Chapter 20
Imogen
I sip my beer, the hoppy flavor settling on my tongue, but I enjoy the bitterness. Licking the foam off my lips, I set the glass on the table in front of me. When I look up, all three men are staring at me.
I clear my throat, "Coaster?"
Cass laughs, "Ah, no, no coaster. Sorry."
"Oh, no, it's okay. I don't need one." I feel stupid for asking. I like the beer, but it's strong, so I try not to wince at the flavor, though the distraction is helpful.
Cass narrows his eyes in amusement. "You don't have to drink that, you know. I can get you something else."
I look at the glass. Even after two small sips, it's nearly full. "No, that's alright. Thank you."
"What do you like? To drink, I mean? I'll make sure we stock up."
I'm embarrassed to admit, I'm not entirely sure. I'm so used to suppressing calories, as they taught us at the OFA, to keep our frames small (but not too small), and soft in the belly (but not too soft), that I got used to drinking nothing but water and the occasional glass of wine or champagne when in public. Sometimes coffee, or a green smoothie, which I do enjoy, but soda? Beer? Never.
"Imogen?"
"I don't know what I like," I admit. "I don't like soda. I got used to not drinking sugar, so it tastes too sweet now. Usually, I just drink water."
He nods encouragingly, like I'm endearing, like it's not strange that I'm a grown woman and don't even really know who I am and can't answer a simple question like what do you like to drink? Reading between the lines that I'm just a byproduct of the OFA's rigid curriculum, Cass smiles warmly.
"Don't worry. We'll get every kind of drink imaginable and figure out what you like. Same with food?"
I nod slowly… "Nothing too rich. But yes, I'm used to a strictly monitored diet. A protein and a vegetable. But since I've been staying in South Loop, I've been… indulging." My cheeks flame when I think about the entire pasta entrée I ordered only a few days ago. My mother would have shamed me for months if she knew.
"You like wine?"
"I do like wine, I know that much," I laugh lightly.
Cass nods. "So we'll figure out what you love to eat, too. I can't fucking wait, babe. I love to cook."
I want to ask more about Cass's cooking, about what they like, what they eat and drink. I want to know the little things. Do they prefer takeout or restaurants, or does Cass cook for the three of them? But my questions stay buried when Red pins me with a look. I'm not sure they have an official pack leader, but I'd put my money on Red.
Cass is too easygoing, and Iggy is too single-minded and focused.
"So… what now?" I ask, afraid of this part of the conversation—they brought me back downstairs so we could talk and they could get answers I'm not ready to give. I told Red at the country club I'd tell him everything, but I was just trying to get him to leave.
Now I know Red's the pack leader because the three of us look to him for guidance. He replies, "Now, we court you. But I'm not keeping you a secret, Imogen."
It's been a roller coaster of a day, and I'm tired and nearly ready for sleep, but Red's automatic assumption that I will fall in line makes me bristle. I'm already falling in line for someone else. I can only be pulled in so many directions before I'm torn apart. Fear that they won't understand, that they'll still ultimately reject me when I try to explain, has my stomach in knots. I resist the urge to fidget, willing my hands to stay still, folded in my lap.
Red sits beside me on the couch, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. Iggy, in the chair across from me, leans back, almost carelessly, watching me with those intense, heady eyes. They're so dark, almost like he was built like this intentionally, to hide a world of secrets in their depths. Iggy's arms spread on the cushions behind him, and while he's not as tall as his brothers, closer to me in height, there's something undeniably raw and dangerous about Iggy. His strength comes from within, and, while thin, his thick, corded, sinewy forearms and biceps were built for control. He didn't get that muscle in the gym, that's for sure.
I've had flashbacks from my heat all week, but one I keep coming back to is Iggy using his incredible strength to effortlessly lift me up and impale me against the wall, holding my body like a rag doll, manipulating my limbs as he saw fit, a faint memory of dust coating my skin…
My sudden, strong perfume blooming into the room doesn't mask my trail of thoughts, and I blush, looking back at Iggy, who stares unabashedly.
Next to Iggy, Cass laughs, and it helps break the sexual tension. I can see this easily devolving into an orgy if my perfume and their pheromones have anything to say about it, so I stay on track, not allowing my omega to have her way. Now that Dante is aware of our match, she relentlessly beats inside my walls, begging to be let out, to let them take her right here, right now.
But I'm in control, and we need to talk.
I barely know them, in truth. But I've always believed in the power of packs, in the strength of love, and I've seen how potent the fated match is for others. I'm a dreamer at heart, so I'm willing to take a leap.
Their patience wanes the longer I take the answer, and the wait doesn't help my nerves either, so I rip off the band-aid, so to speak. "I can't be with you publicly. Yet."
Their scents mingle, and Red's engine oil and leather lingers in the air, sharpening at my declaration. Red and Iggy growl, angry and hurt. I attempt to explain, but Cass cuts me off.
"Why are you engaged to them?"
"My parents accepted their proposal on my behalf. I'd never have said yes to them on my own. They courted me briefly, but I wasn't ultimately interested."
Red nods. "But you're still engaged. You said your parents accepted on your behalf… why didn't you tell them no?"
"My mother threatened to cut me off from the family. Not just financially. She said she'd never speak to me again, and she'd demand the same of her mates, my fathers, and I believed her."
"Is that why you came to work at Queenie's?" Iggy asks. His long arms are no longer draped carelessly behind him. He's now leaning forward, fists tightly bound, clasped between his knees.
"Initially, yes. It wasn't about the money, not really. I don't know. I suppose I didn't really have time to process being financially destitute because, truthfully, I've always wanted to get married and have a family, and my mother knows that. I've been picky over the years. I've never wanted to settle for someone who wasn't…" I look around at these scrappy men. Iggy and his tattoos, his jaw clicking fiercely the more I speak. Cass giving me an encouraging smile, Red patiently waiting, not overreacting, sitting in tense silence beside me. The three of them are so different from the Stevens Pack.
I continue, "I've never wanted to settle for less than a love match. And Stevens Pack was no different from any others I'd met. But I started thinking that maybe my mother was right. Maybe I was being too picky. And I didn't want to end up alone. So I accepted their proposal."
I can see the questions on their faces, a reiteration of Ophelia's reaction when I said the same thing to her, that I'm too young to worry about being alone. I can't explain it, this desire—no, it's more than that, it's a need, like an emptiness inside of me, searching for a family, a pack, to call my own. One who will love me unconditionally, who won't care that I'm not perfect, even when I try to be.
Stevens never would have accepted less than perfect. If only my mother hadn't forced my hand.
"Anyway, I did, reluctantly, agree. But then, one day at work, I walked into the office to find Roxy, and there you were, Cass." His lips tug into a half grin at the memory, but his brow furrows, likely remembering what followed. "You took me by surprise. The one thing I've always wanted, and there you were. But I overheard what you said to her, then Roxy warned me off you, all of you, because of what happened with that one omega, Emily."
"She wasn't—" "We weren't—" Cass and Red try to explain, but I wave them off. "It's okay, you don't need to explain. I understand what happened, and I see our situation is different. But at the time, I was worried you'd reject me. I was on scent-blockers for the club. I didn't think you'd believe me about the match. Anyway, I knew right then I couldn't accept Stevens Pack, regardless of how I felt. I couldn't imagine being with anyone but you three, especially during a heat—"
Three alpha growls reverberate so intensely, ricocheting between us in this small living space, I waver in my seat, the energy knocking me back. They regain control, but I wait before continuing, giving each a pointed look. Only Iggy looks apologetic, but I shake my head in amusement. "So, I intended to break it off. I wasn't ready to tell you the truth, but I also couldn't stay with Stevens. But when I got home to talk to my mother…
"It's a long, complicated story that involves my parents and their bad choices, some of which led us here to Arrow Cove. All I can tell you is that until I resolve some issues with my family, I cannot cancel the engagement." I look at each one of them, imploring them to understand. "I'll never marry them. I'm not even with them. It's just a verbal agreement between the pack and my parents, which I will put an end to soon. It's temporary. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I need you to trust me. Please."
The guys are quiet for a minute, absorbing everything.
Red takes a deep breath, then says, "I want you to break off your engagement. I don't think that's an unreasonable request."
I smile up at him, but it's not a real smile because there's nothing joyous about what I'm about to say. It's my practiced smile, one of calm omega energy. He's right, and I love that he wants me and doesn't want to hide it. But he's not trusting me. He's not understanding. "Forgive me, but I cannot. It's only for a few more weeks. I'll either have found a solution to the problem or not, but the outcome, for me, is the same. I’m not marrying them."
"So what are you saying, Imogen? You know we're your scent-match. You're staying engaged, for however long, to someone else. And we're supposed to what? Just kick back and pretend we aren't destined to be together? I can't fucking breathe at the thought of you being with someone else—"
"I won't be with them," I quickly remind Cass, but he's too hurt to hear me.
"You won't be with us either. That's what you're saying."
His words settle like the aftermath of a bomb. Sadness weighs on the four of us, and their scents whirl through different emotions when I don't correct Cass. I want to be with them, but I can't. Not yet.
Jeffrey’s wrist, and whatever happened to Bowen’s leg… If I give in and just cancel the wedding now, my mother will disown me. I’m prepared for that. I suspect when she finds out I’ve scent-matched to a pack in South Loop, she’ll surely suffer apoplexy and disown me right away.
Regardless of our relationship, I’m not prepared to disown her until we've handled the solution of her debt. First, my two dads are injured—what's next? My other fathers are still away on business. Will she be next? Me?
I just need more time where she thinks I’m getting married, for me to find out what she owes and to who, and once I have some idea of what I’m working with to help dig them out of this—even if she disowns me, at least she’ll be safe, my fathers uninjured. Alive.
Then we can part ways. What a mess.
I look at Red and Iggy, then Cass. All in varying stages of distress because they can likely sense I’m not budging. Well, I'm not happy about it either. There's more to talk about. Where we go from here. What happens next. What they're doing with that ridiculous excuse for a nest upstairs which, despite its smell and lack of, well, everything, it's the best thing I've ever seen.
They said they're building it for me, and that was even before they found out I was their mate. And after they found out I was engaged.
It gives me hope. But it's arrested because we can't give into this thing brewing between us, not yet.
At an impasse, and because I've slipped my OFA cloak back on, spine straight, afraid that if I give an inch, I'll give everything, I leave no more room for discussion on the subject, so we say goodnight.
Red walks me to my car, and my heart pulses uncomfortably beneath my breastbone the entire drive home. The further from South Loop I drive, the sadder I feel.
Maybe I should move back to C-Block for now because the anxiety feels near crippling, churning in my gut as I type in the gate code and drive up my parent's long driveway.
Turning toward the back, I park in the garage, then enter the house, keeping quiet but not sneaking in. I'm so tired, my entire day a whirlwind of emotions. A sound from the sitting room has me pausing on the way up to my room. Another growl of frustration and curiosity getting the better of me, I tiptoe back downstairs, through the grand dining room, to my father's sitting room off their office.
A dim light casts the room in a warm glow, and I find my father, Bowen, propped uncomfortably on the couch, his left knee in a cast, elevated by a series of pillows. He looks miserable.
"Immy? Is that you, sweetheart?"
"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Nonsense. I haven't slept a wink." He shifts on the couch, lumbering with the effort. Patting the seat beside him, he gestures for me to sit.
"I feel like we've barely seen you lately. Your mother said you were staying with a friend? Was it that Ophelia? Nice girl. A little outspoken. I do wish you'd hit it off with the Constantines, but they are scent-matches, after all. Can't change nature."
Hope sparks in my chest. Maybe if I told him about Dante, he'd help me talk to Mother, to get her to let go of the idea of Stevens being their salvation, and look for another solution to their problem.
I'm sure the reason my fathers haven't lived a more modest lifestyle is because of her. I see that they like their toys, too, but my mother complains when her purses are last season and how it would look if her water features out front were domestic and not imported, heaven forbid.
"Is your knee okay?" I ask.
He sighs, stretching his opposite leg, making circles with both, trying to ease his pain. "It's fine. Knee surgery was a long time coming."
"Knee surgery? I thought you were injured…"
He laughs self-deprecatingly, waving me off. "Oh, I had a little accident, it's true. Jeffrey and I can't seem to keep out of trouble these days. But my knee has been needing surgery for the last few years, ever since I tore my meniscus. It was a blessing in disguise. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
"So… you had an accident at the gym that made it worse? Didn't Jeffrey fall on the treadmill?" I ask. "Two injuries requiring casts, both at the gym?" He must know that sounds like a stretch. Maybe I've been going about this all wrong, trying to get my mother to talk to me.
His eyes narrow. "Why all the concern, dear? I told you I'm fine. Alright? No need to worry that pretty little head of yours. Now, I heard you had dinner with Stevens today. That's excellent, Imogen. You'll be the town's first lady—did you realize that? My daughter, the wife of a politician." His eyes shine proudly.
"Umm… Yes. Very exciting. Dad, I know Stevens offered you a generous sum in exchange for my hand."
"Imogen, we don't talk about money in this family," he scolds.
This is why I talk to my mother more than my fathers. She may talk in circles and insult me, but they dismiss me entirely. They're kind and sweet until they aren't, patting me on the head like I'm an idiot. At least she'll talk to me, even if she's rude. I'm just so tired of the subterfuge. "Yes, I know. It's just… Why did you take it? Why didn't you let me wait and choose my own partner?"
His alpha growls, and I flinch, ducking my head. "Imogen, really. It's too late to have this conversation. One, I might remind you, we've had dozens of times in the past, and I'm honestly quite tired of having it, as is your mother. I'm a little concerned, in fact. Perhaps we need to get your head checked. Have you been feeling well?"
I pull back, "I can't ask a simple question?" We most certainly have never had this conversation, let alone dozens of times.
"Not if you've asked the question enough times that I'm concerned about your mental health. Are you forgetting these things? Or are you just being willfully ignorant? Do you have any idea how much time and money we've put into your education, into courting packs, dressing you up to be your perfect self? Hmm?"
"Dad—"
"Of course not. You just sit there and look pretty, as you should. But you've no idea the complexities it takes to run a family this esteemed. The money from Stevens is like paying us back for all the money we put into you. You've been groomed into this lovely swan, and Stevens will reap the rewards. Are you suggesting you don't owe us for everything you have? The clothes on your back, your education, this roof over your head? Leave the thinking to me and your fathers, Imogen," he spits, then his face transforms, his temper disappearing on a whim, but it's too late. The damage is done, and my omega is cowering. "Now, I'm sure you need your beauty sleep. Go on to bed."
I press my lips together, willing to keep the tears at bay. The harshness, each word a slap, has me wondering how I could forget what he's really like. It's only when I don't conform that they treat me harshly, which is why I always obey.
Carefully, I lift from the seat, keeping a neutral smile on my face because that's what he expects. Perfection. On the way out the door, I pause.
"Are Hale and David home soon?" I ask softly. I've been wondering where my other fathers fit into this whole mess, and maybe, possibly, they don't know what's happening under this roof. My parents, as far as I know, are barely a scent-sympathetic match, more of an arranged marriage. Hale and David have always been closer than Jeffrey and Bowen, and I'd seen my mother as the glue that held them together.
He glares at me for asking more questions, his alpha energy nearly choking me. The urge to submit, to bend my neck, is overpowering, and I've never felt this small. Before the tears spill from my eyes, I dip my head subordinately, then hurry upstairs to my room.
The hole in my chest for my missing mates, being at odds with them, and being under the thumb of my parents tears small pieces of my heart. I'm more lost than ever, and sleep never comes.