Chapter 3 Garrick
GARRICK
Friday night poker used to be simple.
Three guys, a deck of cards, and enough beer to make Xaden's terrible jokes seem funny. No drama. No complications. Just the familiar rhythm of shuffling, dealing, and taking each other's money in the back room of my bakery after hours.
Tonight's no different. Except it is.
The beat-up Ford is still parked outside. I told Xaden and Meredith I'd call Tom to tow it, figuring they'd handle it instead. They didn't. And I never made the call either, though I'm not admitting I had a change of heart.
The stubborn occupant is still out there, apparently determined to freeze to death rather than accept help from anyone in this town.
I'm dealing another hand of Texas Hold'em when the front door creaks open. The brass bell jangles with unusual force, followed by the sharp staccato of heels across hardwood.
Meredith Blackwell. Marching like she's heading into battle. Her lavender and apricot scent hits the air, sharper than usual with determination.
"Gentlemen," she announces, voice carrying that authority that once commanded classrooms full of unruly kids, "we have a situation."
I glance up from the cards. Meredith's hair is a mess, eyes wide and wild. Still in her Friday clothes, but standing like she's ready for a fight.
This isn't a social call.
"Evening, Meredith," Xaden says, flashing his wining smile that's gotten him out of trouble more times than any man deserves. His dark coffee and cedar scent remains relaxed, amused. "Care to join us? I was just about to take these two for everything they're worth."
"This is no time for jokes, Xaden Riorson." She plants her hands on her hips, pearl bracelet catching the light from our makeshift poker table. "How can you three sit here playing cards when that woman is still sleeping in a car outside? Not just any woman, but an omega who's clearly in distress."
Liam looks up from his cards with that confused expression he gets when he's been lost in his own head. He’s only twenty-eight but the past few years of being Cedar Ridge's vet have aged him around the eyes.
His blonde hair's out of place, grass stains on his jeans suggesting he's been making farm calls.
His clean cotton and chamomile scent carries a note of exhaustion.
"There's someone in the car?" Liam blinks like he's surfacing from deep water. "I noticed the car when I got here, but I thought..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Sorry. Rough day. Wasn't paying attention."
I scowl at my cards. "What do you mean, what gives, Xaden? I thought you were going to talk to her."
"I did," Xaden protests, reaching for his beer. "Had a lovely conversation, actually."
"Lovely?" Meredith's eyebrows shoot up. Her apricot scent turns tart with disbelief. "That poor girl has been sitting in that freezing car, and you call your conversation 'lovely'?"
Xaden takes a swig, buying time. His coffee scent becomes more bitter with annoyance.
"I went to the car. She snapped bathroom.
I didn't know what to say, so I pointed at the restaurant and said it is in the back.
She told me to watch her car. I laughed.
She side-eyed me. She came back after forty-five minutes while a line of increasingly desperate customers formed outside. "
I remember that. The complaints. The dirty looks from customers who had to wait.
Liam winces. "Forty-five minutes? Was she sick?"
"Not unless attitude poisoning is a medical condition." Xaden leans back, chair creaking. "When she finally emerged, she grabbed bread rolls from two different tables without asking nor paying, and stormed back out to her car without so much as a thank you."
My hands tighten on my cards. Now, everyone knows what I'm talking about, they call me grumpy but that omega is on a whole different level.
Meredith's expression softens immediately, anger shifting to maternal concern. Her lavender scent grows stronger, more protective. "Oh, the poor thing. She's starving. That's not stealing, that's desperation."
“She's got the social skills of a rabid badger," I say, rearranging my cards with sharp movements. "Makes me look like a diplomat."
"That's quite an accomplishment," Xaden says dryly.
Liam sets his cards down entirely, attention focused on our conversation now. There's something about his posture that suggests he's filing away every detail, the way he does when he's trying to diagnose a difficult case. His chamomile scent grows warmer, more golden with concern.
"Maybe she's been hurt," he says quietly. "Animals act like that sometimes when they've been abused, and refuse help even when they need it."
The comparison should probably offend me on her behalf, but Liam's not being dismissive. There's gentleness in his voice that suggests he understands something about being wounded.
"You think she had an abusive alpha?" Meredith asks, voice dropping to a stage whisper.
"It would explain a lot," Liam says. "The defensiveness, the fact that she's traveling alone with what looks like everything she owns crammed into an old car. Classic signs of someone running from a bad situation."
Something cold settles in my stomach. I push it away.
I think about my brief interaction with Violet.
The way she'd held herself when she got out of the car with her arms wrapped around her middle like she was protecting herself, shoulders hunched like she expected to be hit.
The sharp, brittle edge to her voice when she'd asked about the bathroom, like she was bracing for rejection.
And those eyes. Dark and wary and holding the kind of exhaustion that comes from being afraid for too long.
My chest tightens.
"Shit," Xaden sighs. "I thought Garrick was grumpy, but if she's worse than him, she must be in really bad shape."
"Hey," I protest, but there's no real heat in it.
Through the front windows, we can see her car under the streetlight. Windows fogged with condensation. Occasionally we catch a glimpse of movement with a shift of shadow that suggests she's still awake, still alert, still maintaining her vigil against whatever she thinks might be coming for her.
"This is ridiculous," Meredith announces, straightening her cardigan with sharp movements. "I'm going out there."
"Meredith, maybe that's not…” Xaden starts, but she's already heading for the door with determined stride.
"That girl needs help whether she wants it or not. Some situations require a firm maternal hand."
We watch through the window as Meredith marches across the empty street, heels clicking against asphalt. Shoulders squared, chin up with unshakeable belief in forceful kindness.
"This should be interesting," Xaden murmurs, leaning forward.
"Train wreck is more like it," I say, but I notice I've abandoned any pretense of looking at my cards and am focused entirely on the drama outside.
My hands keep moving. Straightening already straight card piles.
Liam's moved his chair to get a better angle, beer forgotten. "She's got guts. Not many people would try to reason with someone who's clearly in fight-or-flight mode."
We can't hear what Meredith's saying, but we can see her gestures as she stands next to the driver's side window. For a long moment, nothing happens. Then the window cracks open just enough for Violet's face to appear.
Even from this distance, I can see the wariness in her posture. As if she's ready to bolt one minute then the next, as if Violet’s listening, which is more than she did for either Xaden or me.
"Look at that," Liam says softly. "She's actually talking to her."
"Meredith could charm information out of a stone," Xaden points out. "She's had fifty odd years of practice dealing with stubborn, difficult people. Present company included."
The conversation continues for several minutes, Meredith occasionally nodding or gesturing toward the bakery. At one point, she pulls tissues from her purse, and hands them through the window gap.
"Jesus," I say. "Is she crying?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," Liam says. His scent grows even warmer, more protective. "Sometimes all it takes is one person showing genuine kindness to break down walls you've been building for who knows how long."
There's something in his expression that suggests he's speaking from experience. I study his profile as he watches the scene outside, noting the way his jaw is set and his hands are clenched around his beer bottle.
"You okay, man?" Xaden asks. "You've seemed off all evening."
Liam's smile is tired and doesn't reach his eyes. His chamomile scent grows muted with sadness. "Long day. Had to put down Mrs. Peterson's dog this afternoon. Fifteen-year-old Golden Retriever named Buddy. Sweet as pie, loved everyone he met, but his kidneys were failing and he was in pain."
"Fuck, I'm sorry." Xaden's says.
"The worst part is, if she'd brought him in a week earlier, I might have been able to do something.
I would have caught it early enough to manage with medication, maybe buy him another year or two of good quality life.
But she kept thinking he was just getting old, that it was normal for him to be slowing down and drinking more water.
" Liam takes a long drink, Adam's apple bobbing.
"By the time she realized something was seriously wrong, the damage was too extensive to reverse. "
"That's not your fault," I say, voice unusually gentle. "People don't always know what to look for."
"Logically, I know that. But it doesn't make it easier when you're holding a dog who's been someone's best friend for fifteen years and watching the life go out of his eyes.
" Liam's voice is steady, but I can hear the pain underneath.
"Mrs. Peterson was devastated. Kept apologizing, and asking if there was anything else we could try.
I had to be the one to tell her that sometimes love means letting go. "
The silence that follows is heavy as hell. I stare at my coffee. In the quiet, all I can think about is damage that doesn't heal. Everyone keeps pushing me to help this stranger. As if, I didn't already get my teeth kicked in by trusting someone who seemed broken and desperate before.
It doesn't matter that she might actually not be like my ex. I've been bitten before, and some scars don't fade just because everyone else thinks you should move on.