Chapter 50
Chapter
Fifty
Weeks later
SIMONA
“ I ’m not sure I can, Hen. I’m not kidding,” I manage before folding forward, dropping myhead between my knees as a way not to faint. I’d be worried he couldn’t hear me, but he got out of our Range Rover, opened the front door and was next to me as soon as I started rubbing a hand over my throat.
It’s not the first breakdown I’ve suffered during the past few weeks. And I’m not saying that lightly, I’m just stating facts. It’s something I’ve had to learn how to do, focus on actual facts and things or events happening instead of relying on my emotions, my feelings. And I’ll have to keep adjusting my mindset while my emotions balance out and settle down.
My pack had to call an ambulance in the middle of the night for my first attack. I seriously thought I was dying, I think they were worried I was going to too. I couldn’t get air in my lungs. I couldn’t find a way to stop screaming. And when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t stop seeing Dominic rolling over in bed and picking up his phone. Even now, the memory of his doing just that is so visceral, I can recall every vivid detail; his eyes barely open, his face lined with sleep, his eyes locked on me as he listened without saying a word. After the first word the caller said, I could feel his sympathy.
The last thing I remember of that night was him shifting around fast to sit with his back against our bedhead, the white sheets dropped to pool on his lap, the muscles on his arms tightened as he dragged me upright, holding me to his chest while calling out for the others. Although I don’t remember Ryder or Hendrix arriving, I was already lost listening to how fast Dominic’s heart was beating, already sensing I was about to break.
Waking up in a hospital bed, with IV lines attached, took me straight back to the time when I arrived at Unity. But the obvious difference, I wasn’t alone, my pack was next to me. And it wasn’t the flu I was suffering.
The sedation gave me space in the constant looping of my thoughts to comprehend and start to deal with what had happened. Lawson died. And I had been drowning in guilt and grief. Along with every other associated emotion that had become too huge, too loud, too intense.
They saved me. Acting fast. Getting me the very best care available. And I swear their constant love and attention worked better for my fractured state than the new medication I’d been prescribed.
Understanding the reason for the sedation was, in a way, easy—medication would help my mind rest and my body recalibrate. Accepting I needed it wasn’t difficult either. I’d been surviving in flight mode for a while, and while that had been a necessity, I now had the luxury of safety. Some part of me trusted that my pack could handle things, allowing that part of me to fall into the abyss, so to speak. The cascading effect was that I had to confront my mental health—not just think about focusing on it one day someday , but actually do it. I wasn’t bitter about that. Fragile and cautious, maybe—but grateful too.
The drugs were only one part of my treatment plan.
The therapist was another. I’m seeing an older lady who insists our sessions happen with fluffy socks on our feet and furry blankets around our shoulders. Seeing a doctor with so many laugh lines gave me the reassurance I needed to feel okay talking with her. Because surely someone who laughed as much as she did could show me the way to fix the deep well of sadness inside me.
Initially, I panicked at the thought of her coming into our home. I should have been going to her office, but she challenged me right from the start, asking if I’d feel comfortable enough in her office to nap there. The answer was an obvious no. Then she pointed out that if I didn’t feel safe enough to sleep in her office, equipped with state-of-the-art security, how could I expect to share my most private thoughts in that space. Her only stipulation was we see each other every day. Our session had no timeline, there was no set agenda, but she wanted to see me face to face. Some mornings I met her at the elevator with clean hair, dressed in fresh clothes and a tentative smile. Other times, I was wrapped in the arms of one of my Alphas. Still, I saw her and was feeling better about it.
Being home was therapeutic. No real surprise there, as soon as I walked into their home, it felt like mine. Sleeping in my nest surrounded by pack, under blankets saturated in their scent while they pressed themselves everywhere they could, is what I needed.
With my mental health focus came new challenges and situations I had to face. Some of those things I could do with my pack, others I needed to do alone. Today, I needed them close.
“How’s the view down there, sweetheart? ”
The constant warmth from Hendrix’s presence and his touch seeps into my bones, and it feels like sunshine on a rainy day making my soul skip a beat. The spin cycle in my stomach slows, and I manage a few deep inhales before turning to face him.
His arms are already outstretched, waiting, with no concern at all for his new black suit. Loving someone struggling with their emotions can be a messy affair. I get there will never be a tally between us, but I’m also acutely aware a lot of our recent days are only about me. Well, that’s what it feels like.
A couple of Harley Davidsons roar past us, interrupting my response. The revs as they pass rattles through my bones and shake my insides.
Hendrix reaches over and turns the radio up louder to drown the sound as they park somewhere close. He also turned it up so we could listen to Ryder’s interview about his upcoming tour. A short run of dates, small and exclusive gigs, high level security at each event.
Hendrix talks, his voice loud and clear. Strong, exactly like I needed him to. He also blows his scent into our space, another message. “You’re going to have a blast. He’s driving his entire crew crazy with all these itinerary changes.”
And Ryder has made a few. The list of places though, are spots he’s visited before: a beach, a tiny sushi restaurant, a statue that caught his eye.
“Leave him alone, Hen,” I say, taking the chance to soak in the comfort he represents. “I’m looking forward to seeing everything he wants to show me.”
Hendrix chuckles in my ear. “You do know Dominic and I will surprise you with a visit, don’t you? I’m not going more than a few nights without your scent in my lungs, sweetheart. ”
I drop my hands to his waist, using my legs to pull him closer. “Maybe it will help.”
He kisses me chastely on the mouth before he kisses a trail up to his favourite spot, his teeth clamping down on his claim. I melt into him, a soft moan filling the air.
“You think I wanted you purely for your body, Simona Torres? Nah, baby, I wanted you because you were giving me back everything I had lost along the way.” He bites down as a way to accentuate his words, but my mind is looping slowly in circles distracting me. These head spins are ones I like. These are brought on by my Alpha intentionally using his designation, ruining me with his dominance, reminding me every time I need to hear him say, mine, that I am his.
“I know you don’t,” I admit, reaching up to press my face to the sweet spot of his own throat before I whisper the truth. “But being intimate with each other, and as a pack, is important, Hen. Don’t brush it aside.”
He moves quickly, his hand cupping my throat, his mood dancing in his eyes, making the green flash from one spectrum to the other. “You’ve already got yourself time over my lap, Simona, by talking down about yourself. Don’t keep adding to the number of times I’ll be spanking that bottom of yours pink. Yes, I want to fuck you, of course I do. I also want to slide my cock deep down your throat and come so hard I fill your perfect mouth full. And it will happen. When it is meant to happen. Not a minute before. So, please let me enjoy all these other moments, let me cherish the different ways of loving you, because it’s the most fulfilling thing I have ever done.” His mouth moves to mine, and he ruins me, absolutely leaves me gasping for air with his hard kiss.
A wicked smile is all I see when he moves to give us both a bit of air, but stunned, I pull him closer, my fingers running through his perfectly styled dark hair. “Hen, put your fingers in my panties. ”
I get a growl, louder and more earthmoving than the bikes that rode past.
“Oh shit, Hen! I forgot Tris.” Panic burns through not only my desire but also the last bit of trepidation holding me back.
Hendrix lifts me out of our Range Rover, lucky I wore my runners, because I feel like a baby deer as we make a run for the door. But a baby deer is a hundred times better than feeling like a numb sack of shit.
“I love you, Simona Torres,” he says, loud enough for the whole damn world, waiting until we’re pushing the door to Roda’s open. Of course, Tristan hears. But I also catch her kissing the absolute crap out of King Grady, President of the Fallen MC. Raney’s dad King.
I turn to glare at Hendrix. And he smirks, dipping down to kiss the shock off my mouth. “At least you don’t have to tell her. Now you just need to explain. I’ll take King and have a beer with him, and you girls can do your thing.”
“You know King?”
“Nope. But it looks like we’re going to be besties. I mean, you girls can’t be the only ones with a rocking friendship group, complete with a catchy name. He looks like the creative type. He can be in charge of marketing and merch for our budding bromance.”
I stare at him. “Would you stop!”
He cups my face, laughing before kissing me slow and deep. Pulling away, his smile hovers over mine. “Can’t stop, won’t stop. You’re it for me, sweetheart. Before we go, though, perhaps we should take a visit to the bathroom, for old times’ sake.”
He walks off backwards, heading towards the bar, the egotistical smile painted over his face matches the swagger in his step.
“Who are you?” I mouth, making him laugh even harder .
Tristan catches me by the wrist, perhaps seeing how close I am to running, and I’m powerless to stop her dragging me to our regular booth. She calls over her shoulder to Ralph, our favourite waiter.
“No shit, Simona, you have some explaining to do.”
I pin her with a stare. It’s barely a few seconds before she’s rolling her eyes in concession. “Okay, so maybe I do too. But at the same time, I haven’t exactly hidden how I feel about him.”
I say nothing, only tipping my head to the side and looking at her. But then I reach over for her hand. “Trissy,” I start but have to take a big breath before I confess. “I packed. And I am so sorry for not telling you anything, but there’s so much going on. It’s sort of resolved. But not enough for me to tell you everything. On top of that I simply can’t, not because it’s not safe, but I’m not in a great headspace. The guilt eats at me. Secrets are dangerous but at the same time I’d do anything ....” Spots are in my eyes, my breathing is all choppy, I sound hysterical. I think I am.
And then, it feels like my boob is being torn off my chest.
I screech, looking around to see what happened.
Everyone in the whole restaurant is looking to see what happened.
And then I’m enveloped in a bubble gum hug.
“Shit, Simona. I’m sorry. I freaked out a little bit, but you started talking gibberish and you never talk gibberish. I only meant to pinch you, but you jumped and...”
I gasp, sharp pain still radiating from my boob. I start to rub a hand over it, attempting to ease the sting. “That was you?”
She nods, and her hair cascades over us, veiling us from the world.
“Are you okay, Sim? ”
“I will be.”
“And you know I’m not pissed at you for not telling me you packed or that you’d met your Alphas. I just wish you could have. Please don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. You know sometimes I talk without thinking, but not in this instance. I am not upset with you at all. It’s fucked up how sometimes you’re forced into doing something, even though you know it’s not right and it’s not how you want to handle the situation, but it really seems like it’s the only way. Does that make sense, or do you have to pinch me now?”
“Like with King?”
She takes a deep breath, clouding our embrace with her scent. It mixes with mine, and the sweetness is almost overwhelming, but I keep breathing it, chasing the chaotic relief Tristan always brings.
“Yeah, well that’s a story in itself. Some crazy, fucked up shit. Honestly. I met him, and the instant I did, I knew he was mine. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know his name or his connection to Raney, and then I did but immediately like no joke, straight after I did find out all those things, shit got bad. Like real bad. And I couldn’t walk away from him, or my other Alphas, so I did what I did to keep Raney safe, and me. Not that it worked.”
I sit up so fast that my fingers get tangled in her hair, the both of us making so much of a commotion that people turn to look at us..
“Fuck, Sim, why’d you do that?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper back, trying to be more discreet. I grab her hand. “Your story is my story, Tristan. I guess I never even thought something similar could happen to you.” I pat her hair down and stop talking when Ralph comes over with a tray of drinks that we didn’t order.
I lose the flow of my thoughts. My eyes locked on the glass. And it’s stupid, but at the same time, I’m learning that if something pulls such an emotional response from me, it’s not stupid. It’s relevant and important.
Ralph places our drinks in front of us before leaning down. “It’s a mocktail. No alcohol.”
The air I was holding wooshes out. I look at Tristan, and her eyes are bigger than dinner plates.
“What, Tris?”
She looks at me weirdly. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times. My anxiety creeps back in faster and faster, stirring my stomach. I hate this. I hate how I see-saw all over the place. I use a breathing technique I’ve been shown to slow the speed and noises in my thoughts. And it works. It gives me the chance to read Tristan’s expression better.
“Are you pregnant?” she asks when I look at her. Barely any volume to her question although I hear it like she’s using a microphone.
I react pretty much the same way I did when she pinched me before, only this time without the noise. I have to hold my hand up, asking for a few seconds to deal with another twister starting up in my head. My anxiety locks onto something else and it tumbles around in my head, becoming impossible to ignore. My pack and I not having sex is a source of sadness for me. One I’ve spoken with my therapist and my pack about. I’m an Omega for goodness’ sake, and they’re my scent matched Alphas. They’re pretty much the embodiment of everything I find attractive. The facts speak for themselves: the medication I’m on is killing my sex drive. But the guilt, and the sense of failure I feel, makes it hard to remember.
I close my eyes, drawing on the bonds I share with them until there’s a little less darkness in my thoughts. There’s a final slow exhale before I answer her. “Not pregnant. Not even having sex. I might not have another heat cycle until I stop the medication. And that’s fucking me up. ”
Before I finish, I’m back in her arms. Her bubble-gum infused cuddle is exactly what I needed, but it doesn’t stop the tears.
“Lucky your pack isn’t going anywhere then, isn’t it. He’s coming this way right this second. Jesus, is that Mr Torres from Unity?”
I nod but don’t lift my head up. I don’t need to check that he’s coming over; I can feel his presence pressing down on me, his thunderstorm scent crashing over the distance separating us. A warning and promise in every step.
“Is it okay, if perhaps we join you ladies for lunch? My Omega’s tears are my kryptonite, but apparently your Alpha is also having issues staying away.”