23. Cassidy
CASSIDY
The goat steals one of Frankie’s gloves from his hand before we’ve even made it ten feet.
I stare in shock, and Frankie watches as the goat starts chewing on it.
My goat starts bleating, and I have to turn away as I burst out laughing.
My side aches from how hard I’m laughing, and every time I look at Frankie’s aghast horror, I dissolve all over again.
He nudges me, nearly knocking me over, before finally accepting it’s funny, moss and mahogany warming around him as he laughs, too.
“Fucking hell,” he says, looking at his bare hand forlornly. “That was targeted, I’m telling you.”
I giggle again, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, Frankie, but it seems your goat doesn’t like you.”
“Maybe they’re being starved in there,” he mutters, looking at the way his goat has finished off his glove and is now inspecting the wooden fences beside the path.
“Yeah, sure,” I say teasingly, tugging my slightly overweight goat. “Did you see how much food was in there for them? I don’t think he’s hungry at all.”
The farm sits just outside the city, tucked between rolling fields and dry-stone walls. Winter has stripped most of the colour from the landscape, leaving everything washed in soft greys and muted greens.
There were more than a dozen goats in the stable, but sadly, no cows or sheep out in the fields because, apparently, even farm animals have more sense than us in this weather.
“Well, it’s not my fault Nigel is so rude,” Frankie says.
The goat in question bleats at us again before continuing his investigation.
“First off, you know his name is not Nigel,” I say, and Frankie shrugs.
“I refuse to believe that he’s worthy of the name Angelos.”
I laugh again, watching his goat prance around the wet puddles along the path.
“Besides, I do think you were warned that… Nigel doesn’t usually get chosen for walks because he’s a menace,” I offer, and he grimaces.
“Which is why I had to bring him, rather than letting you try to handle him,” he says with a smirk. “You weren’t going to let him stay behind once we got that sob story, and I’m sorry, but you’re tiny. If he wanted your glove, he’d probably eat your entire arm to get it.”
I gasp, and he grins at me, clearly amused by picking on our poor little goat friend.
“Here you go, little guy,” I say, throwing a bit of pellet over to him, which he happily eats.
Frankie points accusingly after the goat. “Don’t encourage him to misbehave. He doesn’t need to keep eating.”
“You are so mean to him,” I protest.
Frankie sighs. “We’ve had them for seven minutes. Maybe we should’ve had some supervision.”
I grin, patting my goat on the back. He’s being such a good boy, not pulling, not trying to run off. Not stealing from me.
“Don’t be silly. Look how well behaved Cobalt here is.”
“Such a weird name for him,” Frankie says, pulling on the lead for his goat.
“Isn’t it weird that he’d steal your glove, but they’re not bothered by the rope leashes?” I ask.
Frankie laughs. “What am I? A goat whisperer?”
“You’re the one who found the place,” I remind him with a laugh.
My breath fogs in the chilly air.
Nigel attempts to climb onto a bench that’s missing part of the seat. Frankie watches him thoughtfully.
“I respect the confidence he’s got,” I offer.
“I respect nothing about him.”
“You are so mean!” I say, nudging him.
“Sometimes the truth is mean,” he says, waggling his brows. “Want an inspirational quote?”
“No!” I laugh, and he grins, reaching round my back to give me a quick squeeze as we walk, his scent settling warm and familiar around me.
We’re not going very fast. Cobalt is happy to plod along, and Nigel—I mean Angelos—is determined to inspect absolutely everything. It might zigzag him in front of us, but there’s no rush.
The path is muddy, but we’re not bothered, and the chill in the air makes me glad I’m all wrapped up.
Nigel keeps trying to eat bushes, and Cobalt only bothers if it comes into his direct line of sight.
“You look tired,” Frankie says.
I wrinkle my nose at him. “You always start with that.”
“Because you always look tired.” He shrugs, tucking his bare hand into his pocket. “I can’t help but notice, Cass. Biology has me hardwired that way.”
I grumble under my breath about annoying alphas overstepping.
“Rude,” he says with fake shock.
“Accurate.” I bump my shoulder lightly against his arm.
He smiles, but it fades when I don’t return it. “Bad week?”
I focus on Nigel trying to fight his way through a hedge by eating the brambles.
“You don’t want to hear about my boy troubles,” I murmur.
Frankie doesn’t agree, but he also doesn’t push harder. He just waits me out, and it’s weirdly relieving.
The cold wind catches loose strands of my hair.
“Do you ever feel stupid for trusting people?” I ask quietly.
His gaze flicks towards me before he tugs on Nigel’s lead. “Frequently.”
I huff out a laugh, kicking a rock out of the way of Cobalt.
“That’s not helpful.”
“No, it’s not,” Frankie says gently. “But it is honest.”
The path curves around a field, and I know, in the summer, this would be a beautiful spot. Bushes are on one side, laid out for fruit picking. I don’t know what type of berries they are, but I lowkey want to come back and try them.
The other side is open for animals to graze. Cows or sheep would probably fill them.
Maybe with cute little calves or lambs.
Nigel’s crisscrossing tangles his lead with Cobalt’s, and I untangle them automatically.
“Isaac and I had a fight.”
That gets his attention, and he frowns. “You had a fight?”
I understand the surprise. I don’t fight with people. Ever.
I hate conflict. I hate confrontation. I typically apologise until I’m blue in the face, until the other person’s anger fades.
“He lied to me.”
Frankie nods, but he still doesn’t speak. He lets me guide this.
“He knew something important,” I continue softly. “And for the last few weeks… he’s just been pretending.”
The words still hurt.
Maybe they always will.
“He knew something big and decided not to tell me.”
Frankie tugs Nigel out of the muddy puddle.
“Do you know why?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“No, I mean the real reason,” Frankie says. “Not the Cassie-formed reason.”
I frown. “Surely, the reason he gave me is the real reason.”
Frankie nods, then sighs. “I don’t mean this negatively, Cass, but you’re not the most confident person in the world.”
“I am confident,” I protest. “I know I’m not ugly and—”
“Okay, see, you immediately didn’t say you were gorgeous, or clever, or amazing. You said you’re not ugly. That is not the winning argument you think it is.”
I glare at him now, but he shrugs, completely unbothered.
Damn alpha biology being immune to omega glaring.
“I can guarantee Isaac explained it to you,” Frankie continues. “But whether you actually believed him is another thing. I know you, Cass. You’ve probably built an entire horror story in your head by now.”
My heart stutters, and I blow out a cold breath. I don’t say anything, continuing to walk as I turn that over.
I can’t entirely argue with him. I may have misunderstood a few things before.
But I don’t know how Isaac’s lies could fall into that category.
He deliberately hid his scent from me so I never had the chance to realise we were scent matches.
Even so, some stupid part of me knew and let me fall for him anyway. Let me trust him, let me feel safe when with him.
And now… to find out he hid it because I’m not enough for him hurts.
It’s not just painful.
It’s fucking soul-destroying.
“People don’t always know the truth the first time they explain why they hurt someone,” Frankie murmurs, reaching for my hand.
He squeezes it, moss and mahogany softening around us, and I sniffle, blinking back tears.
“He said he was trying to protect me,” I mutter, looking up at my friend. “He decided not to tell me we’re mates, Frankie.”
Frankie makes a face, his scent thickening with anger. “Fucking hell, love. No wonder you’re exhausted. I wouldn’t sleep properly either.”
I stare out across the fields at the dark winter sky as Nigel attempts to climb some rock he probably shouldn’t.
“All this time… he was my friend,” I whisper. The words come out smaller than I mean them to.
I sound so young, so pathetic.
Frankie’s expression softens, and he pulls me to his side, his body warm despite the chill in the air.
“Hey,” he says, lifting my chin up to look at him. “He still is, Cass. You’re hurt, and you should be, but once the two of you get past it, he’ll still be your friend.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if he ever can be again. How do you move past that kind of betrayal?”
Frankie sighs and squeezes me again. “Let’s turn back around.”
I nod, looking down at Cobalt, and gently tug him to follow.
My throat tightens as the wind bites at my cheek.
“You know,” he says casually, “for somebody having an existential crisis, you’re doing surprisingly well.”
“Am I?” I ask.
“No.”
I laugh despite myself. “Thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.”
“Anytime.”
Talking it out with him hasn’t fixed anything. Everything still hurts, and now, even he can see how damaged I am.
But for the first time all week, I don’t feel quite so alone with my pain.
And surely, that’s got to be enough.
Right?
I’m warm, so bloody warm. After the freezing walk around the farm, this pub feels almost aggressively hot.
I’ve got my jacket, gloves, scarf, hat, and coat all dumped on the chair next to me, and I still have to roll my sleeves up.
The pub is far busier than it has any right to be for a Thursday night. The scent of spilled lager, fried food, alpha warmth, beta calm, and too many people packed into one space is a little overwhelming, but not in a bad way.
Conversations overlap into a constant wall of noise with groups clustered around high tables while others spill into every available corner. The whole place feels loud, crowded, and alive.
My cheeks hurt from smiling, which is a welcome feeling after the last week.
“What are you getting to eat, then, goat whisperer?”
“I did not whisper to any goats,” I argue, smirking over at Frankie.