Chapter 13
ANITA
I’m climbing the stairs to my apartment, exhausted from a day of pretending to be someone I’m not, when I see the flowers. A huge bouquet of deep red roses sitting on my doorstep, so large I can barely comprehend how I’m going to carry them inside.
My heart stutters, and I’m grinning before I can stop myself.
I crouch next to the bouquet, finding a vintage card tucked among the blooms. The handwriting is masculine, confident strokes in black ink.
Found this card at an antique shop today. Thought of you. —Jasper
It’s faded and beautiful, showing a Norwegian fjord with mountains rising dramatically from the water. The colors are muted with age, and I absolutely love it. He remembered that I collect vintage postcards.
The roses come with an elegant glass vase, which is perfect because I definitely don’t own one. I manage to wrestle everything inside, set the vase on my small dining table, and spend probably too long arranging the flowers just right.
They’re beautiful, and I’m standing here in my apartment, staring at roses like some lovesick teenager.
This is getting complicated. He has no right to make me swoon.
I need a shower to wash off the day, the wig adhesive that’s been pulling at my scalp, the chest binder that’s left marks on my ribs.
The hot water is heaven. I stand under the spray, letting it cascade over my shoulders, down my back, cleaning away Ash and leaving just me.
Just Anita.
I’m thinking about Jasper as I shampoo my hair, about that kiss from last night. My body responds immediately to the memories. Heat pools low between my thighs where slick starts gathering, and I have to brace one hand against the shower wall.
This isn’t normal. I’ve never reacted this way to any Alpha before—this intensity, this desperation, this overwhelming need that seems to bypass all my rational thought.
Maybe he is my scent match, and that’s why everything feels so amplified, so consuming.
The thought terrifies me.
Because if he’s my scent match, if any of them are, then what am I supposed to do? Walk away? Pretend this investigation is more important than finding someone who makes my biology sing? I would need to come clean, and that idea scares me.
But if I abandon the investigation, I’m letting down everyone who listens to my show. Everyone who’s counting on me to find answers, to stand up for Omegas who can’t stand up for themselves.
And Reed is still out there, spreading his poison, and someone needs to fight back.
My head is starting to throb from the circular thinking.
I finish washing, scrubbing my skin until it’s pink, trying very hard not to let my hands wander to where my body is begging for relief.
I need to stay professional, so I get out, wrap myself in a towel, and I’m barely into my bedroom when my phone rings.
Nina’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Girl, get dressed. We’re going out.” Her voice is tight, forced cheerfulness barely covering something darker.
“What’s going on?”
“I need a girls’ night. To get drunk and laugh and just… not think for a while.” She takes a shaky breath. “Please?”
“Nina, what happened?”
“My ex showed up at the bakery today.” The words come out in a rush. “The Alpha who spent two years convincing me I was broken and unlovable? He just waltzed in like nothing happened. Ordered a coffee. Smiled at me like we were old friends. And I… I couldn’t even tell him to leave. I just froze.”
My chest tightens. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quickly. “I want cocktails and loud music and to forget he exists. Please? I know you have work tomorrow, but I really need this.”
I’m exhausted. Have to be at work at seven a.m., and I should definitely say no.
“Give me twenty minutes,” I say instead.
“Thank you so much.” She hangs up, and I move quickly, pulling on my small black thong, my favorite tight blue jeans, the ones that hug every curve and sit perfectly on my hips.
I grab the gold waist chain I love, the delicate links catching the light as I fasten it just above my waistband.
Then a white long-sleeved crop top with a low scoop neckline that shows just enough skin to be interesting.
Black boots with thick heels complete the outfit.
I look good, feel good, and Nina needs me. I comb my hair and apply makeup, nothing dramatic, but enough to show I’ve put in effort.
Then I shoot a quick text to Marcy: Taking the night off. Might be home late.
Her response is immediate: GOOD. You need a break. I’ll handle the followers. They’ll be feral tomorrow, though.
I grin and type back: Wouldn’t expect anything less.
A honk sounds from outside, so I grab my ID, money, phone, and keys, stuff them into my pockets, and rush downstairs.
Nina is waiting in a cherry-red vintage Beetle that somehow suits her perfectly. I open the door, and she’s grinning at me. She’s wearing dark-wash jeans and a gorgeous wine-colored blouse that drapes beautifully, with a leather jacket.
“You look amazing,” I say, getting into my seat.
“So do you.” She puts the car in gear, pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s last minute.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
We drive through town, and I watch the buildings. We pass by the bakery with its lights off, the small shops closing up, the few restaurants still glowing warm. It’s charming in that small-town way, everything feeling slower and more intimate than the city.
Then we’re leaving the main street behind, heading out on a winding road that takes us into the woods.
Trees close in on both sides, their branches creating a canopy overhead that blocks out most of the sky. The road narrows, becomes rougher, and I glance at Nina.
“Should I be worried about where we’re going? Because this feels like the setup for a horror movie.”
She laughs. “Trust me. This place is worth it.”
Nina begins telling me about how she almost left town after the breakup, how she considered starting over somewhere new. “But this is home,” she explains. “And I realized I shouldn’t have to leave just because he’s a piece of garbage. He doesn’t get to take this from me.”
“No,” I agree. “He doesn’t.”
The road opens up suddenly into a large clearing. A dirt parking lot filled with cars and trucks, and in the center is this enormous wooden structure lit up like something out of a dream.
Fairy lights are strung through the trees surrounding the building, creating pools of warm golden light against the darkness.
More lights wrap around the exterior of the building itself, outlining the modern architecture mixed with rustic wood beams. Music is already thumping from inside, a live band by the sound of it, and people are everywhere on the outside balcony.
“What is this place?” I breathe, staring.
Nina parks the Beetle. “It’s The Timber Den. The locals’ spot. Food during the day, drinks and music and fun at night. Best place to forget your problems.”
We get out, and the cold hits immediately, snow crunching under our boots, breath misting in the air. But the building appears warm and inviting, and I can already feel the energy pulsing from inside.
Nina links her arm through mine as we walk toward the entrance, and I’m grateful for her presence. For this friendship that somehow formed so quickly and seems so solid.
We push through the heavy wooden doors, and the place is even better inside than I imagined.
It’s massive. The ceiling soars overhead with exposed beams crisscrossing, and the entire space is an open concept with different sections flowing into each other.
The bar takes up one entire wall, easily fifty feet long, with shelves of bottles lit from below, creating an amber glow.
Bartenders are moving about, mixing drinks, and pouring beer.
To the left is a stage, where a live band is playing something upbeat and catchy, and in front of them is a packed dance floor. Bodies moving together, laughing, singing along.
Round standing tables are scattered throughout the main space, all occupied.
Beyond that, there are pool tables, at least three of them, and dartboards mounted on the far wall.
There are booths along the windows, more traditional seating, and a whole separate section with comfortable couches and low tables.
The place is packed. Easily two hundred people, maybe more, and the energy is infectious.
“This is incredible,” I say, having to raise my voice over the music.
“Right?” Nina is grinning now, some of that earlier pain fading. “Come on. Let’s get drinks.”
We squeeze through the crowd toward the bar, bodies pressing close, the smell of beer and perfume and woodsmoke mixing together. A few guys try to make eye contact, start conversations, but Nina steers us away.
We finally reach the bar, and Nina orders. “Two Timber Specials.”
“What drink is that?” I ask.
“No idea. But they’re strong and delicious, and that’s all that matters.”
The female bartender with sleeve tattoos grins and starts mixing. Within minutes, she’s sliding two cocktails toward us. They’re beautiful—layered colors of orange and pink, garnished with fresh berries and mint.
I take a sip and nearly moan. It’s sweet but not too sweet, with a kick that promises I’ll regret this tomorrow.
“Good, right?” Nina says as she pays, and I will be getting the next round.
“So good.”
We’re turning to find a spot to stand when I notice Nina scanning the crowd more carefully now. Looking for someone. Or looking to avoid someone.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah. Just making sure he’s not here. My ex. I don’t think this is his scene, but…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “You know what? I don’t care. Even if he is here, I’m not letting him ruin my night.”
“That’s the spirit.”
We push deeper into the crowd, past the dance floor, past clusters of people laughing and drinking, and we’re heading toward the back section with the pool tables when I spot Mason and Dylan.
They’re at one of the pool tables, and my breath catches.