Chapter 9
NINE
MASON
The loveseat is exactly as uncomfortable as it looks.
I shift for the fifth time in as many minutes, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my spine feel like it’s being slowly compressed into a pretzel.
My feet hang over one armrest, my neck is jammed against the other, and the cushions have that particular density that suggests they were stuffed with reclaimed gym mats sometime during the Carter administration.
Phoenix has been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. The water cut off ten minutes ago, but she hasn’t emerged. Probably processing whatever existential crisis my naked body triggered in her.
God. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until stars burst across my vision. Of all the terrifying things that could have happened today—and there were plenty of candidates, given that we nearly died in a plane crash—Phoenix seeing me naked somehow manages to top the list.
The bed creaks, and I resist the urge to look over at Atticus. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed and breathe steadily enough, he’ll think I’m asleep and leave me alone.
“You’re not fooling anyone.”
No such luck.
“I’m tired,” I say without opening my eyes. “It’s been a long day.”
“It has.” The bed creaks again. He’s probably sprawling even more obnoxiously across the mattress. “Near-death experiences tend to do that.”
“Goodnight, Atticus.”
“I’m just wondering if you’re ever planning to tell us why there seems to be a stick up your ass sideways? Or should we just keep pretending we haven’t noticed?”
My jaw tightens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really.” His voice is flat with disbelief.
“So you didn’t practically have a stroke when the captain mentioned this town.
You weren’t white-knuckling your way through that truck ride like you were heading to your own execution.
And you definitely haven’t been acting like someone pissed in your cornflakes ever since we landed. ”
“I’m tired—“
“You said that already.” The sheets rustle as he shifts. “Helen Keller wouldn’t miss your mood or that sour look on your face, Mason. And Phoenix is going to spiral completely if you don’t get your shit together.”
My eyes snap open despite my determination to ignore her. “Since when do you care?”
“What?”
I turn my head just enough to see him. Atticus is propped against the headboard, looking infuriatingly relaxed in his silk pajamas. His green eyes are piercing in the lamplight, making it hard for me to hold his gaze.
“Since when do you care about Phoenix’s emotional state? Or mine, for that matter. We’re pawns in your publicity game, remember? Commodities.”
Something flickers across his face. “That’s what you think this is?”
“That’s what you said it was. Business arrangement. Fake dating to boost ticket sales.” I sit up, ignoring the protest of my cramped muscles. “So why does it matter to you if I’m having a bad day?”
Atticus is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice has lost that teasing edge.
“I care about Phoenix.”
“You barely know her.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I prefer to think of time in terms of quality over quantity,” he drawls. “But she cares about you, so I do too. It really is that simple.”
I stare at him, searching for the lie. But he just smiles back at me, wide-eyed and guileless as a newborn baby.
It doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me angrier.
“So what, you’re her self-appointed protector now? Another alpha who thinks he knows what’s best for her?”
“I’m someone who noticed that her assistant—her best friend, probably her only real friend—has been acting like he’s walking over his own grave since we got here. And I’m trying to figure out if that’s something that’s going to hurt her.”
Goddamn alphas who think they know everything. I look away, focusing on the window seat where my bag sits, neatly packed and carefully positioned as to not get in the way in this tiny room.
That is how I survive, remaining in control. Never allowing anything to surprise me by planning every inch of my life.
Except right now, I’m not in control of anything. Not this situation, not my emotions, not the creeping dread that’s been clawing at my chest since the pilot said the name of this town.
Tell him, a voice whispers. Tell him and watch his face change. Watch for the disgust that you always see on alphas’ faces when they find out the truth.
The impulse is reckless. Self-destructive. Exactly the kind of thing I’ve spent years training myself not to do.
I open my mouth anyway.
“I’m from here.”
Atticus blinks. “What?”
“Harmony Harbor. I grew up here.” The words come out flat, emotionless. Like I’m reading a particularly boring insurance policy. “My parents retired a couple years ago and moved to Florida, but there are definitely still people here who know me.”
“Okay.” He draws the word out slowly. “That’s…not what I expected. But it doesn’t exactly explain the death march attitude.”
“There’s more.”
“I figured.”
I take a breath. Then another. The tin ceiling tiles blur slightly as my eyes unfocus.
“When I was seventeen, I accidentally bonded with my childhood best friend.”
The silence that follows is absolute. Even the house seems to hold its breath, the old timbers creaking to a halt.
“Accidentally,” Atticus repeats carefully.
“We were camping. The night before graduation. There was a moment—” I stop, swallow hard against the memory that still feels like broken glass in my throat. “It doesn’t matter what the moment was. What matters is that afterward, he regretted it immediately.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Well, that’s what happened. Believe me, I was there.” The word tastes like ash. “So I left. Took my scholarship to NYU and never looked back. Haven’t been home since.”
Atticus studies me for a long moment, expression unreadable. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. There is nothing lower than an omega who’s been rejected by their alpha. Most alphas are less put off by venereal diseases. I have to look away before I see the disgust in his eyes.
When he finally speaks, Atticus says the last thing I would have expected.
“Don’t tell Phoenix.”
My head snaps toward him so fast my neck protests. “What?”
Atticus’s expression has gone serious in a way I’ve never seen before. No smirk. No calculated charm. Just something that looks almost like concern.
“You cannot tell Phoenix any of this.”
Heat floods my chest. “If you think Phoenix would judge me for—”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He holds up a hand, cutting off my defensive spiral. “Phoenix wouldn’t judge you. She’d probably relate to you even more. Childhood trauma, complicated family dynamics, painful pasts—that’s basically her love language.”
“Then why—”
“Because Phoenix Riviera, upon learning that her beloved assistant was bonded and abandoned by his childhood sweetheart in this very town, will absolutely refuse to leave until she’s met every single member of your family.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Along with this mysterious childhood friend.”
The blood drains from my face so fast I feel dizzy.
“She’ll want to fix it,” Atticus continues. “That’s who she is. She sees someone she loves hurting, and she throws herself into making it better. Consequences be damned. Schedules be damned. The entire Montreal press tour be damned.”
She sees someone she loves…
I push that aside to examine later. Much later. Possibly never.
“So lie to her,” I say. “That’s what you’re suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that the truth doesn’t need to come up.” Atticus shrugs, but his eyes remain sharp. “It’s not lying if she doesn’t ask the right questions. And it’s certainly not lying if you just…redirect the conversation whenever it gets close.”
“That’s semantics.”
“That’s survival. And it’s your call.” He settles back against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. “Which reaction from Phoenix do you think will be worse? What she’ll do if she learns the truth, or what she’ll do if she never does?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Both options feel like different flavors of disaster.
Enough time passes that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then Atticus’s soft whisper floats over the tense silence.”For what it’s worth, I think you should consider reconciling with them.”
“With who?”
“Your alpha. The one who bonded you.” His voice softens in a way that feels almost genuine. “Even if the relationship stays platonic. No alpha could ever feel strongly enough about an omega to bond with them and then never want to see them again.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I know alphas. And I know omegas.” His eyes hold mine, unblinking. “Especially one like you. No alpha with even half a brain would let you walk away without a damn good reason.”
The words land strangely in my chest and I have no idea how I’m supposed to take that.
Is he flirting with me?
The thought is so absurd that I almost laugh out loud. Atticus Sloan, famous musician, notorious ladies’ man, flirting with Phoenix’s assistant while Phoenix herself lies three feet away?
But the way he’s looking at me…
Before I can formulate a response—or even figure out what response I want to formulate—Atticus winks. Actually winks, like a character in a bad romantic comedy.
The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam and the scent of lavender soap.
Phoenix emerges in an oversized t-shirt that probably cost three hundred dollars and was specifically designed to look like a five dollar thrift store find.
Her copper hair is damp and curling at the ends, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, revealing the faint freckles across her nose that she usually conceals.
She looks young. Vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Bathroom’s free,” she announces, then stops, looking between us. “Why is it so quiet in here? Were you two talking about me?”
“Why would we be talking about you?” Atticus’s smirk is back in place, smooth as silk. “We have other topics of conversation, you know.”
“Name one.”
“The weather.”
“It’s October in Maine. Cold and miserable. Topic exhausted.” She crosses to the bed and stands at the edge, arms folded. “Move over.”
Atticus makes a show of spreading out even more. “There’s plenty of room.”
“There’s plenty of room on the floor too. Which is where you’ll be sleeping if you don’t make space.”
“I thought I was sleeping on the floor anyway?”
“I changed my mind. It’s too cold and I’m too tired to fight about it.
” She climbs onto the mattress, claiming the far edge with the kind of territorial aggression usually reserved for wild animals.
“Stay on your side. If any part of you crosses the invisible line down the middle of this bed, I will remove it.”
“Kinky.”
“Goodnight, Atticus.”
I watch them settle, Phoenix curled toward the window with her back to the room, Atticus sprawled on his side of the bed like a king surveying his domain. The tension in my shoulders refuses to ease.
“I’m going to be unconscious in thirty seconds,” he announces, pulling the quilt up to his chin. “Try not to overthink everything while I’m out, you too. Lack of sleep is bad for your skin.”
He’s asleep almost immediately, his breathing evening out with the ease of someone who’s never had trouble letting go of consciousness. Phoenix’s breaths are slower, deeper. Still awake, probably, but pretending otherwise.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time, the tin tiles casting strange shadows in the darkness.
No alpha could ever feel strongly enough about an omega to bond with them and then never want to see them again.
Atticus doesn’t know Judah. Doesn’t know the way his face went white when he realized what he’d done. The way he couldn’t meet my eyes for days afterward. The silence that stretched between us like a chasm, growing wider with every moment we didn’t address what had happened.
The loveseat groans as I shift again, trying to find comfort that doesn’t exist. My phone sits heavy in my pocket, full of texts I should answer and emails I should send and a schedule for tomorrow that’s now completely worthless.
Outside the window, Harmony Harbor sleeps peacefully under the October stars.
Somewhere out there, my parents are probably finishing dinner, washing dishes, settling into the routines they’ve maintained for three decades.
Somewhere out there, Judah is…doing whatever Judah does now. Living his life. Moving on.
While I’m stuck in a tiny room with two people who see too much, pretending that being back here doesn’t feel like having my ribcage cracked open.
Which do you think will be worst? What she’ll do if she learns the truth, or what she’ll do if she never does.
I close my eyes and try very hard not to think about either option.