Chapter 2
Chapter Two
CARYS
The highway moves at a snail’s pace. The stop-and-go sets my motion sickness right on edge even with my eyes closed. I cast around for something to talk about to distract me from my growing nausea.
Unfortunately, the first question that pops into my mind isn’t one that I should be asking Timber. My mouth blurts it out anyway on a rushed whisper.
“What would you do if you matched again?”
The truck lurches, and then we’re going faster than before.
The silence is charged between us. I know I’ve hit one of the few trip wires that Timber has.
The last time I asked him, I’d been seventeen and insecure to high heaven.
My first—and only—boyfriend had just designated as an Alpha, and I was worried he would break off our relationship since I was still just a Beta at the time.
I should know better than to ask Timber anything about Omegas and relationships by this point.
I’d watched as my father helped pick up the pieces of Timber’s life after his scent-matched Omega ruined his life nearly a decade ago, after all.
Timber had lived with us for a while. My dad was terrified he would do something stupid that couldn’t be undone.
Timber hadn’t sugarcoated his answer, laying into me with a brutality I had only ever seen directed at opposing hockey players on the ice.
I’d resent him more for it now except he’d been right.
The boyfriend broke up with me only a few weeks later and started going out with one of the few Omegas that had designated in our senior class.
“There’s something about scent matching that drives you wild, Carys.
” Timber sighs heavily. I chance a glance at him, swallowing down my nausea.
His hands are white-knuckled where he holds the steering wheel.
“It’s like nothing else matters in the world.
Your match becomes everything to you, and it really feels like you’re nothing without them. It’s… crazy.”
His eyes go a bit unfocused, a bit haunted. He blows out a breath, and the moment is gone.
“So… first, I’d make sure that what I felt was really genuine or if it was just my Alpha side telling me the person was my match.”
The way he talks about his designation—like it’s an entirely different entity under his skin—feels absolutely foreign to my own experiences.
“But aren’t they the same thing? Your…” I try to find the right way to phrase the way the desires and needs of being an Omega feel in my body and my mind. I twist my hands into the simple brown and white gingham skirt I’m wearing. “Your instincts and your feelings?”
He sighs again, heavier than before, and then glances at me. His mouth tightens.
“Did you scent match with someone?” he asks without inflection.
I can’t help but blush. “No.” And then I look out the window, risking making my carsickness worse to avoid his gaze. “I haven’t even gone on a date since getting back from college this summer.”
I learned quickly my first year of college that I’m not built for the casual hook-ups that most of the girls in my Omega-specific sorority swore by.
And, at least to myself, I’m able to admit I’m not resilient enough to handle the minefield that is dating.
My heart’s too soft, too accepting. I make connections too fast to handle the push-and-pull dynamic of the start of meeting someone new.
Maybe that’s why I want a scent match so earnestly—something I know is real and honest without other subtexts going on behind the scenes.
“Really?” Now he sounds shocked again. Ugh. I should have just let us rot in the awkward silence of earlier. “Is a relationship not something you want?”
“I don’t know,” I say, honest with Timber like always. “I spent all of college on suppressants. I’m just trying to figure out how to… exist in my own body, I guess.”
That’s putting it mildly. I went from being able to move through classes and meetings and sorority events without a worry to needing to remember scent blocking lotion.
Not to mention suddenly needing to use a vibrator nearly every night.
Last month, I broke down and bought one of the toys that’s supposed to replicate knotting, too, though I haven’t been brave enough to try it.
“You took suppressants?”
I flinch and duck my head, picking at my skirt to keep me distracted.
“Don’t tell anyone, please,” I whisper. “I designated only a month before I was supposed to go to school in Colorado. I… was terrified, honestly. So I went on a low-grade suppressant and then had a booster medication to stop my heat from presenting.”
And it was really, really effective. I’ve been off of the medications since June, and I still have no hint of when my heat might surface. The doctors said it would take between three and six months, but here we are at nearly the end of October and still nothing.
Timber doesn’t say anything as the traffic slowly clears. It’s not until we’re getting off the highway toward the practice arena that he breaks the silence.
“Do you remember what you told me before you presented? When you were still dating that dumb asshole from the football team?”
The memory is so strong, it could have happened yesterday. I furrow my eyebrows as I look over at him. He raises an eyebrow.
“That…”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear to delay my answer. It’s so embarrassing to say this in front of Timber, the guy who hates Omegas, hates relationships. I mean, he has completely valid reasons why. But still. It’s not like he’ll understand what it’s like to be a romantic at heart.
“That I wanted a love I didn’t have to hide from my dad. And someone who wasn’t intimidated by him, either, or was only interested in me because of my proximity to professional hockey.”
He nods. “Is that still what you want?”
Damn it, Timber. Please don’t make me say this just for you to be an asshole about it.
“Yeah, I think I do,” I finally say. And then I try to soften it so he won’t completely lay into me over it. “It’s so cliché, I know. But… I want something like the movies: the flowers, the dates, the nervous touches. I want what Chase and Axel have.”
Timber’s mouth tightens at the mention of his teammates. They were some of the first to get roped into Marilyn’s plans, but it really seems to have worked out for them. I continue my explanation.
“I want something that’s just…” I sigh, struggling to find a way to say it that won’t have Timber scoffing. “You just know. There’s no questioning it, no worry you’re wasting your time with someone who won’t even know your friends in another year.”
Bitterness creeps into my voice before I can bury it. I pause, waiting for his response, but he seems almost frozen. Well, not actually because he’s still steering the truck, but his mouth certainly seems to be stuck in the half-frown.
I lay the rest of it out in a whisper right as he pulls up to the practice arena. At least if he decides to try and lay into me, I’ll be able to escape easily.
“I want a scent match, but I’m scared I’ve already matched and don’t know because I was suppressed.
What if I already met them and missed my chance?
” His jaw tightens. My nerves ratchet tighter.
“And I know you’re going to go off about how I’m still super young and have loads of time, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about it, Timber. ”
All at once, the smell of sour orchids surrounds me.
I suck in a startled breath and then curse viciously.
I dig through my bag, trying to find the scent-blocking lotion.
Timber doesn’t say a word as I apply it to every inch of skin I can see, the metallic edge to it a universal sign that it’s working.
Timber parks and then turns to me, his elbow perched on the back of his seat.
“Listen, ‘Rys,” he starts, more gentle than I expected. “You’ll know, okay? You won’t need to wonder if you’ve matched with someone.
It’ll hit you out of nowhere like a fucking freight train that’s gone off the rails.
” He stretches his neck and then shrugs.
“There’s times when you can’t even remember who you are outside of that scent. ”
His words soothe me. The nervous tension slowly bleeds away from me as I drop the lotion into my bag and then nod.
“You can talk to me, you know,” Timber says, even more gently. “I’m here if you need help.”
He says it like he hasn’t already done that, like his surprising understanding today hasn’t smoothed the edges of that fraying worry that’s always just under the surface. I offer a shaky smile. His lips twitch, too.
Right before his scent spikes, coffee so strong it feels like a freshly brewed espresso, and he flinches away from me.
My eyes widen. “Are you okay? Your scent just…”
No way am I going to admit that his scent smells like the maple syrup one, right on the edge of losing control.
He quickly deflects. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a twinge in my back.”
I roll my eyes and ease out of the truck.
“Okay, Grandpa,” I mutter, knowing the nickname will get under his skin. “You can just say you don’t want to tell me. I was just trying to help. You know, the way you just said you would help me.”
I stick my hip out, trying to play up the sass. It’s one of those things I know will cut the tension between us. It works like a charm, too.
He scowls. “Little brat.” His tone is affectionate, though, and I laugh.
He walks right next to me, his hands tucked in his jeans.
“I mean it, though. Call me if anything happens that you don’t want Ares to know about. I’m here if you need me.”
I adjust my bag and reach for the door of the arena just as my phone rings. “Yeah, I know, Timber. You always have been.”
Timber beats me to the handle, holding it open even as I fish for my phone. It’s an unknown number, but it’s going through the number attached to the floral shop, so I answer it anyway.
“Hi, this is Carys. How can I help you?”