CHAPTER 14
WINDY
I need Remi.
I’m tapping out. I can’t do this by myself. I need my best friend because I’m literally flipping my shit right now.
I pull up to Remi’s house so fast the tires barely stop before I’m out.
On this quiet street, I cause a disturbance, and I’m not surprised when people pause to stare at the loon I am.
I don’t notice the yard, the stoop, the sky—none of it registers.
My pulse roars. My thoughts scramble. I’m halfway to the door before I realize I’m moving.
I knock once, the sound sharp and impatient, and then I’m inside the house. I call her name before the sound of my fist even fades. “Remi?” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. I’m supposed to be strong, but here I am being weak as fuck.
I pace without meaning to, hands twisting as if wringing out panic. She barrels down the hallway, hair flying, eyes wide. She sees me, horror filling her face. Usually, I’m the put-together one. I’m not the one who loses her shit.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” she asks hurriedly, coming to a stop in front of me.
I continue to pace; my eyes never leave her. I’m silent because I don’t even know how to put my thoughts into words without breaking down.
I can’t look at her.
I can’t stand still.
The floor feels like it’s tilting under me.
“I messed up,” I say, breathless. “I did something stupid, and now everything is so messed up.”
The words spill out of me in a rush, but instead of making me feel better, they make me feel worse. If anything, the room feels smaller, the air tighter with tension. I keep moving because stopping means I have to face it. I’m not so sure I can do that yet.
“Hey, hey, hey—” She walks up to me, grabbing my arms and forcing me to stop my pacing. She looks at me closely, her eyes holding a tinge of worry in them. “Windy, honey—what's wrong?”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “If I tell you this, you can’t laugh at me. Okay?”
“So, this is serious.” She eyes me warily. “Well, let’s go sit down on the couch.”
Once we take a seat, I try to gather myself so I can get this out.
We sit here for a while in complete silence.
She doesn’t push or pry for me to hurry along.
She allows me to go at my own pace. I’m thankful for that because this is going to be hard to get out to begin with.
I’m not big on sharing my personal life with anyone, even my best friend, Remi.
Once I'm calm enough to breathe, I sink into the couch as the fight or flight leaves me. I exhale to center myself. When ready, I look at Remi, and her understanding look brings tears to my eyes.
“Oh, honey. Please, tell me what’s wrong,” she says, grabbing the hand I have lying flat on the couch.
“I ...” I look up, fighting the need to cry. “I met my scent match mates last night.”
“That’s exciting!” She gushes but quickly notices that I’m not partaking in the same excitement as she is, so her reaction dwindles into nothing but awkward silence.
“I met them through Select-A-Mate.”
She smiles warmly. “So, they got it right again. That’s amazing.”
“Well--” I trail off.
“Well ... what?” Her face twists in confusion.
I open my mouth, but the words stick. They feel too big, too tangled to pull out clearly. Huffing, I drag my hand through my hair and close my eyes tight.
"Last night ..." I start, then stop. My throat tightens. I look down at my trembling hands, unable to meet her eyes. "The guys and I ... we—"
The sentence collapses. Heat rushes up my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the truth into something that makes sense to me. Nothing about this situation makes any sense. I’m lost.
"It just happened," I say, voice low. "All of us. Together. In that moment, my life made sense." I cut myself off.
I finally look at her, just for a second, then look away again when her stare becomes too much for me to take. The room feels too small, too suffocating.
“But when the sun came up,” I whisper. “And everything was different. They ... were different. I don’t even know what it means now, or what I’m supposed to do with it.”
I lean forward, pressing my palms together. I try to steady myself, but the panic—it just keeps slipping through my fingers.
“I messed everything up, Remi, and I don’t know how I managed to do it. We had the most amazing night of my life, and then we fell asleep. Nothing else happened.”
I drag my hands over my face, searching for clarity, but everything inside feels scrambled like eggs. Remi watches me for a moment—expression soft, piecing together why I’m so rattled. She scoots closer, voice lowered as if I might bolt.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s slow down. We can figure this out.”
I let out a shaky breath, allowing myself to sink deeper into the couch. “I don’t even know where to start. I keep replaying it in my mind, trying to make sense of what it means, and I come up with nothing. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”
Remi sits beside me, not touching but close enough that I feel anchored to her. “Did you talk to them this morning? When did you notice the change?”
I go to shake my head but stop short. “Wait, we did talk. They asked me what my last name was.”
She quirks her face. “What’s your last name have to do with anything?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but apparently, it does.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Last night felt like a bubble where nothing mattered. Then daylight hit, and suddenly everything mattered too much. They were quiet, weird. I didn’t know what to say, so I just gave them my last name.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“They asked me to dress nice tonight and that they were taking me out to dinner.” I stare at the floor, tapping my foot, and my pulse is a little too fast. “What am I supposed to do? Just show up and say, ‘Hey, remember last night? What now?”
“Honestly?” She shrugs. “Something like that, yeah. You need to be upfront with them. All of them. Together. No guessing. No assuming. Just ... honesty.”
I groan, lean back, and slouch. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then start with that,” she informs me, watching me very closely. “Tell them you’re confused. Tell them you want to understand what happened between last night and tonight.”
I rub my palms together, trying to imagine such a conversation. “What if they say something bad?”
“Then you’ll know,” she says, steady and calm. Always the logical one of us both. “And you can deal with the fallout afterward. But torturing yourself with what ifs will drive you crazy.”
I let her words settle, my breathing finally slowing a little. “I hate you, you know.”
She laughs. “No, you don’t. You love me.”
“Well, I hate that you’re right.”
She turns around and leans back, nudging my shoulder with hers. “I usually am.”
I manage a small smile, the first one since I walked in. “So ... I need to just be honest and talk to them.”
“Talk to them,” she echoes. “Do so before your brain invents ten different disasters that aren’t even real or could even be real.”
I nod, still nervous, but at least the panic is loosening enough so I can breathe again. “Okay. I’ll try.”
She lays her head on my shoulder, sighing. “And I’ll be here. No matter what happens, you’ll always have me.”
Her certainty steadies something inside me more than anything else ever has. For the first time since waking up this morning, the mess feels like something I may actually be able to untangle by myself.
Remi is my rock. I don’t know why I didn’t think I could trust her with something like this.
No, I know why.
It’s because she already has enough on her plate with her own pack.
I didn’t want to add to her stress. My problems pale in comparison to her issues.
She’s looking at a future without her scent match pack.
They tried to get a rematch the first moment they met her in Tesoro.
Now, though, as far as I know, things have changed.
Remi isn’t taking it lying down, either.
She is making them work for every little inch they get.
Now, I just have to hope that whatever it is they need to talk about isn’t as bad as how I’m making it. I have been known to overreact before, and it wouldn’t surprise me if I was overreacting now. I’m the queen of overreacting or overthinking something.
Saying a quick goodbye to Remi, I calmly get into my car and head home.
My cell phone rings on the way, but I ignore it.
All I need now is to be called into work tonight.
Work pales in comparison to the storm that is my life.
Until this is all settled, I will be on edge and unable to take a breather.
I’m just overthinking it. The way they were to me last night showed me they’re in this wholeheartedly. I don’t have anything to worry about. I’m worried about nothing.
***
Later that night, I stand in front of Tesoro.
My palms are damp, and I smooth the front of my dress for what has to be the dozenth time.
The fabric is silky and unwrinkled, but I keep dragging my hands down it anyway, like I can press my nerves flat along with it.
My stomach is buzzing with nerves. It’s a mess—tight, fluttery, tumbling over itself too hard, I swear I feel faint.
For a second, I honestly consider turning around and going home.
I consider telling them I’m under the weather, and we’ll have to do this some other time.
But that’d be a lie, and I already have enough lies drowning me that I don’t need another one.
I just want to get back in my car and pretend none of this is ever happening.
But the thought of things staying this twisted, this uncertainty, is much worse.
So, with a deep inhale, I push my nerves down just enough to make my legs move.
The door opens with a soft chime. The warm air inside hits me like a wave. I force myself forward, toward the hostess stand, even with my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
“Hi,” I manage; my voice is barely steady. “I’m here for a reservation under Rothschild.”
The waitress doesn’t ask any questions. She simply smiles and nods.
Her smile softens when she senses my panic, and it eases something inside of me, if only just barely.
My feet feel too light, too disconnected from the rest of my body.
I nearly stumble but catch myself at the last minute.
She leads me through the restaurant, past tables, and low conversation and clinking glasses.
Then she stops.
“They’re back there, dear. Good luck.”
I swallow hard. My pulse spikes again as I step past her and toward the guys waiting for me. The room suddenly feels too small, too bright, too real. But I’m here. I’m inside. There’s no turning back now. I need to pull my big girl panties up and get this going.
I step past her and meander toward the table.
The moment I get close, I peg the stiffening of their bodies like a hawk.
Distressing pheromones tinge my nostrils, making a keening whine get stuck in my throat.
My eyes trail between the three of them, seeing how they can’t quite keep eye contact with me.
Something inside of me rises out of nowhere. I don’t waste time easing into it. The second I sit down, the words are already pushing out of my mouth, sharp, direct, and cutting.
“What’s wrong? Something was this morning, and I’ve been sick to my stomach all day. That’s not me. I don’t get nervous. So, what gives?”
My voice is steadier than I really feel, stronger than I expected.
The moment I hear it, something inside me stiffens into steel.
I’m not here to shrink. I’m not here to apologize for existing.
I’m here because last night they were more than happy to be with me, but something this morning turned them off.
They exchange looks—quick, loaded, and impossible to read. Every second they hesitate, I feel myself getting steadier, more resolved. The uncertainty is burning off and leaving something harder underneath.
Wolf is the one who finally speaks. Of course it’s him. He seems to be the designated spokesperson of the pack. He leans forward, elbows on the table. The second he opens his mouth, I know I was right to be nervous.
“We had time to consider everything,” he says, voice low, controlled, and careful. “Well, we ... we don’t think this is going to work.”
My stomach drops so fast it’s like the floor disappears underneath me. For a heartbeat, I swear I can’t catch my breath. However, right behind the shock is something else, something more sinister. Heat. Anger. It’s sharp and bright.
“Considering you started acting weird right after we woke up, I’m sorry, but I call bullshit.” I can’t stop the words from flying right out of my mouth. It shocks them. I know it does because their eyes go wide, and all three jerk their gaze toward me.
They were with me.
They wanted me.
They made that choice just as much as I did, if not more. Now, in the light of day, suddenly I’m not their choice?
I barely refrain from growling when I sit up straighter, my spine stiffening in anger. The hurt is still there, but it’s no longer the only thing there. Something steadier rises to meet it.
“We’d like you to consider a rematch on Select-A-Mate. It has to be amicable before they will allow us to do that.”
“So that’s it?” My voice is quieter but somehow stronger than ever before. “Last night I was good enough for you, but today I’m not? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s not that you’re not ...”
Wolf growls, low and threatening, shutting Finian right up. “Enough. Just bow out gracefully, sweetheart.”
The words come easier now, fueled by the sting of rejection. All three try to say something to make up for their fuck up, but I’m done listening to excuses. Every second they try to explain themselves, every excuse they start to form, I feel myself getting clearer, more grounded.
I’m not crumbling.
I’m not begging.
I’m not shrinking underneath the weight of their wants.
I’m finally seeing the situation for what it is, and I’m seeing myself in it, too.
I lean forward, resting an elbow on the table as I pin all three to their seat with a glare.
“I’m not the type to bow out and just let shit happen to me.
You will find out quickly that I always get what I want.
Every. Single. Time. And sorry to tell you, but I want my mates.
It’d be different if you all didn’t want me, but it seems like you want me too, you’re just being scared little punks for some reason. ”
“Make this easy or hard. It makes no difference to me,” Wolf grits out, but there’s a spark in his eyes, like a glimmer of interest.
I laugh, cold and cruel. “Sorry about your luck, but you’re fucking stuck with me.”
Wolf narrows his eyes, sizing me up. “Are you sure you want to do this? Why not just walk away quietly?”
I smirk. “Quietly?” I break out into a caustic laugh before leaning toward the table, eyeing all three of them. “Buckle up, buttercups, because you’re about to see how loud I can be.”