Chapter 3
Chapter Three
H arper
Ten years ago
From the upstairs window, I watch Daxton, Owen and Wyatt throw their bags into the back of the taxi and walk around to the doors. Daxton’s dad’s out there. He shakes Owen’s hand, then Wyatt’s, then drags his son in for a hug.
That kind of thing always has my heart panging. I never met my dad. All I know about him is his first name. Most of the time, I don’t care. My mom loves me enough for two parents. And a lot of the time, dads seem like assholes – shouting, losing their tempers, acting like the king of the castle. Occasionally, though, this pang of regret strikes. Dads don’t seem all bad. Not when they cheer you on from the sidelines or teach you how to ride a bike or hug you like they really love you.
I turn away from the window in the hallway and walk into my bedroom, slamming the door and sinking into my bed, dragging my stuffed bunny rabbit toward me and flinging the duvet over my head.
Watching a bit of father–son love isn’t the only reason my heart is panging, it’s watching those three alphas leave too.
This wasn't meant to happen.
I wasn't meant to fall into bed with my step-brother and his two best friends. I certainly wasn’t meant to fall in love with them.
But I have. Big time.
Is it just a sex thing? An omega thing? Am I destined to fall for every alpha I end up in bed with?
I don’t think so. I never felt so low, so blue, so stupidly sad when I broke up with a boyfriend before. Even when Oscar Malore dumped me spectacularly in the hallway of our high school in front of everyone.
No, it was a bummer, for sure. But I never felt like this before. Like my world has actually ended and no amount of studying, no amount of secret sketching, is going to distract me from it.
Across the distance, I hear the slamming of car doors and the rumble of an engine, then the crunch of tires on the driveway.
In my heart, there’s this little hope, one where the car will slam on its brakes and the three alphas will come rushing back up here, will gather me in their arms and tell me this was all a big mistake. We can be together. This doesn’t have to end.
I listen. The gravel continues right on crunching and the engine becomes fainter and fainter until I can’t hear the car at all. They are gone.
I don’t know how long I lie in bed sobbing my little heart out. No one comes to check on me because no one knows I’m heartbroken and there is no one I can tell. Mom most probably assumes I’m studying like always and it’s only as darkness starts to creep into the room that she knocks on my door.
“Harper,” she says, trying the door knob. It’s locked. I want to be alone to bask in this misery. “Snuffles? Time for a break. You’ve been studying for hours. Come down and have some dinner with us.” She rattles the door. “Is this locked? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” I manage to call back, wondering if she can tell I’ve been crying by the croak in my throat. “Just not feeling so good. I think I’ll skip dinner.”
“Really, honey? What’s wrong?”
“Just a headache. I’m going to try and sleep it off.”
“This is what happens when you study too much.”
“Probably.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
“Mom, honestly, I’m fine. I just want to sleep.”
She hesitates. “Okay, well, call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
I wait until she’s gone, listening to her footsteps on the stairs, and then I roll up and switch on my light.
I used to love this room. It seemed like a palace when we first moved in. So big I could actually cartwheel across it. So much space just for little old me.
Now it just seems barren and empty. Way too big. It needs more people in it. And by people, I mean alphas. Filling up the space. Crowding around me. Filling the air with their vibrant scents.
Their scents.
Pine, moss and vanilla.
I lift my arm and sniff my skin. Their scents were smothered all over my skin those days we spent together, the smell of them never leaving my nose. But in the last few days – since we learned our parents were heading home and the pack made it clear this was nothing more than a fling, a bit of fun, something that would end then and there – their scents have waned, withered and washed away. Now I can’t smell them at all.
And oh god, I want to smell them. So bad. Am I going insane?
I creep to my door, unbolt the lock and peer round into the hallway. No one’s there. I glance down the hallway.
There is one place I won’t be able to escape Daxton’s scent. One place I’ve never actually entered, despite our time spent together.
His room.
It’s a massive invasion of privacy. His room is somewhere I have no permission to enter. I don’t care.
I tiptoe along the hallway and try his door. Unlocked. My heart actually skips a beat. I turn the handle and slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.
Immediately, I’m engulfed by his scent of pine and I lean back against the door, my hands behind my back, wrapped around the doorknob, and breathe, letting his scent slide into my mouth and my nostrils and down my throat, warming my belly. I shiver hard.
How can his scent do this to me?
How the hell am I going to get over him?
I don’t turn on the light, instead allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
I’m surprised to find his room is smaller than mine. I imagined the only prodigal son of the wealthy business tycoon — an alpha — would claim the biggest room in the house. In fact, it’s a modest size, with just a single bed pushed against the wall, a wardrobe in one corner and shelves running along one wall. You can tell the room doesn’t really belong to him anymore. He’s definitely outgrown all the comics and superhero figures lined up on the shelves – at least I hope he has – and when I peer inside his closet, there are old board games and an outdated games console stuffed at the bottom. The shirts he’s left hanging no longer fit him and there’s his old high-school football jersey discarded on a shelf.
I pick it up, cradling it in my arms, deciding it’s mine now (if I can sneak it back to my room without anyone noticing). Just a little memento.
I shut the wardrobe door and walk over to his bed next. His mattress is firm and I slide under the covers, knowing it’s damn risky. If my mom or Ethan find me in here, they are bound to have questions. Questions I most definitely do not want to answer.
His scent is even stronger here and, wrapped in his covers, I could almost believe I’m wrapped in his arms. I snuggle further down the bed and something furry brushes against my feet. I yelp, yanking my feet away, then deciding I must be mistaken, scoot under the covers to investigate.
It’s an old teddy. Well worn and well loved. His right eye is missing and his left has been sewn back on haphazardly. The fur on his belly has been worn away and someone has written Mr. T Bear across his label in felt-tip pen.
Daxton has a teddy. I smile to myself. That grumpy son of a bitch has a soft side. Maybe I’d figured out as much already, but I still find my heart warming to him that little bit more.
What am I doing?
I drag myself out of the covers and remake the bed, replacing Mr. T Bear in his hiding place even though I’m tempted to steal him along with the jersey. Something tells me he’s more likely to be missed.
I keep snooping, running my fingers over the books lined up on the shelves, searching through the papers on his desk, opening the drawers and rifling through.
I find nothing more of interest and I’m left with an even bigger sense of emptiness.
How did everything change so quickly? How did I let myself get so carried away?
I’m not like this. Not one little bit. I’m sensible and level-headed. I’ve had to be. I know how things go between men and women. I’m not a deluded romantic – even if my mom’s story seems a hell of a lot like some fairytale come true.
I know boys and girls sleep with one another and it doesn’t mean anything.
I just don’t think I’m one of those girls.
Shame I didn’t know that about myself before I started sleeping with Daxton, Owen and Wyatt.
With a sigh I concede is fracking over dramatic, I stuff Daxton’s jersey up my sweater and sneak back into the hallway.
Back in my bedroom, I undress down to my panties and then pull his jersey over my head, threading my arms through the sleeves. Now I really am engulfed in his scent.
I lie back down on my bed, lay my head on the pillow and try not to think about how happy they made me feel. How much I liked them. How much I want to be their omega.
I can’t be and it seems so damn unfair. Soon the tears are flowing again and for the first time in years, I cry myself to sleep.