Chapter 17 Violet
VIOLET
After hours, the bakery is dark. Most folks are at home, having eaten dinner, watching TV or playing board games.
The rest are probably out drinking. And me?
I'm alone as the key digs into my palm. This was supposed to be quick.
Dump and walk away. Instead, I jam the key in the lock and shove the door open.
The place still smells like sugar and cinnamon, warm and smug, like it knows I'll crawl back. My chest squeezes tight, and I tell myself it's just the air. Definitely not regret. I slap the key on the counter. Clean break.
Except now I need somewhere to sleep that isn't this stupid town, and the thought makes my stomach twist.
"Violet?" a female voice asks.
I whip around, heart hammering. Meredith stands in the doorway, her burgundy coat bright against the darkness. Her usual professional composure has melted into something softer, more concerned.
"I heard about this morning," she explains, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "I thought maybe you could use a drink and a friend. Not necessarily in that order."
"I'm returning the key." I gesture toward the counter, my voice coming out smaller than I want.
Meredith unwraps her scarf with deliberate movements, studying my face in the dim light. "Mrs. Henderson called this afternoon. She's worried about you."
"She doesn't need to be." I cross my arms defensively. "I just... I can't work somewhere I'm not wanted."
Meredith's brown eyes soften with understanding. She moves closer, her footsteps soft on the worn wooden floors. The faint scent of lavender follows her, reminding me of my grandmother's garden.
I sag against the counter, every hour of the whole awful day pulling me down. But instead of saying I'm fine, all I manage is: "It's complicated."
"There's a bar outside town," she says gently. "Nothing fancy, but they make decent whiskey sours and have a jukebox full of '80s hits. Sometimes a girl needs to talk without the whole town eavesdropping."
I blink at the unexpected invitation, surprised by the kindness. "You want to take me drinking?"
"I think you deserve some fun. Don't you?" Meredith smiles.
I glance around the dark bakery one last time, at the counter where my key sits like a line I finally crossed. This place felt like home until this morning reminded me I don't really belong anywhere.
Maybe Meredith's right.
"I'll be ready in five." Racing up the stairs, I call over my shoulder, "And I get first dibs on the jukebox."
The Watering Hole looks exactly like what happens when a farmhouse gives up on respectability and decides to become a dive bar instead.
Neon beer signs flicker against wood-paneled walls covered in faded photos of local landmarks from the 1980s.
The jukebox in the corner predates my birth, all chrome and colored lights, currently belting out "Livin' on a Prayer" like it's personally invested in everyone's dreams.
I slide onto a cracked vinyl barstool, the kind that sticks to the back of your thighs if you move wrong, and take inventory.
Two farmers in mud-caked boots argue good-naturedly about corn prices at a corner table, their alpha posturing disguised as agricultural debate.
A trucker with "Mama Tried" tattooed across his knuckles nurses a beer while texting someone, his leather-and-diesel scent marking him as unmated and probably planning to stay that way.
Three women in grain-elevator uniforms down tequila shots and increasingly loud laughter, their beta energy cutting through the thick cloud of competing pheromones like a breath of fresh air.
In the back corner booth, an omega sits nestled between two alphas from what looks like the Miller pack, their protective scents mixing with her sweet vanilla as one traces gentle circles on her shoulder while the other murmurs something that makes her laugh softly.
The territorial edge in the air suggests they're newly bonded.
"Two whiskey sours," Meredith tells the bartender, a silver-haired woman whose name tag reads "Dolores".
"Make mine a double," I add, earning a raised eyebrow from Meredith. "Mrs. Henderson wasn't exaggerating about today being rough."
Dolores slides our drinks across the bar with practiced efficiency.
I take a sip and nearly moan with pleasure. "The worst."
Meredith settles onto the stool beside me. I take another sip, the whiskey warming my chest. "All this feels new to me again."
"What?"
"Having a friend, and having drinks with them." I pause, tracing the rim of my glass. "Mark didn't like me having friends. Said they were a bad influence, filled my head with ideas."
Meredith's expression darkens. "What kind of ideas?"
“Crazy stuff like having opinions and making my own decisions. Which is why, when I had money, the first thing I did was file a protective order against Mark.” I laugh, but there’s a brittle edge to it.
“Good for you!” Meredith says, patting me on the back. She’s the first person I’ve told about it. Even the alphas don’t know, mainly because I still have my guard up. But I’m letting it down, little by little.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? It’s not just coming down, it’s gone. I hate to admit it, but there is no guard. I’m practically an open door at this rate. I’ve been with all three of them, and I can’t get enough.
The grain elevator women burst into laughter at something, and one of them stumbles toward the jukebox to feed it quarters. Soon "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" blasts through the speakers.
"Perfect song choice," I mutter, raising my glass in a mock toast. "Here's to girls who want to have fun without asking permission first."
Meredith clinks her glass against mine. "To making your own damn decisions."
"Amen to that." I drain half my drink in one go, feeling deliciously reckless. "I'm sure by tomorrow morning, half the town will know I was here drowning my sorrows."
"Probably." She grins. "But they won't hear what we're talking about. They'll think you're plotting your next move."
I signal Dolores for another round, lifting my hand with more confidence than I feel. The trucker at the bar catches my eye and raises his beer bottle in greeting.
"You ladies having a good evening?"
"Better than this morning," I call back with a grin. "Though the bar isn't set high."
He chuckles and returns to his phone, shaking his head.
Around our third round, liquid courage has loosened both our tongues and lowered our defenses. The bar feels warmer, the conversations louder, the jukebox crooning like it knows our secrets.
Meredith drags her fingertip through the wet ring her glass left behind. "Can I tell you something?" she asks, suddenly serious.
"Honey, we're three drinks in at a dive bar on a Thursday night. You can tell me anything short of where you hid the bodies."
She laughs despite herself, but her smile fades quickly. "I had a pack once."
The vulnerability in her voice makes me lean closer, my snarky attitude softening. "What happened?"
"Three alphas who loved me completely. Zane, Stan, and Knox. We were together for four years, and I thought I'd found my forever."
Forever. That word stings. I pretend it doesn't, wrapping my fingers tighter around my glass. "What went wrong?"
"Nothing, at first. They were perfect. Protective, caring, made me feel like the center of their universe. But then other pack members had children, and I could see the longing in their eyes."
"Did you want children?" I ask, looking her straight in the eye and waiting for her real answer, not some polite deflection.
She doesn't even blink. "I wanted to want them. But I have a genetic condition making pregnancy extremely dangerous. High chance of miscarriage, and if I did carry to term, significant risk the baby would have severe disabilities or die shortly after birth."
She delivers it like she's reading off a grocery list. No drama, no fishing for sympathy. Just cold, hard facts served with the kind of brutal honesty that makes you respect someone even when the truth sucks.
"So you chose not to try?"
"I chose a hysterectomy. Told myself it was the responsible thing to do. And my alphas said they supported my decision completely."
"But?"
She drains the remains of her whiskey. "I could smell the sadness on them during pack gatherings. They tried to hide their disappointment, but I felt it every day."
That ache in her voice slides between my ribs. Disappointment you can't scrub out no matter how hard you try. My throat goes tight, and I tip my drink back like that'll wash it down.
"Did you talk to them about it?"
"How could I? They were trying so hard to be supportive. But I knew deep down, they wanted something I could never give them. Children. A legacy. The future every pack dreams of. Adoption wasn't an option. Neither was fostering. They needed a blood heir."
"So you left?"
"I left because I loved them too much to make them choose between me and the family they wanted. I told myself I was being noble, sacrificing my happiness for theirs."
"And now?"
"Now I realize I was a coward. Too afraid of being rejected to give them the chance to prove me wrong. I made the choice for all of us instead of trusting them to make their own."
"Do you regret it?"
"Every single day. But it's too late now. They've moved on, found an omega who could give them what I couldn't. And I'm here, watching other people's love stories from the sidelines."
When she finishes, my chest feels tight and I don't jump in right away.
The farmers are arguing about rainfall like they control the clouds, the grain elevator women butchering "Total Eclipse of the Heart" with a kind of reckless joy I can't help admiring.
It all feels too alive compared to the hollow ache Meredith just laid bare.
"Well, shit," I finally say, because sometimes that's all you can manage when someone just ripped themselves open in front of you.
Meredith laughs, wiping her eyes.