Chapter 39 Nelly
NELLY
Seven days later…
Why hasn’t Eros responded?
And why is everyone asking so dang weird?
The kitchen felt wrong the moment I stepped into it.
Five Alpha men, their scents normally a comforting blend of musk and strength, now churned with an undercurrent that made my nose wrinkle and my steps falter.
They all looked up as I entered, five pairs of eyes tracking my movement with a desperate intensity that sent a shiver crawling up my spine.
Not in a good way.
I’d gotten used to their gazes making me tremble for very different reasons, igniting very different desires… ones that I was, after just a week, so tired of fighting.
"Morning," I offered, trying to sound casual despite the strange atmosphere.
Early light poured into the space, bringing every single particle of dust floating through the air into sharp, metallic relief.
That was sort of mesmerizing, but the way the brightness also highlighted the creases around my Alphas’ eyes, and the way their lush, thick mouths were drawn into anxious lines, was not so captivating.
Those things I wanted to bolt away from rather than face.
I didn’t understand the change in them, which had happened literally overnight. This wasn’t what I’d come to expect. It contradicted the familiar smell of the popping and fizzling percolator doing its job, and the buttery, rich hint of pancakes, and the maple syrup sitting on the dining table.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, crossing the distance to the mugs.
Wade had sunk another hook into the cabinet wood, allowing my pointe shoe printed cup to dangle next to theirs.
I picked it up, worry flowing down into my fingertips, making the coolness of the ceramic feel far colder than it should be.
“Coffee?” Cooper offered suddenly, rushing over from where he’d been sitting at the table to snag the percolator. His hands trembled slightly as he poured, dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Thanks," I said, accepting the mug. Our fingers didn't touch, I noticed. He'd been careful about that. A pain shot through my heart. The near touches and nonstop wanting couldn’t evaporate so suddenly, could they? Had I done something wrong?
I lifted my mug to my mouth, inhaling the scent of the dark roast, hoping it would momentarily mask the present sourness of the men’s pheromones.
Yet even the coffee’s normal richness had taken on a bitter edge, adding to the unpleasant air in the kitchen instead of masking it.
The cramped kitchen—with the out-of-place oil lamp, makeshift dog beds in one corner, and chipped counters—normally felt cozy. Today it felt horribly confining.
I slid into what had become my usual spot at the table between Boone and Levi.
Wade and Wyatt always sat with their backs to the window, and Cooper almost always found a reason to vacate his seat for me when I showed up.
I wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just pulled another chair into the kitchen.
I’d spied a few folding ones in a closet while trying to find conditioner last night.
My hair felt ridiculously dry. Ghost’s was softer.
How these men kept their hair so glossy and long without decent products was beyond me.
“Sleep okay?” I asked tentatively, needing to break whatever tension had suddenly entered the chat.
No one looked directly at me. Wade stared fixedly at his half-eaten breakfast, fork suspended midway to his mouth.
Boone sat unnaturally still, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his shirt.
Levi worried a pencil with two hands, the poor thing bending unnaturally, quickly on the verge of snapping.
Cooper stirred his coffee repeatedly, as if it were cream he was trying to whip into stiff, white peaks.
It was Wyatt who finally responded, taking the lead.
Though he seemed reluctant to, as if answering me was a task he’d rather not be saddled with.
“Slept just fine.” Wyatt pushed away from the table and stood up. “I need more caffeine.”
The bags under his eyes and his brute tone betrayed the easy lie. He hadn’t slept, not a wink I bet. I peered at all of them. Each Alpha looked like death warmed up this morning.
My eyes went back to Wyatt, who brushed past Cooper to set his mug on the island.
When he grabbed the percolator, he gave it a slight shake, making the contents swirling inside.
He tipped it, funnel directed over his empty mug.
Initially, a steady stream released, but quickly it slowed to a trickle.
Wyatt tipped the carafe further, nearly holding the thing upside down, his expression darkening as he realized how much was left.
“If you take the last of the fucking coffee, make more,” he growled.
I’d never heard him so angry.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my pulse quickened.
“Sorry, sorry,” Cooper muttered quickly. “I was distracted.”
I looked down at my mug, realizing that I’d been the one to take the last of the coffee, though technically Cooper poured it. I stood up, closing the distance to Wyatt quickly. I lifted the mug with both hands towards him. “It was my fault, Wyatt. Take mine.”
His face went slack as his forest eyes met mine. He didn’t say anything.
I wanted to ask him why he was so upset. I wanted to know why they were all acting so off. But, like other times since landing in Wyoming, I didn’t want the answer to those questions. That’s something you should never do—ask questions when you don’t want them answered. It’s a recipe for disaster.
“It’s really okay. I’m not that tired,” I insisted.
When Wyatt didn’t move a muscle, I took one hand from my cup and reached for one of his. I meant to lift it and fold his fingers around my offering, but he jolted back away from me like my touch was an electric shock.
God, why did that hurt so much?
Why was I suddenly back at Imperial, sitting in Madoff’s office, having my heart ripped out?
"Nelly." His voice cracked on my name, and the sound of it hit me like a physical blow.
I lowered my mug too quickly, coffee sloshing over the rim and onto my fingers. The burn barely registered. "What's happening?" I whispered, unable to hold the question in any longer. "What did I do wrong?"
The five of them exchanged glances, their eyes wordlessly speaking a language I couldn't understand. That simple exchange reminded me, keenly, that I wasn’t part of this pack.
These men had been together forever, some of them their entire lives, and I’d only been here a week.
Maybe they’d finally realized that Id didn’t belong.
That would be fucking ironic. Because I was finally realizing that maybe I did.
Every moment they didn’t answer me, I spiraled further.
“I don't understand,” I breathed out, putting the mug down on the counter, ignoring the sting from the scald marks. I gripped the counter’s edge, closing my eyes and trying to remember every detail of yesterday. That must be when I screwed up. But… how?
We’d all been in the living room, talking about the hot houses and the way Cooper and Boone had finally won the battle to, not shift, but split operations between cattle and crops.
Cooper was talking, arms waving through the air, carried by his boyish enthusiasm. “The sugar beets are doing great, but once we’ve tested out the new seeds, we’ll decide which to test in the new fields.”
“That land’s going to be great. I sent off for a soil analysis, but it’s dark and rich.” This from Boone, who was sitting lazily on the sofa, tree trunk legs crossed at the ankles, with one of his muscled arms slung around Levi’s narrower shoulders.
“I know some still don’t fully agree,” Cooper shot a look at Wyatt, “but diversifying our operations is going to help in the long run. We’ll always have a fall back.”
“And this is what you guys went to school for?” I asked, watching every detail of Cooper’s face as it shifted while he spoke. Cheeks pinking, eyes widening, lips parting. There was something intoxicating about a person who had this kind of passion.
“Sort of,” Cooper shrugged, noncommittally. “Boone was sustainable food with a focus on Bioenergy. I was Environmental Horticulture.”
“Ornamental,” Wyatt butted in, “Let’s be real clear here and let Nelly know that you studied growing shit for decoration.”
Cooper gave him a sly smile. “If you’d say yes to Anthurium and Hydrangea, we could make Sagebrush real pretty,” he teased.
“Yeah, I’m an unreasonable asshole,” Wyatt shrugged, “Preventing you from growing more toxic shit that could kill the animals. Calcium oxalate and cyanide would be a fantastic addition to our little Larkspur issue.”
“Such a joy kill,” Cooper rolled his eyes. “Anyways, Levi was the boring one going the business route. If not, he could have taken Cutting Edge Eco-Farming with me for an easy ‘A’ and met Boone at the same time as me.”
“It was not an easy ‘A’,” Boone countered. “Math has no business butting into planting.”
Levi laughed at that. “Math is what gets you the seeds to do the planting.” He pushed his body closer to Boone’s, who repositioned his arm to hold his pack mate, and lover, tighter.
For a moment, I thought about padding over to them and sitting on the other side of Boone.
I wanted to insert myself into the circle of his embrace and be part of the warmth they must be feeling.
“Why would you have to do math in a farming class?” I asked, genuinely curious—and genuinely trying to quell my impulse to wedge myself between the sofa arm and Boone.
“Calculating Carbon footprints, planning out water systems using less material, that kind of stuff.” Cooper gazed at Boone now, his navy eyes glittered with silver as he recounted the memories.
“The very first class, I saw him. This quiet guy, black hair braided and pulled over one shoulder. He sat in the back corner, so damn intense. When I sat next to him, I thought he was going to pick me up and toss me down the damn auditorium stairs. He looked angry as hell.”
“I wasn’t angry. I was nervous.” Boone’s warm voice thrummed through the air, whispering against me, making the impulse to be near him grow stronger.
“Yes, but I didn’t find that out until later,” Cooper winked.
I yanked myself from last night’s living room, unable to think of anything that might make them act this way.
We’d all parted ways before midnight. We’d said goodnight, in that Waltons ‘Good night, John Boy’ way.
And then… and then I was here, barely roused from sleep and faced with transparent unease veering towards disdain.
The kitchen was deathly quiet.
I tugged at the collar of the borrowed shirt, the state fair design long faded and cracked, and I fought for breath.
My legs felt weak. I needed to sit. Slowly, I made my way back to the dining table.
I sat down, but I suddenly felt so nonexistent that I couldn’t feel the chair.
As if I’d become a ghost, I hovered above it.
As if I’d become a ghost, no one could see me and no one could speak to me.
When I couldn’t stand dying while being alive, I abruptly stood. The men jumped slightly, as if they’d truly forgotten I existed, so my abrupt movement took them by surprise. Part of me wanted to race away from them. The other part of me wanted to scream.
“What the hell is wrong?” I demanded this time, voice shaking.
“Nothing,” Wade said too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong, Nelly. Everything’s fine.”
The falsehood fell against us, broken glass from a mirror that didn’t have the decency to begin full formed before busting.
“Liar,” I accused, glaring at him.
I locked gazes with Wyatt next, who was at least man enough to stare right back this time. Unnerving intensity surrounded him, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists atop the dining table. But he couldn’t hold the staring contest for long, eyes falling to stare at his hands.
The air in the kitchen was thick and noxious now, almost unbreathable. Our scents were warring, becoming a miasma of anxiety that clogged my throat and made my eyes water. I had to get the fuck out of here.
Harshly, I pushed my chair back towards the table, unable to bear their behavior any longer. The wooden legs scraped against the floor.
"Clearly something is wrong," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "But if none of you want to tell me what it is, fine. God,” I breathed out, tilting my face, staring at a spot on the ceiling that was stained into the shape of a bird. A goddamn bird! Why did it have to be a bird! “Was this the plan? Make me want to stay? Make me care about you? Then, just when I’m swayed, you reveal it was all bullshit?”
“Nelly, it’s not like that. We just—”
“Shut up,” I didn’t let Levi finish, my words ice sickles ready to puncture where they fell.
He’d just tell me something that was sensible.
He’d pull out his emotional calculator, broken pencils, and flawless logic to explain why this was how things should be.
That the equation always led to these moments in the kitchen, the final answer being the end of what might have been my live here at Sagebrush.
“I’m going outside. Don’t fucking follow me.
” I hurried to the back door, yanking it open and pushing outside.
Behind me, someone called out my name. I didn’t know who.
I didn’t fucking care. I just ran, gulping in the fresh morning air like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
I didn’t stop running until I was far away from the Alphas who’d suddenly, for some unknown reason, decided to treat me like a stranger.
My hands were shaking when I pulled open the barn door, it’s rusted hinges protesting like normal. Hoping I could hold the brokenness at bay, I wrapped my arms around myself as I moved into the dusty, dim space I’d claimed not long ago.
I’d started dancing again here. Really dancing.
Not next to a pole, not for cash stuffed into a G-string, not to regain a glimmer of that feeling I used to get when all eyes were on me as I commanded a stage.
Here, I’d once again moved my body the way it was made to—gracefully spinning and leaping and creating living art.
A rising tide of a pain I’d hoped to never feel again—that cocktail of broken trust, feelings of worthlessness, and the brutality of being discarded—made me want to vomit.
Over the last few days, I’d stopped feeling so alone in life.
That sense of belonging was never real.