5. Lawson
Slamming the front door shut with a groan, I scrub my hands down my face when I hear the shitty sad boy music coming from upstairs.
After pulling a nearly seventy-two-hour shift at the station, I barely have enough energy to take off my shoes, let alone deal with more of Lucky’s emo bullshit.
But it’s been nearly three months of this and it’s so unlike my energizer bunny little brother that I’m worried, meaning I need to drag my exhausted ass up there and find out once and for all what’s going on with him.
When I reach his bedroom, I nearly groan out loud. He’s on his bed, facedown in a pillow, with his sad boy playlist blasting through the room loud enough to shake the walls.
The first thing I do is turn off the music and when he doesn’t so much as flinch, I wonder if he fell asleep like that.
But then one hazel eye peeks out to glare at me and I know he’s just choosing to ignore my presence.
Naturally, I ignore the nonverbal warning and sit my tired ass down on the edge of his mattress.
“Alright, out with it, Luck. What the fuck is going on with you lately?”
He groans, flipping me off and turning his head just enough to speak out of the corner of his mouth. “Fuck off, Law. I’m not in any legal trouble, so it’s not your problem.”
The blow hits center mass, exactly where he intended it to, and guilt turns my already stressed gingerbread scent so spicy it hurts to breathe in.
We’re chronically understaffed since losing the sheriff and two deputies to retirement last year, so the only time I see my brother lately is when he’s in some shit and I have to go bail him out or play big bad sheriff to one of his latest conquests.
Lucky turns over fully, guilt written across his face along with lines from the pillow. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I know you guys have been slammed at the station and they need you more than I do.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes speaking.
“No one is more important to me than this pack, Lucky. I’m sorry I haven’t made that more clear.
” What makes it worse is that I don’t have to work.
The life insurance payout we got after our parents passed, plus residuals from the sportswear company our dads founded, have set us up so that we never have to work again if we don’t want to.
But I love my job. Or I did, before I was elected to replace Sheriff Johnson when he retired.
But now instead of helping people, I’m stuck behind a damn desk and babysitting my employees when I could be spending time with my family.
Or hell, going on a date. I can’t remember the last time I actually had the company of more than just my hand.
Lucky drags his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up everywhere. “I’m sorry I’ve been a mopey asshole lately.” He sighs. “But…”
I see the look in his eyes and don’t know whether to groan or laugh.
“Who are they?” I ask curiously. For my playboy brother to be this tangled up over anyone is both deeply concerning and amusing as all hell.
He groans a guttural sound that morphs into a growl. “I have no idea.”
I’m honestly taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she refused to give me her name, wouldn’t ask for mine, and she smelled like nothing I’ve ever scented before in my life.”
My body jolts, a sudden awareness making tingles spread down my arms. “What did she smell like, Luck?”
“Remember those huckleberry hand pies Mom used to make for special occasions?”
I nod, mouth watering at the thought of something we haven’t had in years. Our mom was an incredible baker, and she used to make those hand pies for every birthday, holiday, and big event up until she passed two years ago.
“Yeah, well, she smelled like that. My entire body practically liquefied when I caught her scent and then I saw her and fuck, Law. Her picture could be in magazines across the world and I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life .”
“Lucky…” I don’t want to scare him off, but it sounds like he’s describing a scent match. “Have you ever heard anyone describe what a scent match feels like?”
He nods. “Of course, Dads described it enough times that I feel like…” his head turns sharply. “No. You don’t think?”
Shrugging, I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t know for sure without scenting her, and if you don’t even know her name…”
I watch as guilt and a bit of shame fill his eyes before he reaches under his pillow and pulls out a scrap of neon orange fabric. My eyes widen in disbelief. “Are those?”
“Her panties?” He barks a sharp laugh. “Yup.”
He waves them in front of my face and I swear to god I almost pass out.
There’s a distinct chemical tinge that tells me the wearer is likely on suppressants, but the scent itself?
Fucking hell. “Holy shit,” I gasp, ripping the panties from his palm and bringing them to my nose for as deep of an inhale as I can possibly manage.
I don’t even care that this would be considered disgusting to most rational people.
My alpha is on the verge of going feral from a hint of scent that is months old.
I’m positive my pupils are blown and I must look out of my damn mind, but I feel it. My alpha is absolutely unhinged demanding we track down the omega and lock her up until we can convince her to let us brand her throat with our teeth.
A hand reaches out to grab the fabric out of mine and I growl, snapping my teeth like an animal. “Woah, okay there, killer. Wanna come back from omega-land and not murder your only brother?”
Lucky’s words snap the reins back from my instincts and I shake my head, trying to dispel the haze that has clouded my vision. “Sorry,” I rasp. “Got lost for a second there.”
He nods solemnly. “Now you know why I’ve been so off the last few months.”
Desperation claws at my chest, sharp and sudden. “Do you know anything about her? Any identifying information that could help us find her?”
I watch as he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been sitting on that information all this time and purposefully haven’t tried to find her.
No, you idiot, I don’t know anything. It’s like she is a goddamn ghost. I have searched every single inch of campus, the surrounding stores, other than that home decor place that closed recently.
So either she’s actively avoiding me, or she was just visiting. ”
I’m not sure which thought is more disheartening. The last thing I want is for this girl to slip away, but if she knows Lucky is a scent match and is avoiding him, then…
“She’s on suppressants!” The lightbulb goes off, and with it, a beacon of hope. “She wouldn’t have clocked you as a scent match because suppressants can mess with the olfactory center of the brain and change how you process scents.”
He sits up, his scent brightening considerably. “So she might not be avoiding me at all? She just doesn’t know what we are to each other?”
I laugh. “To be fair, neither did you until about five minutes ago."
Just then, my radio goes off. Normally I would ignore it, but the words have my blood running cold.
Dispatch this is engine seven, we have a large structure fire at the Anderson dorm at Harbor University. Requesting additional units and RA’s on scene. Multiple injuries and at least four female students still trapped inside.
Lucky pushes me off the bed, face set in grim determination. “Go. They need you, and I’ll be here when you get back. We can talk about this later.”
I nod, already sprinting out of the room.
My department-issued truck is parked outside so I’m at the scene in less than ten minutes.
The fire is still raging on the top floors, but the thing that has my heart racing frantically in my chest is the two girls being loaded on to stretchers by the dorm entrance.
My steps are quick but controlled as I rush over to the EMT’s.
It seems as though there’s only these two injuries, but I would really like to make sure before I start interviewing bystanders.
The closer I get, the more my heart pounds, which doesn’t really make sense when I’ve attended a dozen or more emergencies in my time as sheriff.
But each new step towards the stretchers has something twisting so tight in my chest I can barely breathe.
Ryan, the senior EMT, is someone I’ve crossed paths with on numerous occasions so he nods to me as I approach.
“Hey, Lawson. Got two female students, ages unknown, vitals stable on that one,” he points to another gurney where a female medic I haven’t met before is running a few tests on a young beta.
The girl looks to be functioning and coherent, but the girl in front of me is a different story.
Her breathing is labored even through the mask, and my alpha is going absolutely wild in my chest, demanding we fix whatever is wrong or find someone who can.
What the hell?
Ryan continues speaking, ignorant to my internal freak out. “This one, however, was trapped the longest and took in quite a bit of smoke. I’d like to take her to the hospital, but wanted to try and stabilize her here first.”
Just then a loud, wracking cough escapes the omega in front of us, and as she comes back to consciousness her acrid scent begins to rise under the suffocating layer of smoke wafting off of her.
Huckleberry pie.
It feels like a punch to the gut. This scent isn’t months old, it’s fresh.
My entire world rearranges itself all at once to revolve around this little omega, and I don’t even know her name.
The EMT moves quickly, adjusting the flow of oxygen and asking her a barrage of questions she can barely answer.
The whisper of her voice is another shock to my system, settling deep into my bones like she was always meant to be there.
“Lainey,” she coughs. “My name is Lainey Ryan.”
Her gaze flicks from me to Ryan, fear swirling in the depths of her brown eyes.
There’s soot all over her face and hair, but it doesn’t detract from her beauty one bit.
Lucky wasn’t even remotely exaggerating, she is stunning.
I try to focus on her answers to the EMT’s questions, but it’s not until she goes into another coughing fit and gasps out a question of her own that changes everything that I am finally able to focus.
“Is my baby okay?”