Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
RIANN
Pain throbs through my skull as I groan and pry open my swollen eyes. My head spins, my body buzzing.
What the fuck happened? It’s the only thing I can think as I assess the damage around me.
The hotel room is a fucking wreck; everything is destroyed.
I’m curled up butt ass naked on the floor, clutching the empty champagne bottle. I vaguely remember the shock of returning to consciousness after I blacked out. The first thing I did was grab the bottle to make myself feel ten times worse.
Memories from before I slipped into the rut slam into me all at once. Skylar and I curled up together. Her fingers fucking me until I cried out and came. Her kissing me until she stole my breath.
Me begging for her bite.
Her denying me.
Me telling her to leave.
Fuck.
I screwed up big time.
And while this time wasn’t entirely my fault—I couldn’t control the alpha urges beating through me—I’m still the one who hurt her. I said awful, spiteful things trying to force her to bend to my will, trying to get my way.
She left because of me.
My whole body aches as I struggle to my feet. Nausea hits me right in the gut as I lift myself up. I find my cell phone face down on the floor beneath the toppled table, clinging to its last bit of charge.
“Shit,” I mutter as the time flashes on the screen.
It’s already past eleven.
I only have a few hours left before I’m supposed to be at the airport, and I still have so much to do.
I have to shower and pack. I have to call an Uber and check out of the hotel.
Most importantly, I have to decide if I’m going to buck up the courage to go find Skylar at the Buchanan Center before I leave.
I don’t even know if it’s worth it—what could I possibly say to make up for the way I reacted?
However, the thought of boarding my plane and leaving Boston without saying goodbye stirs the empty pit inside me, and I swallow down the bile burning up the back of my throat.
That could also be the alcohol talking…
I groan as I force myself across the room, carefully avoiding bits of broken glass.
If I can see Skylar one more time and at least try to apologize, maybe we can end things on a better note. Even if she rips into me for being a fucking bitch, at least I can say I tried.
Or maybe I’m just being selfish by trying to force myself on her.
As I stumble toward the bathroom, her face flashes through my hazy mind. That dead look in her eyes, the overwhelming disappointment that followed.
I fucking ruined everything…
The bouquet of flowers lies on the floor next to the shattered table, wilted from not being placed in water. I bend down to scoop them up and sniff them, admiring their delicate petals. They aren’t as beautiful or bright as they were last night, and they embody how I feel more than I want to admit.
Showering is my top priority. My bottle of body wash is too big to bring on the plane, so I want to drench myself in it one last time before takeoff. It hardly compares to the real thing, a cheap store imitation of Skylar's delicious scent, but I want to wear it anyway.
I flinch at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It takes a few seconds for my hungover brain to realize that the homeless-looking goblin in the mirror is me.
My eyes are puffy and red from crying all night, my skin blotchy. My hair sticks out at odd angles, a total mess from fucking Skylar last night. I almost abandon the idea of going to see her at the clinic—I don’t want her to see me this way—but I cling to the hope that a shower will do the trick.
I bathe, starting with the water scalding hot like I normally would, but I quickly turn down the temperature. The cooler water helps cut through my grogginess, and by the time I step out, washed head to toe and smelling like crisp winter pine, I feel a little better.
Physically anyway.
I fix my makeup, doing my best to disguise the puffiness.
As I walk back into the bedroom, I eye her shirt on the bed, yet another reminder of how incredible things were last night before I destroyed everything. I briefly think of returning it, but if we don’t resolve things, I’ll be left with nothing.
I guess that’s what I deserve…
I quickly pack my bag, shoving her shirt right into the middle of it. I want her scent to leach into my other clothes, so when I unzip the bag at home, the smell will spill out into my nest. The thought of Skylar's scent in my nest makes my knees weak.
I check the time on my phone, my pulse lurching when I realize I’ve somehow wasted an hour already. I’m running out of time; I need to fucking hurry.
After scanning the room for anything I might have missed, I quickly check out and storm toward the clinic as fast as my shaky legs will carry me.
A lump forms in my throat as I enter the familiar glass-paned doors. It’s not just the fast walk in the ice-cold air that has my heart racing.
I really think I’m going to throw up…
The more my senses return, cutting through my hangover, the more memories of our argument come back. The more I think about them, the sicker I get. I can’t even call it our argument. I was out of my mind, and nothing she said would have made me listen. I was unreasonable and ruthless and stupid.
I just need to explain to her what happened, how I lost control to my urges.
Maybe she’ll understand. She’s an alpha, after all.
Each new memory that hits me breaks my heart just a little more. By the time I arrive at the reception desk, I’m pretty sure I’ve shed a tear or two.
The same disgruntled looking beta woman is sitting there working away at her computer. She doesn’t even look up at first, so I clear my throat to get her attention.
“Are you here for an appointment?” she asks, her eyes snapping up from the screen.
“Umm… no. I’m here to see Dr. Morales,” I say, my throat tightening at her name. I shift back and forth, my eyes trailing to gaze down the nearby hall, looking for any sign of her. “I’ve been feeling a bit weird since the tests yesterday. I just wanted to ask about the side effects.”
It’s a lie, a bold-faced lie, but I can’t possibly tell her why I’m actually here.
“Dr. Morales isn’t in right now,” the secretary says, her voice completely flat. “Would you like to make an appointment with Dr. Martin?”
The blood drains from my face, leaving me light-headed, and I try not to sway. My thoughts swim as I reach out to grip the desk.
She glances at my trembling hand but makes no comment.
“What—” I choke on the single word. My chest suddenly tightens, making it harder to breathe. “Is she at lunch or something? I can wait for her to get back…”
I still have twenty minutes or so before I need to worry about calling an Uber. I have time.
“Dr. Morales is off today,” the secretary says bluntly. She hits a few keys on her keyboard before looking back up at me. “Dr. Martin will be available in an hour if you want to wait.”
I stare at her while the words process, but I feel like no matter how many times I replay them, my brain won’t catch up.
Skylar isn’t here.
My last chance to see her before I fucking leave, and she’s off today.
The world tilts, and I grip the edge of the secretary’s desk harder to keep from toppling over. Every breath I force into my lungs is painful, and I hardly hear my own reply over the thundering pulse in my ears.
“No, that’s okay,” I force out. “I… I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I drift away from the desk, my eyes wide in shock. All I have is my bag and the plane ticket on my phone. I could text her, but how shitty would that be? Nothing I could say in a text could possibly make up for the way I acted.
For what I said.
Desperation claws up my throat.
I can’t just walk away like this.
She has to know I at least stopped by to see her…
Whipping around, I scurry back to the desk. “Could I leave a message for Dr. Morales?”
The secretary looks me up and down, her face scrunched in disapproval. “You can leave your name, and I'll tell her you stopped by.”
I give her my name, barely managing to fight off tears as my thoughts whirl. I could try to stay, to see if Ziel will loan me more money. I can wait outside the clinic every day like a stalker until I see her again.
Even if she hates me, it won't end with me telling her I was going to find another alpha.
A sob violently shakes my chest as I reach the front door, tears fully blurring my vision.
I don't want her to think there's anyone I could love aside from her. If I leave with her believing that she's not enough for me, I'll never forgive myself.
But where else can I go except back to the academy and my nest?
My gaze pans the street, as if a random passerby can give me an answer. But all I see is the slow stream of cars and the hunched shoulders of pedestrians fighting the cold.
I press my lips together, letting the tears fall as I pull out my phone. I still have time to catch the plane.
I'll hold on, and keep holding on, until I reach my nest.
Then, I can let myself break all over again.