Chapter 23 Eli
Eli
It was all okay for a while. The puppy, Deputy, stayed by my side.
I have a sneaking suspicion Corbin is training him in some early service dog techniques.
He climbed partly into my lap and nudged at my hand, and I’d forgotten how grounding that kind of weight and contact can be.
He became a buffer between me and the noise.
I sat as far from the picnic tables as I could while still technically being part of the group. Rafe bridged the gap, quietly handing me whatever I needed as we went.
Then the race was announced, and the crowd shifted all at once from steady enjoyment to buzzing movement. I overloaded fast. When the airhorn went off, the puppy, who still needs more training because he's very much still a puppy, bolted after his favorite omega, racing along Corbin’s side.
That was it. I had to go.
I walked out to the bikes.
The rev of my bike’s engine washes over me the way it always does.
Steady. Predictable. Calming. People noise isn’t like that.
Cheering, shouting, laughing, every spike lands like a jab behind my eyes.
Engines are white noise. Crowds are a rock band mid-solo.
My brain can handle one a lot better than the other.
No one notices me leave, and I like it that way.
I also feel a little disappointed by it.
Everyone seems to be at the beach festival, so the hotel is quiet as I make my way through the halls to our suite. Once inside, I don’t bother with the lights. I just pull off my mask. It’s usually a comfort, but everything feels overstimulating right now.
I wander into the adjoining room I’ve been using, turn on the white noise machine, kick off my shoes, strip down to my boxers, and collapse onto the bed. I pull the weighted blanket over myself, the one I take everywhere, and let the pressure settle me.
I don’t know how much time passes before there’s a knock at the door.
I manage to peel myself out from under the blanket and pad barefoot down the hall.
Through the peephole, I see familiar space buns and an even more familiar dark, freckled face.
My stomach does something strange. It sinks with the disappointment I assume she’s here to deliver. I don’t care what Corbin said.
Then it flips, because she’s here. Our mate. Close.
I glance back at the bedroom. My mask is lying at the foot of the bed. No one else is here, and I don’t want to wear it in front of my Softness. I hope I don’t regret that choice.
I take a breath and open the door.
Winnie stands in the doorway, biting her lip and holding several takeout boxes.
She gasps softly when she sees me, then recovers quickly. “Hey,” she says, smiling, arms full. Her hair’s a little messy, strands escaping her style, bits of sand still clinging to her skin.
“Hey,” I reply.
“I saw you left the party early, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. And that you got these.” She lifts the boxes slightly.
My breath catches, and I have to remind myself to inhale. “You’re here to check on me?” I ask, not quite believing it.
Winnie is kind. She’s sweet. But when I’ve needed breaks from social situations in the past, the follow-up usually comes with accusations. That I ditched. That I didn’t care. That I chose someone else.
Not someone checking on me.
“Yeah,” she says, frowning a little as she looks down. My body is still braced when she adds, “I’m really sorry.”
I tilt my head. “Sorry?”
“I was excited about the festival, but I forgot about some of the details. How loud it gets. How much is happening all at once. I was picturing a calm day at the beach, and that’s not what it turned into for you. Rafe explained why you probably left when I asked.”
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes genuinely apologetic. I wasn’t expecting that shift, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
“What’re those?” I ask, gently steering the conversation.
“Oh. The guys noticed you left before the desserts came out, so they sent a care package.”
“The guys?” I ask, taking the boxes and opening the top one. Inside are cookies, a slice of red cake with white frosting, and a yellow wedge. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean my pack. None of those sorry assholes can bake to save their lives.
“Yeah. Hunt and Connor, Wyatt and Jack. They all made something for the festival. It turned into a competition, so they want you to tell them which one you like best since you don’t know who made what.
I’m supposed to report back.” She waves her phone, which definitely has a group chat dedicated to this.
Something tight and warm blooms in my chest, and it has nothing to do with anxiety.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” she says, yawning into her hand. “I just wanted to check on you.”
I reach out with the hand not holding the boxes and catch her fingers lightly before she can go too far.
It’s late. The windows are dark. The guys are probably setting up for the pop-up tomorrow and didn’t want to disturb me.
“You tired, Softness?” I ask.
She nods. “It was fun, but something about walking on a beach always makes me feel like I ran a marathon.”
A sharp flicker of irritation runs through me. They were going to let her drive home like this?
“Stay with me,” I say. I’ve never been good at indirectness. Still, even after how today went, a small part of me braces.
“But don’t you need time to yourself?” she asks softly. Hopefully.
I shake my head. “I’ve had some time. And I can’t think of anything more calming than having my mate in my bed beside me.”
She smiles and steps inside.