Almost Home
Adam
The highway stretches ahead of us, flat and empty, and I'm using every mile of it to try to get my head right.
Elowen is in the back seat, quiet as can be.
Every few minutes the plastic bag rustles as she shifts, and the faint chemical smell of the scent-blocking spray she applied in the parking lot drifts forward.
I need to be okay with this.
I keep telling myself that. Over and over, like if I repeat it enough times, it'll stop being a lie and start being the truth.
She's mated to Cliff. The bite is on her neck. It's done. It's permanent. She's part of this pack now whether any of us were ready for it or not, and I need to find a way to be okay with that.
But my chest won't stop aching.
It's not anger.
I keep waiting for that to show up, but what I feel instead is harder to name. It's a heavy, bruised sensation that sits behind my sternum and pulses every time I think about Cliff's face in that tent. Every time I remember the way he looked at her.
The way he didn't look at me.
I should have been prepared for this. I've always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, that our pack might grow. I mean, that's how it works.
Alphas are wired to seek out omegas.
It's biology, or instinct, or whatever the hell they want to call it. And until an alpha formally bonds with an omega, there's always going to be a restlessness, a part of them that's searching even when they don't realize it.
Most packs simply don't stay alpha-beta forever.
But I thought we were different.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window and watch the trees blur past.
I don't blame her. I've been telling myself that since last night, and I mean it.
She didn't plan any of this. She's as much a victim of biology as Cliff is. Maybe more. And the look on her face this morning, the shame and the fear and the way she kept staring at the back door like she was ready to run, told me everything I needed to know about how she feels about what happened.
She's not the villain here.
There is no villain. Just a fat lot of pheromones, bad timing, and a situation that nobody asked for.
But knowing that doesn't make the ache go away.
Cliff's hand reaches across the center console and rests on my knee.
He glances over at me, and the smile he gives is soft.
His thumb traces a slow circle against the inside of my knee, and I force a smile back.
It feels thin on my face, and I'm pretty sure he knows it, but he doesn't push.
He turns back to the road, leaving his hand where it is.
The highway exits onto a two-lane road, then a side street lined with mature oaks, the kind of neighborhood where the lawns are landscaped and the houses sit far enough back from the road that you can't see your neighbors.
Cliff turns onto our street, and the house comes into view.
Home.
It's a big house. Bigger than four people need, if I'm being honest.
Two stories of gray stone and dark wood, with a covered porch that wraps around the front and a three-car garage set to the side.
The landscaping is immaculate because I do it myself every Saturday morning.
Hydrangeas along the front walkway. Japanese maples flanking the porch steps.
A lawn so green it looks fake, but it's not. I seeded it by hand last spring.
Cliff pulls the Cadillac into the driveway and kills the engine.
I hear Elowen shift in the back seat. A small intake of breath as she looks at the house through the window.
I wonder what kind of house she used to live in.
Cliff gets out first. He rounds the hood and opens my door, which is something he only does when he's trying to be tender. I let him.
Elowen climbs out of the back seat slowly, clutching the plastic bag of scent-blockers against her chest like a shield. She stands in the driveway, looking up at the house with an expression I can't quite read. Overwhelmed, maybe. Or simply tired.
"Adam." Cliff's voice is low, just for me. "Will you give Elowen the tour, then help her apply the blockers?" He squeezes the back of my neck. "I need to make some calls before Angelica shows up."
I know what he's doing. He's giving me something to focus on besides the noise in my head. And he's right, because this is what betas do.
We care for the pack.
We tend. We organize. We make sure everyone is fed and comfortable and settled. And if there's an omega in the house, the beta is the one who cares for her.
But the thought of standing in a bathroom with this woman, smoothing scent-blocker onto skin that my pack alpha marked with his teeth less than twenty-four hours ago, makes something in my gut twist hard enough that I have to swallow against it.
"I can do it myself," Elowen says quickly. She must have seen the hesitation on my face. “Really.” She smiles at me then Cliff. “I've been applying this stuff for three years. I don't need help."
Give her a chance.
I force a smile. It's not my best, but it's there.
"I'd love to help," I say.
Cliff leans in and kisses me. Soft and brief, his lips warm against mine. When he pulls back, he taps my jaw with his knuckle.
"Take your meds," he says.
"I know."
He holds my gaze for one more second, then turns and walks inside, already pulling his phone from his pocket.
I look at Elowen.
And she looks at me.
We stand in the driveway for an awkward beat, two people who have absolutely no idea how to be around each other.
"Okay." I clap my hands together once, forcing every ounce of brightness I can find into my voice. It sounds almost convincing. Almost. "Tour."
The front door opens into a wide foyer with dark hardwood floors that run through the entire first level, and a staircase that leads upstairs.
To the left is the living room. Big sectional couch, stone fireplace, built-in shelves on either side. The TV is mounted above the mantle, and there are blankets folded over every arm of the couch because I tend to run cold.
To the right is the kitchen. It’s open concept with granite countertops and an island in the center with four barstools.
Raff picked the appliances. Everything is stainless steel and slightly more expensive than it needs to be. The fridge has a water dispenser that I use all the time, and an ice maker that nobody uses.
At the back of the kitchen is a hallway that leads to a dining room we never eat in, a spacious study, at-home-gym, and a back door that leads to a deck overlooking a fenced yard.
"It's beautiful," Elowen says quietly. She's holding the plastic bag tighter.
"Thank you," I say. "We’ve only been here for a few years,"
Upstairs, I walk her down the hall. Five bedrooms and three bathrooms, all on the same floor.
"This is Raff's." I nod toward a closed door on my right. His room is the sparsest. A bed, a dresser, and weights in the corner. He sleeps there maybe once a week when he needs space.
"Perrin's." The door across from Raff’s. Also closed. I know what's behind it. Books stacked on every surface, clothes on the floor, a guitar he's been learning for two years and still can't play.
“Cliff’s is down the hall and to the left,” I say as we make our way to my bedroom.
I push the door open and step aside so she can see.
It's smaller than everyone else’s, but it's mine, and I've made it exactly what I need it to be.
The bed is against the far wall, neatly made.
My running shoes are lined up by the closet.
A small desk with my medication organizer and a glass of water I forgot to bring downstairs yesterday.
And in the corner, next to the window, is my reading nook.
It's not much. Just a wide, low chair I found at a vintage shop two years ago, deep enough to curl up in with your knees to your chest. But I've piled it with pillows and blankets until it looks more like a mess than a chair.
There are lots of soft things. A chunky knit throw Odette made me.
A velvet cushion Perrin gave me as a joke, which I ended up loving.
A weighted blanket folded across the arm.
When I'm having a bad day and the fatigue hits, or my joints ache, or the world is too loud, I sit there with a book and let everything go quiet.
Elowen stops in the doorway. Her eyes find the nook, and something shifts in her expression. The tension in her shoulders softens by a fraction.
"That's really lovely," she says, and I think she means it. I can hear it in her voice. She's looking at my pile of blankets and pillows with genuine warmth.
"Thanks," I say. And for a second, I mean it too. “Actually, I don't sleep in here often,” I admit. “I’m normally in Cliff’s bed, but it’s nice to have somewhere to hide.”
Elowen smiles at that as I close my bedroom door.
We reach the end of the hall, where the hallway cuts left, and stop in front of the guestroom.
Cliff’s bedroom is to the left, and I feel Elowen turn toward it. It's the biggest door on the floor, slightly ajar, and from here you can see the edge of the bed frame and the warm wood of the dresser, but not much else.
I hitch my thumb toward it without looking at her. "That's Cliff's room," I say as I reach for the guest room doorknob.
A part of me knows I should offer a tour of the en suite, but she'll see it, eventually. I know that. I'm not stupid or naive. I understand exactly what it means that Cliff mated her and what that's going to look like going forward.
I'm not ready to be the one who shows her where it happens.
I'm trying very hard not to be bitter about that, and I think I'm doing a reasonably okay job of it. Mostly.
“And here is the guest room.” I push the door open, then stand to one side. "This can be yours. For now. Or for however long. I don't know how any of this works yet." My mouth does something caught between a smile and a wince, and I let it be whatever it is.
“It’s perfect.” Elowen steps inside and sets the plastic bag on the bed.