Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Leif
The phone screen glows blue in the dim hotel room, mocking me with its silence.
Twenty times I’ve checked it in the past hour, twenty times I’ve found no response from Carson, and each refresh of the screen carves another notch into my anxiety.
After my breakup with Emily, I had called out sick for the remainder of the week, and then five hours ago, I sent Carson a direct text, which still sits on Read.
Leif
I won’t be attending the faculty function with you.
Nine words that might have destroyed what’s left of my career and my place here in Pinecrest.
I drop the phone onto the unmade bed and resume pacing, the narrow aisle from the window to the bathroom door not nearly enough room to burn off my growing panic. My fingers drum a beat on my thigh as I move, keeping time with the rapid pitter-patter of my heart.
The new room I checked into should be spacious enough, with its king bed, sitting area with a small couch, and desk by the window, but a sense of claustrophobia claws at me.
My suitcase sits half unpacked near the dresser, and takeout containers form a small cityscape on the desk, remnants of meals I forced myself to choke down. Coffee cups with rings of dried liquid mark the passage of sleepless nights.
Papers spread across the desk in uneven stacks, a mixture of Quinn’s progress reports, accommodation forms, and committee meeting minutes, the only evidence of my attempts to maintain normalcy.
A red pen sits uncapped, dried out from being forgotten mid-grade two nights ago when Carson’s texts began their midnight assault on my resolve.
I unlock my phone and check for notifications.
Nothing.
The knot in my stomach tightens.
My reflection fragments in the darkened television screen as I pass, a man unraveling thread by thread. I straighten a lampshade that doesn’t need straightening. Align the hotel notepad with the edge of the desk. Small, useless tasks. Nothing accomplished.
I rub my palm over my face, stubble rasping beneath my hand where I haven’t bothered to shave. The desk chair creaks as I sink into it, pulling Quinn’s file toward me. The words swim on the page with the reminder of what hangs in the balance.
My refusal to attend the faculty function as Carson’s Omega wasn’t defiance. It was the last scrap of self-preservation I could muster after months of calculated erosion.
Should I resign from all my committee positions? Blake had offered to hire a liaison to handle the situation with Quinn’s accommodations. At the time, I believed it was part of the position they hired me for, and since I wasn’t tutoring her full-time during the day, it was the least I could do.
But if I remove myself from every obligation at Pinecrest Academy that doesn’t involve picking Quinn up and dropping her off…
The hotel room grows darker as evening deepens, but I don’t bother turning on more than the single desk lamp.
On my nightstand, the alarm clock’s red numbers flip to seven fifty. At this time, on a Friday evening, Emily and Jared will be playing cards or watching television. Grady might be there, too, a glass of wine in hand, as has become his habit.
They were okay before me. They will be okay without me.
But I don’t want them to be, and the last several days after ending things with Emily have given me time to consider her words and reflect on my actions. Does my isolation really protect those I care about? Or does it only hurt all of us?
The truth settles in my stomach like lead.
I pick up my phone again, thumb hovering over Emily’s number before I lock the phone without sending a message. What could I say? I miss them? I wake reaching for Emily’s warmth? The silence in this room suffocates me more with each passing hour?
That would just open both of us up to more hurt. No, I need to figure my shit out before I can hope to have anything resembling a real relationship.
Three knocks at the door cut through my thoughts. Ordinary, unremarkable. Housekeeping perhaps, or a guest with the wrong room number.
But uneasiness creeps through me as I turn toward the door.
The digital clock reads eight thirty-five now, over an hour having slipped by unnoticed. It’s too late for room service and too early for the drunken neighbors I’ve come to expect around midnight.
My heartbeat accelerates with each step toward the door, though I can’t explain why.
“Who is it?” I call, my ear to the wood.
No answer comes, and when I check the peephole, it shows only darkness.
Cold spreads through my chest.
I slide the security chain into place before turning the handle, opening the door the few inches the chain allows, and the gap reveals a familiar figure that stops my breath.
Carson stands in the corridor, his sandy hair brushed back in neat waves, dressed in a pressed charcoal suit and periwinkle tie for the party I was meant to attend with him.
Gray-green eyes meet mine through the narrow opening, his expression placid as a frozen lake. “Leif, I believe we need to talk.”
I scramble to close the door, but Carson’s hand shoots through the opening, palm slamming into the wood with shocking force. The chain strains as he pushes, metal links stretching until one pops free from the wall with a spray of plaster dust.
“That’s not very hospitable,” Carson says as if discussing the weather, stepping inside without invitation.
I back away as he closes the door behind him with a finalizing click. My spine collides with the desk, papers scattering to the floor.
Carson’s nostrils flare, taking in my pheromones, drenched in fear and adrenaline that no amount of control can mask.
“You missed an important event tonight.” He adjusts his cuffs, the gold links catching the lamplight. “The board asked after you.”
The hotel room shrinks around us, with Carson standing between me and the exit, his posture relaxed, but he tracks my every movement.
“I told you I wouldn’t attend.”
Carson smiles without warmth. “And I told you there would be consequences.”
He moves farther into the room with deliberate steps, each footfall measured. His cherries-and-iron scent fills the air, suppressing my cedar notes, dominating the space.
“You always did struggle with understanding your place.” Carson runs a finger along the desk, inspecting nonexistent dust. “At Westbrook. Here at Pinecrest. In the natural order of things.”
The tight set of his jaw gives away the rage boiling beneath the surface as he lifts a framed photo of Quinn with Sprinkles from my nightstand, both looking at the camera with identical expressions of trust.
“Such a responsibility.” Carson studies the image with his head cocked, as if he can’t understand why I have it, before returning it to its place with exaggerated care. “A child’s future in your hands.”
My back presses harder against the desk, the edge digging into my spine. “Leave Quinn out of this.”
Carson turns to me, a curl of cold amusement tugging at his lips. “If only you had the power to make that demand.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket, revealing a mauve waistcoat, and settles into the desk chair as if we’re having a pleasant business meeting. His fingers steeple beneath his chin, elbows resting on the armrests in a posture of complete control.
“When I extended the invitation to attend the faculty function, it wasn’t a request.” He speaks with the measured calm of a teacher explaining a simple concept to a struggling student. “It was an opportunity for you to demonstrate your understanding of appropriate boundaries and hierarchies.”
I shift from one foot to the other, calculating the distance to the door.
Carson’s head tilts, a predator studying prey. “Don’t. We both know how that will end.”
His certainty freezes me in place.
“Your absence tonight was noted by everyone who matters.” Carson continues. “The board chairman. The parent committee representatives. The donors whose children attend classes where you substitute teach.”
He crosses one leg over the other, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his trousers.
“Your text declining my invitation displayed remarkable disrespect.” Carson examines his manicured nails. “Not only to me, but to the institution that employs you.”
He stands in one fluid motion, closing the distance in two long strides. I try to move sideways, but the narrow space between the desk and the wall traps me.
“I have invested considerable time in managing your integration at Pinecrest,” he says, close enough for the expensive scotch on his breath to wash over me. “Smoothing ruffled feathers when your size and manner disturb parents’ expectations of Omega behavior. Explaining away your…irregularities.”
His hand rises toward my cheek, and I flinch backward, colliding with the wall. Carson purrs at my reaction, letting his hand drop to straighten his tie instead.
“Did you imagine I wouldn’t find you?” Genuine curiosity colors the question. “That changing hotels would provide some protection?”
I’d switched hotels three days ago, paying in cash. I hadn’t even alerted the Wright Pack that I was moving.
“How did you—”
“Pinecrest isn’t that big.” Carson shakes his head, disappointment evident. “And you stand out, my Omega.”
He leans down to inhale my pheromones and rumbles at the fear he finds.
“The Wright Pack can’t protect you,” Carson murmurs, reading my thoughts with uncomfortable accuracy. “Your over-muscled Alpha girlfriend can’t protect you. This pathetic attempt at independence can’t protect you.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into palms. “What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted.” He steps closer, invading my space until we stand chest to chest, his shorter height forcing him to angle his chin upward toward me. “Submission from an Omega who needs to be reminded of his place.”
His pheromones intensify, attempting to trigger submission responses, and my body trembles with the effort to resist, cedar notes fighting to break through his oppressive iron scent.