Chapter 17 Violet #2
"I'm serious though." I swivel toward her, the whiskey buzzing in my veins making me braver than I actually feel. "That was... hell, it was the most romantic tragedy I've ever heard. You loved them enough to put them first. That's not weakness. That's love."
"Is it though? Or was I too scared to fight for what I wanted?"
I consider this, clinking the ice in my glass. Outside, a semi-truck rumbles past, its headlights briefly illuminating the parking lot. The alcohol is making everything feel both crystal clear and completely insane at the same time.
"I want you to be braver than I was." Meredith reaches across to squeeze my hand.
"I just don't want to be hurt again, and I worry that the more time I spend with them, I'll lose myself." I shake my head emphatically, then immediately regret the motion as the room spins.
Suddenly I'm not just tipsy anymore. I'm furious. Why am I sitting in a dive bar when I could be telling Garrick exactly how his cold shoulder made me feel?
Before my sober brain can talk me out of it, I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before successfully pulling up Garrick's contact. My finger hovers over the call button for exactly two seconds before liquid courage makes the decision for me.
Three rings, then Garrick's familiar gravelly voice fills my ear, thick with sleep and concern. "Violet? What's wrong? It's almost midnight."
"What's wrong?" I laugh, but no humor colors it. "You can't just... you can't dismiss me like that. Like I don't matter."
"Violet, what are you talking about? Where are you?"
"This morning," I slur, heat prickling behind my eyes. "You looked right through me. Like I was just... in the way. Do you know how that felt?"
"Where are you?" His voice sharpens with concern and something resembling panic.
"At the Watering Hole," I announce, dragging Meredith into a sloppy hug. "With my friend Meredith, who actually wants me around."
"Stay put, Violet." His voice slips into that Alpha command, and my knees give this pathetic little wobble. I grip the bar tighter, furious at myself for reacting. "Don't do that voice thing with me," I mutter, but my hand's already trembling. Stupid omega genes.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." The line goes dead.
I reach over to show Meredith my phone, but my coordination is shot. I overbalance, grabbing for her arm, and we both tumble off our stools in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
"He's coming," I manage between giggles, sprawled on the sticky floor.
An alpha from one of the nearby tables appears, offering his hand. He lifts Meredith up first with surprising gentleness, then helps me. When I wobble on my feet, he steadies me with one hand and guides us both back onto our stools with a smile.
"Thanks," I mumble.
"I gathered," Meredith grins, raising her glass. "This should be interesting."
Twenty minutes later, Garrick fills the doorway like he owns the place.
He's wearing hastily buttoned jeans and a flannel shirt inside out, his sandy hair sticking up at odd angles like he rolled straight out of bed.
When he spots me at the bar, relief washes over his features before something more complicated takes its place.
He crosses the floor in long strides. "Hey there," he says, approaching with careful steps. His brown eyes scan me from head to toe, checking for damage. "You okay?"
"I'm fabulous," I announce, sliding off my stool with all the grace of a baby giraffe. I wobble, and his hand catches my elbow immediately. Warm and steady, and my knees almost give out for an entirely different reason. "Okay, maybe just drunk. But fabulous drunk."
"Ready to go home?"
"Are you going to give me the cold shoulder again?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. The liquid courage is wearing off, leaving raw honesty in its wake. "Because I don't think I can handle feeling invisible again."
His expression softens immediately, something painful flickering in his eyes. "No cold shoulders. I'm going to make sure you get home safe. Both of you."
"No. I need to go with my car. One of the farmers might steal it!" Meredith says, still sitting on the bar stool.
"Xaden and Liam are behind me. They'll take your car home and drive you."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. He slides his arm around my waist, supporting my weight as we head to the door. The cool night air hits my face like a slap, and I realize how drunk I actually am.
Xaden and Liam appear right on cue, corralling a giggling Meredith. I wave weakly at her as Garrick shepherds me toward his truck.
He helps me into the passenger seat, and the world tilts when he leans across me to buckle the belt. He smells like soap and cinnamon and fresh-baked bread. All comfort wrapped in plaid, and my chest squeezes stupidly.
"Sorry for calling you," I mumble as he clicks the seatbelt into place. "And for being dramatic."
Garrick crouches down so we're at eye level, his expression serious in the dashboard light. "You're not being dramatic, Violet. And I'm the one who should be apologizing for this morning."
"You made me feel like I was in the way," I shoot back, and my throat tightens. "Like I didn't belong there. Like what I do doesn't matter."
His jaw works, and he doesn't look away. "That's the last thing I wanted you to feel."
I slump against the seat, angry tears burning my eyes even though I refuse to let them fall. "So no, Garrick. You don't just get to say sorry and fix it."
He nods slowly, then climbs into the driver's seat and starts the engine. The silence stretches between us as he pulls onto the road.
"Crap, I forgot to leave the bartender a tip on the last round." The words tumble out before I can swallow them back. Heat floods my face.
"I've got maybe five dollars left. Got paid for three articles this week, sent every penny to Emma. Her utilities were getting shut off." Garrick's hands clench harder on the steering wheel.
"Why didn't you tell us? Any of us?"
"Because I don't want to be a charity case." My throat burns. "Emma's my cousin. A single mom with two kids about to lose her apartment. What was I supposed to do? Keep the money and let her freeze?"
"You're not a charity case." His voice is rough. "You're pack. There's a difference." "I'm not pack. Not really. Not yet."
The confession comes out small, scared. "I'm just... the omega you're all being nice to."
He doesn't argue. He just looks at me and it hurts, because I can feel how badly he wants me to believe him.
My throat closes up, my voice small. "I'm just so damn tired of being alone."
His hand lifts, hesitates, then brushes a tear from my cheek. The warmth of his touch makes my chest ache. For one breathless second, I think he's going to kiss me.
He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the steady strength radiating off his body.
He stops just shy of touching, our foreheads almost brushing. His restraint slams into me hard because he's giving me the choice. Me, who hasn't had a real choice in forever.
My heart trips over itself, stupid and eager, but my brain won't shut up. This morning he made me feel invisible. And if I let him kiss me now, I'd hand him the power to break me again.
My eyes sting. God, I want it anyway. The comfort. The warmth. Him.
But wanting and trusting aren't the same thing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the ache in my chest. "Take me home," I whisper, because it's all I can give him tonight.
His exhale shudders out, rough with something I don't dare name. But he nods, pulls back, and puts the truck in gear.
"Your wish is my command."