Chapter Fifteen
Izzy
“Twenty-two, huh?” Mason asks.
“It’s a perfectly acceptable number of eyeshadow palettes. Think of it like a collection. I need range. I need hues.”
Mason rubs his thumb up and down my wrist where our fingers are braided together. He’s facing me, with the three of us still stretched out in my bed, but his focus is on where our hands meet.
“I’ve never really thought about what it takes for you to doll it up,” he says.
“That’s such a guy answer,” I say with a soft laugh.
Vin’s arm around me tightens. He’s been snoozing on and off since the alarm sounded an hour ago.
The alarm is a reminder that we have to return to normal life out in the real world, and we all seem to acknowledge that we don’t want that.
“What did we tell Coach we had again?” Mason asks.
“Mono,” Vin says.
“Couldn’t we have said we were doing something fun, like going to Italy or Spain?” I ask.
“That’s random. Why Italy or Spain?”
“I’ve never been out of the country. They seem so exotic. Tuscany looks peaceful. Everyone deserves a break, even big, strong hockey players.” I pout my bottom lip at them.
“As fun as that sounds, it’s not something Coach would consider a valid reason to blow off practice for several days,” Mason notes.
“Mental health is important, and doesn’t mono take weeks to clear?”
Vin grunts. “I didn’t know that at the time. At least people will leave us alone. It’ll explain why we’re all distracted.”
“You could try focusing on your job,” I say, but my tone is light. “How about, for every puck you block, I owe you a fresh baked good of your choice.”
He chuckles behind me, his chest vibrating in a way that makes me smile. He pecks a kiss on the crook of my neck.
“Don’t act so innocent now,” he says. “I’d rather you swallow—”
A gentle rap comes at the door, and Trick sticks his upper body in.
“We have to go,” he informs the guys.
Vin snuggles closer, and Mason attempts to hide under the comforter.
“What are you, eight?” Trick chides. “Time to be big boys with big-boy responsibilities.”
Vin grumbles, but Mason rises and hauls Vin away with him.
There was thankfully no game scheduled last weekend. The guys missed practice on Monday and Tuesday, but the world did not end while they helped me through my heat.
They have to return to normal life now, though.
The next game is only a few days away. They need to be focused and ready.
As I rest in bed and stare at the ceiling, I think through the prior week. It’d certainly been a whirlwind.
First, Trick rejected me in the gym for both him and Mason. We were required to go to that fundraiser, though. I’d decided while getting dressed that the best revenge on Wyatt Pack’s alpha was to wear something I knew he wanted to see me in. I’d tease him with what he didn’t have.
It ended up being the perfect outfit because ofcourse it was. Trick makes it his business to be the perfect lead alpha.
I can remember watching Trick and Mason—still in their handsome suits—teaching the kids how to skate. Vin stayed with me to keep me company.
I remember sending a picture to Jolie because it was cute. The big smiles were everything.
Brad’s never even talked about these events, let alone invited me.
The picture prompted anxious texts from my bestie that escalated into a fractious phone call.
No amount of hiding in the bathroom saved me from the third degree from Vin, waiting outside, or from one of Livvy’s little minions sniping at me while I was trying to talk sense to my bestie.
I wish I knew which player brought Cora... or was it Coral? Whatever her name is, I wish I knew which player she came with so I could blacklist them both from my presence.
Some days, I have complete control over my life. I’m focused and sure. Things go my way because I will them into being.
And then some days, like last Saturday, nothing goes right and I shoot myself in the foot so many times the limb disintegrates.
First Trick and Mason, then Jolie, and so of course I ruin the next several days for everyone.
The one silver lining of “the fight” is that Jolie is too stubborn to call me first. She’s waiting for me to apologize, which means she has no idea I’ve been, ah, out of commission.
She knows I’ll message her first, too, because we both know she’s right. I am too attached to the guys. She’s trying to look out for me.
Yes, it’s annoying she’s letting the wedding become her personality. My job as her bestie is to pull her out of that and remind her who she is.
Like she’s trying to do for me.
There are also multiple text messages from my parents, but I don’t have the energy for them.
Still burrowed into my soft sheets and inhaling the guys’ lingering scents deeply, I spend the morning pecking around on my phone, making plans for the weekend. It’s one part apology and one part Jolie maintenance.
I get us reservations to her favorite restaurant—which I can afford thanks to the daily posts I haven’t been making since Friday—then book us both for nail appointments on Saturday morning.
When I’ve summoned the courage, I finally text her.
Alright, I don’t actually have a whole weekend of activities planned, but I will before Friday.
After sending that veritable wall of text, a solid ten agonizing minutes inch by.
Thank fuck. Not that she’d be mad at me forever, but the waiting was killing me.
Satisfied, I shower and get dressed in some of the work clothes Trick left in my closet. My shift isn’t until ten. That they haven’t told me not to bother coming back is a gift I don’t deserve.
And, of all the things I’d thought might happen, blissfully resuming my life after a heat is not something I’d ever thought I’d experience.
Missing are the days in bed, convincing my body to function again. Food stays down and water isn’t harsh on my throat. The cramps are nonexistent instead of reverberating for almost a month. My muscles are relaxed and not overtaxed, and my mind is clear.
Heats mean missing my doses, although the hormones flooding my system are typically enough to avoid a detox crash. Getting back on them, though, always throws me off kilter.
I’ve never had a heat last less than a week. It’s one of the reasons I prefer hourly jobs. They’re easy to start over somewhere else after I no-show for an extended period.
Today, though, I’ve never felt so alive.
My body sings, the slight soreness from overuse a point of pride and not agony.
It brings into stark contrast the wrongness of every prior heat.
In some ways, I love this feeling. Contented energy electrifies my nerves, and it’s empowering instead of troubling.
I’m on top of the world. I’m sure I could stop the earth from rotating if I wanted to.
It also means that my next heat will be that much harder.
The normal aftereffects will calm down once I’m bonded to Brad. They have to.
The double dose of my pills will be harsh on my stomach, but it’s necessary.
I need to be level-headed.
There’s no escaping the invasive thought that I’ll never have this level of satisfaction again. The concept burrows deep in my mind and makes itself a home.
This is what it’s like for other omegas.
Grief overwhelms my thoughts. Hot water pours down on me in the shower. It overheats my skin and soothes my muscles.
I never needed them before, and I won’t need them again.
My de-scenting shampoo and bodywash purge their scents from me.
Dwelling in what was won’t help me with what will be.
The day passes by in a blur. My boss, miracle of miracles, does not fire me. I get a stern warning about missing a double shift on Monday—including the one I’d traded for Friday off—but they let it go.
The heat seems to have passed with little fanfare. A bit of emotional baggage, but what heat doesn’t carry some of that with it?
My phone alerts several times during my shift. The preset tone lets me know it’s more harassment from my family. I’m neither interested in being admonished nor can I chance being caught with my phone out.
It’s not until yet another alert rings through while I’m at a stoplight that I remember to check in. The preview of the message at the top of the phone screen flushes frigid ice water down my spine.
What—and I cannot emphasize this enough—the actual fuck?
The text chains, both in the group chat and in one-on-one messages, are a horror show of escalation.
I should never have given them the guys’ address.
Sure enough, when I pull into the driveway, my parents’ minivan heralds certain doom.
They don’t spill out of the vehicle like I expect. In fact, the thing is empty. And spotless because of course it is. My mother is the perfect omega.
The garage door is rolled ominously open. Trick’s SUV waits, which raises my suspicions even more.
“Hello?” I call out when I make it into the house.
“In here, sweetheart!” Bennett replies.
Fuck shit damn.
My feet weigh a thousand pounds. I’ve already jettisoned my shoes automatically, but every step to the dining room makes me regret the decision.
My parents, all four of them, are seated around Trick’s dining table with coffee cups in front of them and little plates with the remains of last week’s biscuit batch. I froze the leftovers for chili last weekend, which obviously never happened.
“Um, hi,” is all I can get out.
“Izzy, there you are,” my mother says. Her voice is normally higher pitched, but right now she’s practically a soprano songbird.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s no way to greet your mother,” King grumps. “We drove two hours to make sure you’re okay.”
Shit. Do they know about the heat?
No, they can’t possibly. Jolie, that absolute traitor, doesn’t know. We haven’t told a soul.
“You see me. I’m fine. Thanks for coming.”
I step to the side to suggest that they can leave.
Trick braids his fingers together on top of the table. His eyes narrow on me, then Leon and my mom before returning to me. He’s apparently clocked their lead alpha and is already deferring to him.
Fabulous.The day started so nicely and now is a raging dumpster fire.
“Sorry, it’s just a shock to see you. Thank you for checking on me, but as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Stay,” Trick says suddenly. “Vin and Mason are picking up dinner. They should be home in half an hour.”
“I can make dinner,” I inform him.
“I know you can, but it’s not easy to make a dinner for eight from nothing.”
I can’t help bristling at his words.
“I can provide for as many people who need it.”
“It’s not a criticism, Isabelle. Come sit with us.”
That sounds like absolute torture. I’d rather stick my hand on the ceiling of an oven set to broil.
Trick seems to sense my resistance. He stands and offers his seat at the head of the table to me.
“Come sit. I’ll get you a coffee.”
“I can—”
“Take my place, beta. Don’t misbehave in front of visitors.”
The gentle chastisement is humbling and a little condescending, but I still have to keep the Yes, Daddy from popping out of my mouth.
And like before, Trick seems to sense what I wanted to say without me having to voice the words. His gaze is flat but the smile threatens at the corner of his mouth.
The uncomfortable dining chair emphasizes my mood as I submit to the third degree. Trick brings me a cup with my preferred half coffee-half milk and three sugars. He’s silent at the other end of the table while my folks grill me.
Yes, work is going well.
No, I haven’t found a better job yet.
No, I’m not going back to school.
Yes, I understand it’s a good idea to try again.
When I mention the social media posts, of course my mother immediately dismisses it.
“That’s not a career. What happens if the apps shut down? These things are a flash in the pan.”
Trick clears his throat to answer for me. “Actually, we don’t necessarily need to be concerned about reach. I’ve got more than half a million followers on each of my accounts and I rarely post. This is more to feed the fans, post updates, that kind of thing.”
“I suppose that’s something that can be learned. Another temporary position,” King says.
“There’s nothing temporary about it,” Trick says, but there’s an edge to his voice that sets off my anxiety.
“Well, she can’t stay here forever. We’re grateful you gave our girl a place to land, but I’m sure you’ll want to move on soon. I read the news. I know you’re building a pack, son. Once you have an omega, she won’t want another female in her space.”
King takes my mother’s hand on the table and squeezes. Trick doesn’t give an inch, though.
“And we want Izzy. For the social media help. We’re paying generously to keep her. She does an excellent job caring for us.”
He seems to collect himself and resumes in a more mild tone.
“Any omega we invite into our circle will need to contend with all parts of what we do.”
King and Trick stare each other down. Leon and my mother are focused squarely on the brewing dispute between them, but Bennett watches me instead. His face screws up into this minute smirk, and I look the question at him.
Bennett’s always been the most understanding. The most sympathetic. He’s never liked Brad, but that’s because he thinks I need a full pack like they have.
It’s nice for parents to want their children to have what they do, but that doesn’t mean it’s required.
The mudroom door bursts open and there’s a loud rustling of bags.
“Food’s here!” Mason calls out from the kitchen.
“I’ll go help them,” I say quickly and escape the testosterone-fueled glares.
Once in the kitchen, I remove plates from cabinets and add silverware to the pile. Vin stands on the other side of the island, spooning various Chinese food containers into dishes.
Mason traps me against the island with his arms as his hips grind against my ass. He kisses my bare shoulder and I melt into him. The tension locking up my system releases in a single breath.
Vin smiles at us but doesn’t pause in his task.
Bennett clears his throat at the entrance of the kitchen.
“Need help with dinner?” he asks.
The man is 31 years my senior, with glasses tucked into his salt-and-pepper hair, but he’s as astute as he ever was.
“Bobby Vinson,” Vin says and offers a hand to him.
“Bennett Kramer,” my dad replies and shakes his hand.
Mason has the insight to release me so he isn’t pawing at his daughter and introduces himself as well.
“We’ll be in with the food in a minute,” I tell him.
“The family’s hungry. Best get to it.”
“Right,” I say and move toward the plates.
“Let the boys carry that,” Bennett says.
“I’d, ah, be glad to,” Mason replies.
The four of us stand silently in the kitchen, none of us sure what to do next.
I reach for a bowl, but my father’s words cut out and stop me again.
“Vin can take care of that, can’t you?”
“Uh, sure.”
The guys pick up their items but then refuse to leave without me following.
“We’ll be right along,” my dad reassures them.
The guys examine me, but I nod my acquiescence. They disappear with full hands.
They’re barely out of earshot before my dad starts in on me.
“What have we told you about the Admin?” he whispers harshly.
“It’s fine, Dad. They won’t tell anyone.”
“You’re risking your freedom on an unformed pack, and they’re already trapping you in.”
“They know I’m going to Brad and why.”
“Brad Cameron.” He says the words with so much venom, he practically hisses them.
“Yes, Brad. I don’t have any other options.”
“You can come home. We can protect you.”
“By what? Living in the basement apartment and cleaning the house while I twiddle my thumbs? I’m not starting over. I’ve built too much here. Brad is my only chance at freedom.”
“He’s unsuitable.”
“He’s suitable to me.”
“You’ll regret it.”
“I won’t regret having freedom, no. Brad wants to be bonded about as much as I do. If I tie myself to him, I can be completely free and able to do whatever I want without my status holding me back.”
The frustrated exhalation is harsh.
“If he doesn’t want to be paired, then he won’t bite you, pumpkin. If he hasn’t asked you after a year, then he never will.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know plenty like him. Hell, King was him before we met your mother.”
“Gross.”
“Take it as you will. I wish you’d pick someone else.”
“You kept me from registering so I could make my own decisions.”
“I wish you’d think this through. I don’t think he’d abuse you or I’d report you to the Admin myself.”
The curse perches on my lips, but he drops his hands on my shoulders.
“I’m not reporting you anywhere,” he says. “I’m only saying I’ll never let anything happen to you even if it means an alternative none of us want.”
“Thanks, I think?”
“These boys seem nice. Stable. Safe. I can tell you like them a lot. Wait a year. Everything could be different then.”
Wait a year.
Would that do it?
My dad doesn’t let me dwell on it though.
“You can tell how much an omega loves herself by the pack she chooses, sweetheart. Please think this through. Give them the year,” he says solemnly.
The words ricochet in my mind.
I love myself fine.
Brad’s the star captain of a professional hockey team. Who could do better?
And I... I don’t know if I can last a year. Every week I stay with the guys raises more eyebrows. It was fine when it was only a few weeks. Now the pack is formalizing and my presence is more a question than an answer. They’re garnering more attention.
Yes, I recognize the irony of my social media work being to literally bring more attention to them.
If I put it off for a year, I’m certain I’ll lose Brad for good. It’ll be impossible to string him along that long.
And I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave them with my heart intact in another year. I’m already on thin ice.
Who am I kidding? I’m drowning and there’s no one to rescue me but myself.
Brad’s going to ask me. He has to. Hell, I’m shocked he didn’t knock the door down when all four of us went missing because of “mono.” He must’ve known what was going on.
None of that will convince my dad, though.
“I’ll think about it,” I say in lieu of arguing more.
He doesn’t seem to believe me, but he doesn’t push further.
We somehow survive the dinner without any blood loss. Mason charms everyone except King, and King and Trick come to some kind of gentlemen’s agreement I don’t totally understand.
Vin shares pictures of his sisters and their families.
Leon and Vin get into a lively argument over the league’s best offensive lines that draws everyone else in and takes over the dinner conversation. It sucks up all the time until the food is gone and there’s nothing to do but for my family to leave.
The visit has been a mixed blessing.
On the one hand, it calmed my parents down. Everyone except Bennett seems to believe the lie that the guys think I’m a beta. No one pressures us or forces the topic into the discussion.
If only it could be that easy everywhere.
The guys fit so well together. What they’re building is so good and I’m standing in the way.
My Friday plans with Jolie morph.
This needs to end.
I can’t handle it anymore. I’m way too deep in it and if I don’t crawl my way out, I’ll suffocate.
Jolie won’t be at the game itself anyway, so I can use the opportunity to force Brad’s hand. Secure permanency in the place I need to be.
Let everyone move on.
With any luck, come Friday, I’ll have my best friend back and we’ll be planning our double wedding.