Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GRAVEL CRUNCHES BENEATH my feet as I cross the pathway to reach the grassy, tombstone covered hill. The sun is high in the sky, beating down on me and trying to steal the cold seeped into my soul. Blue skies mock me, at odds with the imagery of weeping angels scattered around the graveyard.
I’m careful to stay between rows as I travel toward the back corner. So many faded markers sit here. Reminders of the loved ones we have lost along the way.
Trees tower around the rear edge of the graveyard, and two metal benches sit beneath the shade they provide. I stop two rows from the end, falling to my knees in the grass. White orchids grow around the black granite marker before me, carefully trimmed away from the engraved lettering. Serenity Elaine Bishop.
I place the pink and white roses in my hand at the bottom edge of the granite, my fingers skimming over her name as I pull it back. “Ren,” I whisper brokenly. It’s always the same when I visit her. The ache in my chest is immeasurably intense. The shattered pieces of my heart crumble a little more when I’m facing the visual reminder she’s gone.
Ren was my high school sweetheart. The first love of my life. We were going to spend an eternity together. Travel the world with my band until we were ready to find our pack and start the family we always dreamed of. I’d bonded her right out of the Alpha Academy, proudly claiming her as mine in the bottom of the sailboat I named after her.
Then my world had fallen apart. I was performing a show in Maryland when the pain hit me through our bond, sharp and fierce. It stole my breath and had me collapsing on the stage. Minutes were all it took for the fraying strands of our connection to snap.
I was inconsolable as my bandmates tried to carry me off stage. They’d dragged me to the nearest hospital, but there wasn’t anything they could do. My mate was gone, lost in a fatal crash on the highway she drove every day to get to her job at the local museum.
My fist rubs over my heart, attempting to ease the phantom echo of that pain. It’s never gone away. Years of therapy have helped it fade to a manageable level. Or it had until last night.
When I saw Bea swaying on the dance floor at Fairytale, the pull I’d thought was from her heat reignited. My feet had carried me to her before my brain could process the action. The way her curvy body molded against mine, that magnificent ass grinding against me with each pulsing beat of the music, it was rapturous. She turned to look at me and the endless galaxy in her eyes captivated me. I was drawn into her orbit, tethered by the gravity of the potential connection between us.
She’d spluttered out an admission that she was building her pack, which gave me pause. Hearing her confess she felt as bewitched by me as I am by her, joy soared in my heart. Only for the emotion to be crushed by heavy waves of guilt.
“I don’t know what to do, Ren.” I stare up at the sky through closed eyes, wondering if my lost lover is out there somewhere watching me. Listening to my confused pleas. “Fate already blessed me with an omega. How is it fair for me to get a second chance? Is it even okay for me to consider giving my heart to another when it still belongs to you?”
There is no answer, of course. Only a gentle summer breeze to rustle the leaves of the nearby trees.
“So many parts of this scare me. The thought of you hating me for choosing to love again. The overwhelming fear of losing a bonded mate again. Letting someone new in to see all the jagged pieces of the person I’ve become since you left this world. Can I even be a good alpha when I’m broken?”
I hear a sharp breath in the distance. My eyes snap open, my head turning to see who is there. The pain in my chest grows when I see my sister Venus standing several feet away. She’s grown since I last saw her. Her hair is short and sleek, her stomach slightly round. Nausea churns in my stomach at the realization she is pregnant. I glance back up to her throat and choke down my regrets when I see the silvery mate marks lining her throat.
“Ry,” she whispers my name, taking a tentative step forward as if she is afraid I will flee like a startled animal.
I guess her reaction is warranted. When Ren died six years ago, I went down a dark path, leading me to cut off all contact with my family. I couldn’t handle the weight of their grief when I was already drowning. Venus most of all. Ren was her best friend, after all.
“Vee.” She hurries over and sinks to the ground beside me, keeping a few inches of space between us. I’m comforted by the familiar notes of her jasmine and lily scent as they settle around me, mellowed by her bonds.
“You’re home,” she comments after she lays her own flowers on Ren’s grave. I don’t respond, unsure of how to do this. My mind is a riot of emotions, each flaring so brightly I can’t seem to settle on one.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug, watching her study me with a worried expression from the corner of my eye. “I’m alive.”
A sad smile tugs one edge of her lips up. Her bright brown eyes shimmering with tears. I hear a noise behind us and glance back to see the men who must be her mates hovering restlessly nearby. No doubt drawn by whatever they are feeling in their bond.
“You’re pregnant.”
Venus’ smile brightens, one hand resting on her slightly round stomach. “I am. It’s our first. A little girl.”
I offer her a brittle smile and my whispered congratulations. I am genuinely happy for my baby sister, but jealousy wars within me knowing I should have been enjoying those same firsts. If only Fate hadn’t stolen my mate from me.
“You should call Mom,” she hedges, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “She misses you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admit on a long breath. “I can’t promise anything. I’m… I’m trying.”
She nods, turning to press a kiss from her lips to Ren’s headstone. I jump to my feet to help her stand when she pushes to her knees a moment later. My sister wraps me in a sudden hug, squeezing me hard enough to make my bones creak in protest. “We’re here when you’re ready, Ry. We always will be.”
My eyes follow her as she walks back to her mates, answering their hurried questions as they guide her back up the hill to the gravel parking loop.
I turn back to Ren’s grave, staring blankly at the granite and wondering what to do next. Perhaps I should call my therapist and schedule an appointment sooner than the one I had scheduled.
As I climb into my car, my phone beeps with a notification. An invitation to lunch tomorrow with Shiloh. Perhaps my old manager could help me work through the chaos in my heart.
“Come in,” Shiloh calls when I knock on his office door. I swing the thick wood open and step into the pristine space. I always forget how strict he is about cleanliness and order. Even on the tour bus my old band used, he was constantly barking at us to pick up after ourselves.
“Hey,” I greet, slipping onto the couch off to the side of the room. A small coffee table sits before me, perfect for the containers of take out I’d picked up from the local Italian restaurant. Saffron risotto topped with steamy Osso Bucco and spears of asparagus. It isn’t shocking he ordered us something so classy. He has always loved fine dining, refusing to join us on our late night fast food excursions.
“Thank you for joining me,” he finally says as he slips into the seat across from me.
“Thanks for the invite,” I retort with a raised brow.
He gives me a sharp look before digging into his food. I try to eat, but my stomach is still a mess after visiting Ren’s grave and seeing my sister.
“Tell me what’s on your mind so you can stop playing with your food,” he grumbles.
Dropping my fork, I lean back against the soft leather couch and let my head fall against the cushions. “I’m a mess.” I can feel the intensity of his attention with my words. He’s studying me, looking for signs I am spiraling.
Five years ago, he’d tracked me down about my band contract, only to find me high and drunk, sitting in a pile of my filth and begging for Fate to take me too. He’d cleaned me up and made me sober up enough to fly to California with him. Despite my protests, he had used my contract against me and booked me into a rehab facility there. Far enough from all the reminders of my loss to have a chance of surviving.
I was in that facility for two years before I felt stable enough to leave, then I’d made California my home. Working with Soulbound’s West Coast branch as a marketing consultant until I felt ready to come back to Starburgh.
“I’m not relapsing,” I reassure him. “Just struggling with some things that have happened recently.”
“Overwhelm is a slippery slope when you’re a recovering addict, Orion.”
My lips turn up in a sad smile. Living in California, I’d forgotten what it was like to have people who knew you on your side. Plenty of strangers at rehab and the West Coast offices supported me, but this feels different. Familiarity comes with a heavy weight of expectation even when he doesn’t speak it aloud.
“I met an omega.”
His brows lift, mouth parted as he stares at me. Stunned by my admission. He recovers quickly, straightening in his seat and finishing the rest of his lunch. Only after sitting his empty takeout container does he speak. “You use heat helping to help calm the echoes of ferality from your broken bond. Are you referring to that?”
The crease in his forehead deepens when I shake my head in denial.
“She is someone I met through heat helping, but there is a pull between us. Similar to what I felt for Serenity all those years ago. When I assisted her, I assumed it the heat pheromones fogged my brain. Then I saw her again the night before last and realized it’s still there.”
Shiloh folds his fingers together, leaning his elbows onto his knees. I know omegas are a tough topic for him. His experience with the designation has left him convinced he will never accept a bond. He’s jaded by a pack he never belonged in.
“You are worried pursuing this new omega would spit in the face of Serenity’s memory.” His head jerks in a sharp nod when I remain silent. “You’re also worried about bonding.”
“I won’t survive that level of loss a second time.”
He considers me for a moment before asking if I’ve made an appointment with my therapist. I admit I have, but it is still two weeks away. “I’m struggling to advise you when I can’t fathom accepting that type of connection myself,” he admits. “Only you can decide if the risk is worth the reward. Being honest with this omega is the first step. She needs to know your history before you build a relationship with her. The last thing we want is for her to trigger you into a spiral.”
His desk phone rings, and he steps away to answer it. Leaving me to think things over. When he returns a moment later to clear his mess, I jump to my feet and help him. It’s almost time for me to head downstairs to meet with a few of the bands I will design brands for.
“Thank you for bringing lunch,” Shiloh offers on my way out.
I throw him a wave over my shoulder, closing his office door on my way out. He’s right that I need to be open with Bea about my past. Even if it’s terrifying to open those old wounds.