Chapter 8 #2
Alphas and Omegas, Grady. They’re not like us. They run on instinct and chemistry in a way you can’t begin to understand. You’ll always be the outsider, the one who doesn’t quite fit. Find a nice Beta. Someone who sees the world the way you do.
She’d say it over breakfast, casual as the weather, while my father nodded along behind his tablet. By the time I was sixteen, it was less advice and more doctrine.
Don’t date Alphas. Don’t date Omegas. They live in a world of Heats and Ruts that will leave you stranded every time.
I believed her. For a long time, I believed her.
My hand tightens on the windowsill, the wood cool under my palm. Outside, the light is fading, afternoon sliding toward a gray dusk that means rain by morning. A crow lands on a branch not ten feet from the glass, tilts its head, and stares at me like I’m the one who doesn’t belong.
Saturday night, I’d rehearsed it on the drive over. A casual conversation that I would broach somewhere between the main course and dessert.
Hey, I’m heading to Connecticut for two weeks to visit my parents. You know how it is.
But Leif had been there when I arrived, taking up all of Emily’s attention, and the usual invitation to stay hadn’t come, and then the evening was over, and I was scraping my boots on the mat outside Kyle’s door, the paper still folded in my pocket.
I push back from the window and retrieve my cane.
The knee protests, the familiar ache settling into the joint where the metal pins hold everything together.
The doctor said it would get better with time.
But the doctor lied, or I’m not giving it enough time, or maybe some breaks don’t heal the way they’re supposed to.
The dream of the cabin feels suddenly distant, the bookshelves I imagined lining the wall, the desk under the window, the coffee pot on the counter all recede, becoming someone else’s future.
Someone who isn’t flying to Connecticut in seventy-two hours to have dinner with a woman his parents picked out, to discuss a future that has nothing to do with pine trees or island light or the ache of wanting something you can’t quite name.
My cane leaves faint marks in the dust on the floor, evidence I was here, as I head back for the door, only for a light knock to bring me up short.
Then Emily’s silver head pokes inside, and she spots me standing only a few feet away.
Grinning, she steps inside, still in her work boots, wearing a fitted flannel with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. There’s a faint smear of construction dust along her forearm, pale gray on her tanned skin.
“I had a feeling you’d be here,” she says.
I lean on my cane. “Oh, yeah?”
“With it almost finished, I figured Chloe would have shown it to you.” Her boots leave prints on the dusty floor as she closes the space between us. “Have you picked out the paint color for the master bedroom? I was thinking blue, but Chloe insisted you’d go with brown.”
“Oh…” I peer back toward the hall that leads to the master suite. “I didn’t...”
“Oh, no.” Emily freezes in front of me. “Did I just ruin the surprise?”
“No, Chloe’s already given me the sales pitch.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “She didn’t get out the swatch book, though.”
“Ah, well, there’s still time to choose. Do you like it?”
“It’s big.” I tip my chin toward the stairs. “More space than one person needs.”
“Well, that just means there’s room to grow.” She studies me for a long moment, and the easy conversation runs out of road. “You’ve been quieter the last couple of weeks. Anything you want to talk about?”
My lips open, all of my worries and hopes tumbling down my tongue, but what comes out is none of that. “There’s just been a lot to think about, and I’ve been feeling unsettled. And then Chloe sprung this on me out of the blue...”
“It can’t have been that out of the blue. I think she’s noticed you don’t feel settled, which is why she had this cabin put into the building plans.” She surveys the cabin before she asks again, “Do you like it?”
“I can actually imagine living here,” I admit.
“Oh, yeah?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
She takes another step closer, looking at me with more focus now. “I’m so happy to hear that.”
This is my opening to tell her about the trip, about my family’s plans with Catherine.
But I don’t, and then Emily’s hand finds the front of my jacket, fingers curling into the wool, and she pulls me in.
When she kisses me, it’s nothing like anything I’ve imagined. Her mouth is unhurried and certain as her hand slides up to cradle my jaw, the calluses on her palm catching on my five o’clock shadow.
Her other hand finds my waist, supporting me in a way that leaves no doubt that if my knee gives out, she’ll be there to catch me. She’s strong, the way the pines are strong, rooted and unapologetic, and all of my doubts about where I belong go flying out the window.
I kiss her back, my free hand finding her shoulder, fingers gripping into the soft flannel and the solid muscle beneath.
As she pulls me closer, my cane clatters to the floor, and I forget about Connecticut and Caroline. I’m only here, feeling fragile in a way I never thought I’d enjoy, and I find I don’t mind it at all.
A purr rumbles from her chest, and she eases back, her lips brushing mine as she speaks.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” Her gray eyes find mine, close enough that I can see the flecks of darker color in them. “Since the day we met, honestly. I should have asked.”
Her thumb stills on my cheekbone. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”
I answer her by sliding my hand into her hair and bringing her mouth back down to mine, and whatever was unhurried about the first kiss is gone now.
Her lips part, and I taste her, and a sound comes out of me that I’d be mortified by if her fingers weren’t already twisting hard into my jacket, pulling me close, her tongue curling around mine with a patience that turns my knees to water before the bad one even gets the chance to protest.
With another guttural moan, my hand slides up to cradle the side of her neck. My fingers trail through the hair at her nape, the silver strands soft beneath my touch.
And then my thumb brushes a raised oval of skin, and I know what it is before my brain catches up. The unmistakable texture of a healed claiming bite, just below her hairline, where the skin has knitted together into a permanent Mark.
Jared’s Mark.
My hand stills, the recognition sweeping through me fast and cold, a winter tide washing up the beach and taking everything with it.
Her mouth is still warm and hungry on mine, a rumble vibrating in her chest, the Alpha in her trying to lull me into giving in. But I’m not an Omega. I lack the instinctive response to such sounds.
I pull back, putting an inch of air between our mouths, enough to break the kiss but not enough to step away. My chest rises and falls hard, and hers does the same, her breath warm on my lips.
I take in her face, color high in her cheeks and her irises gone dark.
“No,” I say with more firmness than I thought I possessed at the moment. “We can’t.”
Emily freezes, searching my expression, and for a second, I think she’s going to argue. But of course she doesn’t. Emily values consent and respect far too much to push after someone has refused.
Emily’s eyes drop to my cane on the floor, and her grip steadies me while she crouches and comes back up with it. She fits the handle back into my hand and doesn’t let go until my weight has settled.
Then her fingers open, and she steps back, cool air sweeping away the warmth generated by our combined body heat.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“No, don’t be sorry. You didn’t misread anything.” I touch my tingling lips. “But I can’t start anything with you right now.”
The skin around her lips tightens, and she studies the cabin she helped build for me. “Is it the timing?”
A laugh that lacks any sign of amusement escapes me. “Yeah, it’s the timing.” I take a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”