Chapter 10 #2
“Wild, wild times. I’d like to go back one day. Although I’m not sure it would be as fun now that it’s not so forbidden.”
“I’ve never been.”
“Well, you could always go. Get to know your people a little more. Maybe you won’t feel so alone there.”
I contemplate it, visiting those Isles, to see if I can find some of my father’s family.
Maybe I would feel more at home there, not so alone, not so different.
But maybe they would shun me for my omega nature.
My mind shifts to Glenn. How he chose me during that Heat Hunt when every other alpha passed me by.
How he continued to want me, even though I was different.
How he never actually made me feel different.
Not like Vince did.
I’ve never felt more seen, more valued, than when I was with Glenn. And I’d discarded him.
I didn’t mean to leave him like that. My plan was to get him safely inside, but of course, the Howlers had to go and ruin it.
Fuckers. Why can’t they just go away and find some other town to terrorize?
“I don’t know if the fae would accept me either. I don’t know if I ever really want to find out.”
Eudora nods in understanding and pats my knee gently.
“What was the life lesson your dad left you with? You never said.” Eudora asks.
I sigh. “That a life lived independently is a life well lived. Or something like that. I was young at the time.”
“Do you believe there is truth in their comments?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you think it’s stuck with you for so long?”
“Because it’s one of the few things I can remember about them. Everything else is just a blur.”
Eudora looks at me, her eyes softening.
“A life always alone and apart, always wary and distrustful, is no life to live.”
I’m realizing that.
“Do you know what the people of the Isles of Shoals say about love?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I really know nothing about where I come from.”
She reaches over and taps my arm. “Well, they say if you can weather the storms of the Isles, you can weather the storm of love.”
“I don’t know if this is love, but it sure feels like a storm.”
“The fae are strong, more than people realize. I think you have it in you, Arbor. I think you do.”
I don’t know about that. I feel crushed and downtrodden at the moment.
“Do they have any sayings about how not to be an idiot?”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m sure they do, but I don’t know it. However, I have one for you.”
“What is it?”
“Think really hard before you act, and you won’t be an asshole.”
I get the hint.
He doesn’t want my apology cheese. I bet he gave that entire basket to his brother. Bet they laughed about it when I took off.
Pathetic Arbor, trying to buy his way back into Glenn’s good graces.
Still, despite knowing it’s a failed attempt, I can’t help but send him a few potted plants and chocolates the next day. I send some to Eudora as well, for dealing with my shit. I don’t even know her, and I dumped my baggage all over her and her lovely farm.
I’m embarrassed about my life.
It doesn’t help that Glenn says nothing about those plants and chocolates I sent over, and neither do I.
I’m pretty sure they’re sitting in the garbage right now.
He probably used them for kindling, but I can’t just pretend like I’m not sorry, like I don’t care.
I need to do something. Anything until he looks at me again.
But it’s a slog and incredibly disheartening as the days pass and he continues to stand and not sit across from me, his eyes moving this way and that, not settling on me at all.
My mind runs out of ideas, and by the time the weekend rolls around, the anxiety around this entire thing has made me stop eating completely. I smell like burned toast and bitter citrus peels.
Not a good combination. But I guess it is a perfect analogy of how I’m feeling. Bitter and burned.
I pick up my phone and stare down at it, sending Attie a message that I won’t make it this weekend. My limbs are tired, and my heart is just heavy. I don’t feel like making such a long drive. I’ll do it once I’ve come out of this funk.
Before it’s even time to clock out, I stand up and walk to my car. I see heads swiveling toward me, but I say nothing. Not to anyone, and most certainly not to Glenn. Why bother? He doesn’t care anyway.
I deserve that. I really do.
I travel the long distance into the city and limp into my loft, falling onto the couch as soon as the door shuts.
I don’t move for ages, just lie there, my head in the cushions, my eyes blinking open and shut.
I need to wash the scent away from my skin, to start over, but I can’t be fucked. So I just lie there, my stomach cramping slightly from lack of food. Probably dehydrated too. It’s been a while since I’ve had any sustenance.
Glenn would have made sure I had sustenance if he were here. If he still liked me. He might even have worried about why I left early. Be that as it may, he has zero concern for me now.
Gods, I’m such a loser. I really have no place attempting to be with anyone. Just like Vince said.
“You’re impossible to love.”
Yeah. Yeah, it seems I might be.
“I’m calling out sick today, Jericho.” I haven’t moved from the couch.
My scent is absolutely foul now. I spent Saturday and Sunday oscillating between fitful naps and regretting my life choices.
None of it is anything I want to admit to my boss.
To him, I just have a cold, and I’m definitely not engaging in a very self-centered existential crisis.
“I think Mr. Barrett can handle everything while I’m recovering. ”
“I’m sure he can. Have you notified him yet?”
I say nothing, and Jericho clicks his tongue. “Right. I’m sure you just overlooked this. Give him a call or shoot him a text. Let him know what’s going on.”
That’s the last thing I want to do, but I realize I’m going to have to.
I take about twenty minutes to gather up the courage to pull up his number in my phone. By this time, it’s past the start of the workday, and I wonder if he’s concerned about me.
Probably not. I need to stop thinking that. I barely know the guy. He has no reason to think of me at all.
Holding my breath, I call him. Much to my disappointment, he doesn’t answer.
So, I text him.
Me:
It’s me. Arbor. Calling out sick today.
I see it go through, see he’s read it, but I get no response. Well, not a rapid response. He sure as fuck takes his time responding.
Glenn:
You okay?
My chest constricts, and I realize that no, I’m really not well. Not that I’m going to tell him that.
Me:
Fine.
Glenn:
I’ll take care of the site, Mr. Wren. Get better soon.
I can’t help it. My fingers tap before I can contemplate it.
Me:
Stop calling me that.
And that is that. I say nothing more. He says nothing back. I just toss my phone onto the floor and stare up at the ceiling. Right. I can’t stay like this forever. I need to kick my ass into gear.
I take the rest of the day to get up, shower, and order myself something to eat. Something light, something my stomach can handle.
By the time it arrives, I’m faltering, spooning the soup into my mouth as I force it down.
I may not want to eat it, but doing so makes me feel a lot better. By the time I finish the bowl of soup and wash it down with a glass of water, I realize I need to take better care of myself. I had my days of sulking. Now I need to get on with it.
Glenn doesn’t want me. I have to accept it and move on.
But it’s harder than it looks.
I end up sleeping in the next morning, and then rushing to work with my clothes askew and my hair a wild mess. And gods, I need gas. The light blinks at me offensively, and I bang my hands on the steering wheel.
It’s all a clusterfuck. A major fucking cluster. By the time I roll into work, all the men are already there, and I see Glenn peer over at me as I exit the car. He has to notice how awful I look. He can’t miss it. It doesn’t help that my scent is frazzled and frayed. Something new.
Burnt coffee.
I clear my throat, wanting to put on a mask of professionalism, but it’s hard. It really is fucking hard. Especially when I don’t feel right, slightly weak, like I’m on the precipice of a natural disaster.
It doesn’t help that I didn’t take care of myself this weekend, sulking and barely eating. And now I have to go back to work like nothing happened.
So, I do my best to pretend no one exists, moving into the trailer and quickly opening the windows to air the place out. I stare at the air purifier, hoping it does a better job than mine did this weekend. Though they were putting in overtime with the lack of showers I’d taken.
I scrub a hand through my hair and smooth out my shirt when the door opens and Glenn walks in.
I hear his sniff, and I stiffen.
But he says nothing, just walks to the coffee machine and brews a cup.
I let out a breath and pull my glasses from my briefcase. When they’re on my face, I sit down in my chair, trying to get shit together. I missed a day. I never miss a fucking day. And yet here I am, trying to put it all back together.
I feel his presence at the other end of the desk, and I peer up at him.
His eyes meet mine for the first time since I left him in the woods, right before I left him at the mercy of the Howlers.
“You don’t look well,” he finally says, and my lips turn down, my ego disappearing into the ether.
“I know that. Thank you for rubbing it in.”
He blinks twice before lifting the cup of coffee up to his lips and sipping.
“Care to fill me in on what happened yesterday? Did everything go as planned?” I finally remember to ask. My cheeks pinken as I smooth my hand over the papers on my desk, trying to keep that nervous jitter at bay.
It’s hard. I’m sure he can hear my bones rattling from here.
“Finished sheathing the first floor, got the framers started on putting up the exterior walls…”
I listen to what he’s saying, making notes on my computer as he speaks. But my fingers twitch, and I misspell most of what I’m typing. He must sense it, smell it. The jumbled mess my mind is. Nothing is working like it should.
“Everything went fine,” he adds, and I nod.
“Thank you. I knew the project was in good hands.”
“It is. And security is here. I saw them pull in Monday evening.”
“Thank you for the update.”
He sips on his coffee and continues to linger. I have no idea why. I can’t even fathom why he’s still here.
That is, until he asks, “What’re the tasks for today, Mr. Wren?”
My eyelashes flutter, and I swear I short-circuit. “I told you not to call me that. How about that for starters?”
It’s a snap, a clashing of teeth. He has to hear it—the irritation in my voice, in my words. But he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Got it.” He pauses and then adds, “Mr. Wren.”
I slap my hands down on my desk and stand up. “Don’t make me write you up for insubordination. I am tired of this. I’m so fucking tired.”
Horrendously, my eyes start to water, and my entire body trembles.
I see Glenn toss the empty coffee cup into the trash and take a step toward me.
“You seem out of sorts.”
“Of course I am. You’re mad at me. You won’t even look at me.”
He’s silent when I admit that, and I add, “And as much as I don’t want it to bother me, it does. It fucking bothers me, Glenn. I apologized. I’m sorry. It was stupid and horrible of me, but gods…”
I run a hand through my hair, and I know it’s sticking straight up. My glasses have been knocked sideways, but I don’t even bother fixing them.
“I’m just so fucking sorry.”
He’s quiet for a moment and then nods.
I hate that nod, but then he adds a soft, “Accepted.”
It’s almost a whisper, but I hear it. Something lightens inside of me, and I feel my eyes fill with more tears.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He says nothing else, so I clear my throat, straighten my glasses, and look down at the plan for today.
“Right, well, today we need to finish bracing those walls and framing the interior portions to get ready for the plumbers and electricians. And then, of course, we have another inspection next week.”
“Got it.”
“Hopefully, by the end of next week, we will be done with the roofing.”
“We’re on schedule to.”
I nod and clear my throat once more. “Thank you for covering for me. You did a fantastic job.”
“I know I did.”
His lips twitch slightly, and I bite back a retort. He’s teasing me. That’s a good step. A really fucking good one.
“You should shut the windows in here, Boss,” he says, and I wince slightly. It’s not Mr. Wren anymore, but fuck, I wish he’d just call me by my name. “Temps are gonna drop this afternoon.”
I huff and turn my gaze away. “I-I would, but I don’t smell right.”
Glenn freezes, his nostrils flaring slightly. I brace for it—a mean comment, a snide remark, but he just shrugs.
“Smells all right to me.”
And then he turns toward the door to the trailer, his hand landing on the doorknob.
“Those plants you sent look real nice on my porch, by the way.”
He doesn’t look back when he says it, but I feel it. My chest squeezes and then loosens as he walks outside.
He didn’t throw them away.
He kept them.
My heart skips a beat.