Chapter 2 Lost Love
Lost Love
JOHANNA
Sitting through the memorial service was one kind of hell, surviving the reception after quite another.
Spine straight against the chair back, I sneak peeks to either side.
Barely an empty seat to be seen, such a crowd gathered.
The neutralizers prevent identifying anyone by scent unless I get close, yet even relying on sight and sound, there are too many people.
Family, yes—a chosen few of Max’s and those of mine who lived close by.
Nearly everyone from our company has shown up, from administrative assistants to the scientists who worked alongside him, all brilliant in their own right.
A handful of friends—or at least tolerant acquaintances, as Max would admit he was something of an acquired taste—and half of my book group regulars cluster in a far corner.
Here and there are faces I don’t want to recognize. Fortunately, I blink, and they’re lost as some of the crowd start to stand.
In all, too many people. Too many voices talking in hushed tones. Phrases float through the air, repeated over and over: such a loss, quite a character, he’ll be missed.
After a deep, shuddering breath I swallow hard and scope out escape routes.
Caity, my youngest honorary niece, foils my attempt before it can begin.
She held my hand in hers during the service, and now, her fingers shift to wrap around my wrist. She’s a third my age, nineteen to my fifty-seven, and a dominant alpha to my beta, both of which make her the stronger in body and will.
People rarely guess the alpha part on first meeting her for she’s all lean height and pale skin hiding wiry muscles under a flippy dark brown ponytail, her skin pinker than her father’s, but with the same coral undertones.
“You promised Dad not to run away.” She wags a finger at me. “I’ll be with you the whole time, or he will, and we won’t let anyone pry much. Scout’s honor.”
“That would be more convincing if you’d ever been a scout.” I stand and brush wrinkles from my skirt, twitching as the lace shifts beneath.
“On Uncle Max’s honor, then.” Caity leans her head on my shoulder. “I miss him, too, Aunty Jo.”
From their seats on my other side, her older sisters crowd in, enveloping me.
Three of them—too many for me to escape.
Their tears dampen my otherwise dry cheeks.
Their arms rest loose and heavy, on my shoulders and around my back.
This close, notes of their familiar, welcome scents enfold me despite the neutralizers blasting overhead: lilac for Anamaria, the oldest and an omega like Max; grapefruit, very faint, from Bebe who, like me, is a beta; and balsamic vinegar from Caity.
My chest tightens, and I swallow, mouth dry, as I draw in shallow breaths.
Rescue comes from an expected source.
“Easy, girls.” Corin touches his daughters’ shoulders one at a time, oldest to youngest, omega to beta to alpha.
Each hugs him. Anamaria then dashes off to “get drinks” without asking what we want; though the hotel provides only coffee, tea, and water, so she’s not overloaded with possibilities.
Bebe heads a different direction, promising to “watch over the condolence book” that I hadn’t asked for and didn’t plan to read any decade soon.
“I’ll stand guard.” Caity’s gaze flickers between me and her father, leaving open whether she’s guarding me from others or from running.
“We both will.” Corin’s teeth flash white as he smiles down at me, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.
His scent meshes with his daughter’s, making the air around me reminiscent of the home we still share—except that Anamaria recently moved into an apartment with two other omegas, while Bebe and Caity live in college dorms most of the year, so having them here makes this better than the increasingly-empty house.
Walking on either side, Corin and Caity escort me over near the wall, where no one can come up behind us.
My guards—and yet boxed in between them as I am, the tension in my chest eases.
Alphas aren’t handsome or beautiful by default.
They possess the same range of appearance as the rest of us, but their high levels of dominance almost always result in magnetic, compelling presences. These two have it in spades.
Between them, I can fade. Hide in their shadows.
Corin’s nose twitches and he glares down at me. “Stand tall for your family and friends,” he murmurs. “As for the rest, be as mysterious as you want. Gods know you puzzle me daily, but these are people who knew Max. Let them see who Max cared for.”
Typical Corin, wrapping a compliment in thorns.
“I don’t owe anyone anything.” I shiver as many of the attendees, in their blacks and grays, shift from a mass to a rough line. “A half-hour.”
“Done.” Judging by the gleam in his eye, he hadn’t expected more. I should’ve started with a lower number and negotiated up.
It’s torture of the polite variety. The same song over and over. Sorry, sorry, sorry, condolences, condolences, condolences, and compliment after compliment about all Max did and was. All turning into sandpaper, grating against the hole left by his absence.
Reminding me of the void.
Even family—his and mine—and close friends fall back mostly on platitudes. They blur into a single multi-faced, many-handed monster, turning around and around while repeating itself over and over in a respectful, droning monotone.
Corin and Caity stay by me the whole time. My other nieces keep me supplied with water to ease my throat, the glass giving me something to hold—and an excuse not to shake clammy hand after hand.
I break a little before promised, slipping away to the rest room to wash my face and adjust things. The image staring back from the mirror lacks color. I’m uncooked bread dough. Haven’t been out in the sun in weeks.
Otherwise, I look the same as always: beige skin, with undertones of gold when I spend enough time in the sun; short gray-brown hair framing an oval face; and pear-shaped body, draped in black, hiding the red beneath.
Still me.
With or without Max.
A trio of chatterers whirl into the restroom. I smile, then bolt back to the hall. I cannot make pleasantries over a sink today.
Two steps out the door and no matter that the corridor’s wide enough for three to stand abreast, I slam into someone.
Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me, but I face-plant against a broad, solid chest under a soft linen shirt.
For a moment, it’s a familiar, longed-for closeness, complete with a flittering purr lasting all of three breaths.
Then the fragrance registers. Even with the neutralizers going full blast overhead, impossible to miss this close: alpha musk infused with a hint of trees and the crisp air of the forest on a cold, wintry night.
You’d think with all the people in the world there’d be more overlap in scents, but no. Everyone emits their own unique odor. Of course, most of us can’t tell the difference—we’ve all got our own limit on how many aromas we can distinguish and which we remember.
It’s been years since we so much as met in passing, but I never managed to forget that glorious midnight-forest fragrance.
Or him.
“Dan?”
He’s changed. Hair gone completely gray, so he ranks as a genuine silver fox.
Amber eyes study me under angled brows. A few lines mark the corners of his eyes and his forehead, taupe against his fawn-colored skin; though otherwise his face resembles that supplied by memory and a few photographs tucked away.
His lips form a tight line with no hint of a smile or pleasure at seeing me.
He stands, as broad and strong as ever, in a gray suit and white shirt.
Yet the biggest change lurks underneath.
When he was young, he exuded energy, dominance, and violence: always vibrating, and ready to leap into action and defend against all comers.
The impression now is of control and conscious action, of no longer being in constant battle with hormonal impulses.
He’s a living example of what my favorite, much-missed father used to call ‘a human grown into their alpha.’
Dan Eveson—not my first love, not my last love, but never forgotten.
“Johanna, imagine meeting you here.” Dan nods, mouth twisting to one side, gaze fixed on me. “I caught the tail end of the service. Quite the send-off.”
His hands slide from my arms, leaving patches of cold behind. My shoulders crackle as I straighten but don’t otherwise move, only a few feet separating us. Shards of memory issue conflicting orders in my head, one set demanding I cuddle close, the other screaming for me to stay away.
Last I heard, Dan lived in one of the suburbs. Too far away for mere chance to bring him by this hotel, on this day, at this time.
“Did you come to dance on Max’s grave?”
He runs a finger along the side of my face. A light touch, one I could easily pull away from, but sparks flow from the contact and ripple through my body. My muscles tighten, elbows pressing into my sides, fingers and toes twitching.
“The problem was never with Max. I admire all his contributions to society.” His eyes fix on mine, white lines edging his mouth. “His isn’t a grave I wanted to dance on.”
“You’ll have to keep living if you want to dance on mine.” I step just out of easy reach, so only the faintest hint of his scent lingers. “Is your motto to never forgive, never forget?”
“I didn’t come today to argue with you, but to offer honor and respect.” He looks away first, throat working.
Out of that unexpected respect for Max, or care for me, or maturity? Probably two, at least, if not three, but I don’t dare ask. “Some other day, then?”
“Like old times?” His quick smile—here and gone but warm while it lasts—rouses echo of the time I saw it daily, all the times I kissed it, drinking down the shot of sweetness.
Blinking back moisture, I nod and skirt around him. As I pass, he calls my name with my preferred pronunciation: soft J at the start and long vowels. “Yo-AH-nah.”
A shiver runs along my spine. I stop, but don’t turn.
He’s close without touching, the warmth pouring off him telling me exactly where he stands in relation to me.
“I’ll never forget, but sometimes, I earn forgiveness. Max forgave. The question is, will you?”
I refuse to relive that last, horrid argument. Not ever, but certainly not in a hotel hallway. Yet, even pushing back the memory in its entirety, many of the things we said linger as splinters, lodged deep inside. My tight throat makes it hard to breathe.
“Depends on what, specifically, we’re talking about.” A stumbling step takes me to the far side of the corridor, and I lean against the wall for support. I’ve endured too much for one day, for an afternoon, for a matter of hours.
Movement in the distance brings whiffs of cider and vinegar, clearing the air.
“Aunty Jo?” Caity’s heels somehow manage to click on the carpet as she hurries to my side. Her eyes narrow as she studies Dan, who steps back to rest against the wall as he watches.
Corin follows, steps slower and heavier. We form a triangle, with Caity and me on one side, Corin bracing us, and Dan at the far point.
“I got delayed.” I lay a hand on Caity’s arm, squeezing lightly, trying to ease both her tension and my own. “Ran into someone I knew.”
“A friend of Max?” Corin asks.
“‘Old acquaintance’ better describes it.” Dan nods at Corin and Caity, glancing between them until he focuses on Corin and holds out his hand, then offers his name.
“Ah.” Corin introduces himself and Caity. Caity only nods, but Corin and Dan shake hands.
There’s no sign of competition or aggression, no bared teeth or taut arm muscles suggesting competing grips trying to out-muscle the other. All the same, when they let go each flexes their fingers.
“You received the letters?” Corin asks.
Dan nods.
“Letters?” I ask, glancing between them before my eyes settle on Corin. “What letters?”
Corin hesitates, drawing in a hissing breath. “Max wrote him that last month.”
Maybe he continues, maybe he doesn’t, but his words echo in my head.
A flicker of hurt runs through my chest. Max left nothing written specifically for me, granted I was there every moment I could be, talking between his bouts of pain and sleep. I still can’t quite believe it.
“He wrote to you?”
“As I said, my argument was never with Max.” Dan runs a hand through his hair, leaving tracks through the gray. “If it helps, Johanna, he basically asked if I’d grown up. I swear I have.”
None of it makes sense. I turn away, not looking at any of them. The wall is comfortingly bland and asks nothing of me.
“The car’s waiting.” Corin’s arm wraps around my shoulders. His warm hand rubs my back, easing some of the tension, as he gently tugs at me.
I give way.
As we pass Dan, Corin inclines his head. “Nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” Dan’s low words resound in my bones. “See you soon.”
I can feel him watching as I walk away.
Just like before.