my skin prickle with a fresh wave of rejection.
I want to screw my eyes shut, but this isn’t a stranger I got caught mooning over before he hit me with a command like I was a disobedient dog.
This is Pitt, and he’s only ever been decent to me.
I lurch back so fast, the bedframe rocks against the wall. “I don’t... I’m sorry! I’m not thinking straight...”
He offers a low, soothing rumble. “Believe me, I’m not complaining, but you still seem a little out of it. Maybe when your head clears?”