Wyatt
No.
I cannot do this.
I’m moving before I’ve decided to move. I bend, pick the coil of wire off the ground, and turn.
Julian’s voice, behind me. I do not answer it.
I step over the low wire into the south pasture and I walk.
Long strides. The grass is tall through here and it drags at my jeans.
I do not slow down. I do not look back. I do not need to look back to know that the alpha is watching me go.
He can stand there all day. He can get back in his car and drive all the way to his city. I do not care.
The ground drops off toward the creek about two hundred yards out. I head for the drop.
I walk.
My hands are shaking. Not just my hands. My whole body is humming. I can feel him behind me like a hand between my shoulder blades. He is a hundred yards away now and I can still feel him.
I keep walking.
He’s beautiful but he’s no different from Brent Payley and any other smart-suited alpha. They don’t understand anything.
I do not need an alpha like that in my house.
I drop down over the lip toward the creek. The ground goes softer underfoot. I keep going.
He smelled so good.
Stop it.
I reach the creek bank and I stop. I put the coil of wire down. I take my gloves off and I breathe.
The water is lower than it should be this time of year. I stand there and I look at it and I make myself breathe the way my mother used to make me breathe when the words would not come. She taught me to breathe in through the nose for four and out through the mouth for four.
I do not know how long I stand there.
I turn around.
I can see the house from here and the car is parked in front of it, the alpha leaning against it. He raises his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun and looks around. He can’t see me, not from where he is standing.
I watch him make a decision. He walks up to the porch steps and knocks. Caleb opens it so quickly that it’s obvious he was standing just inside waiting.
I cannot hear anything from here. Not one word. I can only see Caleb’s shape in the doorway and Julian’s shape on the porch and the way Caleb’s head tips to one side.
Caleb steps aside.
Julian goes in.
The door shuts.
I pick up the wire and my gloves, and I walk along the creek line for another twenty minutes. There is no purpose in it. I am putting distance between myself and the house because I cannot think straight any closer to it.
When I come back, I do not come back through the yard. I come up the long way, around the north side, and I enter the house through the mudroom door with my boots still on.
I can hear voices.
Caleb’s, low and even. The alpha’s is quieter. I pull my boots off, and I walk in sock feet through the mudroom into the back of the kitchen.
The alpha is standing at the landline in the kitchen. He has the receiver to his ear.
His back is to me. He has taken the jacket off and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. His shirt is plain and white and fits him in a way that is — stop it — the sleeves are rolled to the elbow. I can see his forearms.
I stand very still in the doorway.
Caleb is at the table. He has his biology textbook open, the same book he was pretending to read last night, and he is pretending to read it now. He flicks his eyes up at me, once, and back down. Says nothing.
The alpha has not yet noticed me come in.
“Yes,” he says, into the phone. “He’s — no, the omega’s not in the house right now.” A pause. “Yes. He walked off. I’m not going to pursue him across a field, Sun, be serious.”
He listens.
“Well, I am at the property. I did what you told me to do. I’m calling to confirm the next step, because I would like to be very clear about the trial requirements before I commit to being here.”
Another pause. He is twisting the phone cord around one finger as he listens. I watch him do it. He is not doing it consciously. It is a nervous movement from a man who does not look nervous.
“Two weeks,” he says.
My stomach drops.
“Continuous, on the property,” he confirms. “Yes. Yes, I understand that. I want to be absolutely clear on what continuous means here, because my read of the compliance framework is that any break beyond —”
He listens.
“Right. Look, he clearly does not want me here.”
A longer pause.
The alpha’s shoulders move once. Small. Whatever he is being told is not what the alpha wants to hear.
“I see,” he says, and his voice has gone harder.
The person on the other end says something. The alpha keeps frowning. “Yes. Understood. I’ll call tomorrow.”
He puts the receiver back on the hook.
He stands with his hand on the phone for a second, the palm flat against the plastic, his head down.
Then he lifts his head and he turns around and he sees me.
“How long have you been standing there,” he says. His voice is level.
I say nothing. I don’t think I can. He has taken my breath away.
The alpha and I look at each other across my kitchen.
“Well, apparently, we need to comply with a two-week cohabitation order. I’m not happy about it either. But it’s two weeks. If you have a spare room, I’ll take it and try to stay out of your way.”
I open my mouth, close it again. Something about his scent makes it impossible for words to come out of my mouth.
He can’t stay here. I can’t have him here for two weeks. I don’t think I have a choice.
My only instinct is to run. I need to walk away from this. Get some space between him and me.
I walk past him, intending to go out the other side but he is close.
The kitchen is narrow between the table and the counter.
There is no polite way to pass him without coming within arm’s reach, and as I go past him his scent hits me again full force, warm and green and him, and I feel my own step falter for half a stride before I get it back under control.
He goes still beside me as I pass.
I make it to the hall. I keep walking.
Behind me, I hear Caleb saying, “I guess I better put you in Mom’s old room then.”