Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CARYS
Rhett’s silent as I slowly brush out my hair, letting the curls relax into softer waves, and then unplug the curling iron.
Nerves flash under my sternum at his unwavering gaze from where he stands in the doorway, a hand on the top of the threshold.
His grip makes the veins in his arm stand out, and his stomach muscles ripple with each small adjustment of his body.
His skin is littered with small bites, a few of them in the perfect shape of my teeth.
Despite having just survived a five day sex fest that has left me incredibly sore in places I didn’t know could be, I perfume.
The orchid scent is muted, that telltale edge of my heat gone entirely.
“Really, baby girl?” he asks.
I flush, so dark it extends onto my neck and chest. His chuckle is equal parts disbelieving and exultant as he closes the few feet between us, pulling my back into his chest. I lean back against him, letting him take most of my weight.
Even after the shower, my legs aren’t all that sure how to support my body anymore.
He kisses the crook of my shoulder before locking eyes with me in the mirror, his own lemongrass scent curling around us both.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs. Then, quieter, more cautious, he asks, “You feeling okay?”
I blush again, my chest flushing dark red. My scent changes, edged with my embarrassment. “If by okay, you mean out of the heat haze, yes.”
He tightens his hold around my waist before trailing his hand over my hip, tracing the bite mark through my skirt and tights. His fingers don’t miss a single indentation of the new mark, like he’s traced it more than once since it happened Friday.
Nerves tighten around my ribs, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
His voice is even more gentle. “And about everything else?”
“As good as it all could be, I guess.” I lean forward, and he loosens his hold without dropping his arms. I put on a bit of mascara and lip gloss to keep myself distracted.
There’s a faint thread of melancholy in the center of my chest that isn’t my own that’s been there since I woke up a few hours ago entirely out of my heat.
“You’re sure?” He runs his lips across my shoulder and up my neck. “You don’t need to sugarcoat it for my sake, baby girl. I can handle your truth.”
“Does everybody know?”
“About us? Yes. Only Ashton knows about this.” He traces the marks again.
I breathe carefully through my nose. I roll my lips together, trying to sort through everything roiling just under the surface. There’s worry and fear and embarrassment and unease. So many emotions, all nearly too much to handle. The new tether to Paxton doesn’t make the process any easier, either.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice trembling. He nods and kisses just under my ear. His touch makes it easier to ask the question haunting me, filling me with dread. “Are you upset with me?”
I can survive Dad finding out about Rhett and me in what is possibly the worst way. Probably. But there’s no way I can do it if Rhett’s angry with me. And everything else? Definitely not.
“Absolutely not,” he says vehemently, his eyes locking with mine in the mirror. “I’m not even angry with him. It’s not something I would ever hold against either of you. Ruts are… well, you know.”
Yes, I do. I’d known for a long time in theory, in the abstract, just how powerful an Alpha’s rut could be.
How completely mindless they can become if an Omega’s heat triggers it to take over.
Now I have a much more visceral experience of what happens when all of the stars align for a complete catastrophe.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
I feel so incredibly young and na?ve admitting that to him. It’s been weeks since I felt so inexperienced, unsure what to do, around Rhett. Not even the night I gave him my virginity did I feel so out of my depth. His hand tightens on my hip before twisting a piece of my hair around his finger.
“None of us do,” he whispers against my skin.
He presses another line of kisses down my throat.
I can’t help but tilt my head, giving him more room, my scent joining his and filling my tiny bathroom.
My knees wobble, and he takes all of my weight.
His voice is softer than before. “None of this comes with a rulebook. Whatever you decide you want to do, I’m here with you, all right? ”
Trying to figure out what I want to do about it all is overwhelming. I don’t know the best way forward, the way that leaves all four of us in the best ending position with each other.
“He’s my scent match.”
It feels like a relief to say the words.
That bit of cypress I’d smelled on Halloween, that had made my stomach clench, had been him.
No wonder I’d been a mess on that dance floor even before the bodies crowded in around me.
Rhett doesn’t say anything at all, letting me process it all without pressure.
“Will I get touch-sensitive with him, too?”
“I don’t know, baby girl. That last week you weren’t touch-sensitive with me. It was your pre-heat. The weeks before that?” He shrugs. “Maybe. It’s not something we’ll know for sure until the end of this week at the earliest.”
I lace my hand with his, running my thumb over the back of his hand and wrist. His chest vibrates with a low purr. The last of my nervous tension drips away from me.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Okay. I think I want to talk to Billie first if I can. Just to… I don’t know. Have the weirdest ‘Hey Girlie’ moment in the universe, I guess.”
“Let’s get going, then. You need to eat, and I’m ready to have something other than a quickly scrambled egg and reheated takeout,” he says. I blush again, and he chuckles. “She should be at the shop in about an hour, right?”
It takes an embarrassingly long time for me to be willing to leave my tiny apartment with Rhett next to me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
A few people look at us as we walk to a small cafe a couple blocks the other direction from my shop.
He doesn’t seem to mind any of it, though, sitting on my side of the table as he tears through two entire chicken salad croissant sandwiches in the time it takes me to finish picking at my own veggie bagel sandwich.
When we finally get to the shop’s street, I frown.
Despite being nearly an hour late to open up Blush & Bloom, the lights are off and the sign is flipped to closed.
Nerves eat away at my stomach, crowding out my throat, but I try to think and breathe around them.
Rhett holds my hand the entire time I get the front of the shop open and then sort through what inventory I have and everything that needs to be replaced and adjusted since being gone for nearly a week.
My breath catches in my throat as I walk into my work room.
Rhett squeezes my hand, a silent sentinel and beacon of warmth.
The tables are all cleaned, exactly the way Billie always leaves the shop—even when I’m closing everything with her.
The orders for today are on the back counter, ready to start.
Today’s pickups are in the cooler. Only one order from the weekend is left, a note scrawled in Marilyn’s stilted handwriting on the order tag saying the person never came to get it.
Without a word, I pull the custom slip off of it and bring it to the front of the shop.
Hopefully someone else will buy it before the flowers wilt in another few days.
I manage to work another fifteen minutes, Rhett leaning against the table within touching distance of me, when the silence becomes too overbearing.
“She’s never late. Or, at least, she texts if she got caught up doing something that will make her late.”
I pull my phone from my apron, but my phone is still bare of any notifications at all. I send a text to her. I don’t know if it’s what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t stand the thought of not seeing her while all of us are awkwardly circling the elephant in the metaphorical room with us.
Hope you’re ok.
Crap, that’s probably too callous sounding in just text.
Can we talk? When you’re ready.
The messages are marked as delivered. I stare at the screen for a long minute, but they don’t flip over to read. I sigh and drop my phone back in my apron.
Rhett hums and pulls his own, tapping a message.
That thread of melancholy under my sternum grows stronger, making tears burn behind my eyelids.
I quickly blink them away, trying to ignore Paxton’s emotions entirely.
I grab new buckets of amaranthus as well as pine and silver spruce boughs, arranging the table wreaths with more expedience than artistry, my thoughts scattered.
“Baby girl?” Rhett asks after a few minutes.
My gaze cuts to him. His lips are set in a heavy frown, concern radiating from his entire body.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Billie flew back to California.”
She left? A grief I’ve never quite felt settles between my ribs, making every breath hurt.
“Oh.” The word comes out too quiet, too shaky. “She didn’t text me.”
If she didn’t plan on coming back, she would have texted me, right? To at least let me know I need to finally put together a job listing for someone to take over the retail portion of the shop? I chew on my lip, trying to breathe through the mix of emotions.
Rhett grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nod. That ever-present melancholy weaving through my chest makes a lot of sense now.
God, all of this is so messed up, and I don’t have any idea how I’m supposed to be handling any of it.
I want to comfort Paxton, his sadness a weight on my soul, but am I even allowed?
Should I be allowed? Does Billie going back to California mean they’re not together?
I can’t even finish the thought without that grief twisting deeper.
The bells chime from the front of the shop.
I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes, slowly finding my center.
If I could survive an entire week dealing with an absolutely debilitating pre-heat, I can handle a customer in my floral shop.
The shop I love and have created with my own sweat and blood and tears over the last half year.
Rhett follows a few steps behind, his hand still laced with mine, ready to stay out of sight if it’s a customer needing a custom quote. Though I suppose he doesn’t have to anymore, does he? I freeze just as I cross into the front room, nerves closing off my throat.
Dad leans against the counter, his hands in his pockets, his ankles crossed. His gaze takes in all the small changes I’ve made since he was last here right before Billie started working with me. When he turns to me, his shoulders are tight, but his eyes are only full of worry.
“Carys bug,” he says. “You’re all right?”
Rhett squeezes my fingers, keeping a half-step behind me. Dad’s eyes flick to him before refocusing on me. I give him a shaky smile, and he blows out a breath.
“You have time for some coffee?” he asks.
“Of course. Let me go grab my bag.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll pay.”
Rhett kisses the top of my head.
“Take your time,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. A shiver runs down my spine at the contact. “If the wholesale order gets here before you’re back, I’ll sign for it.”
Dad waits until I’ve approached him—hands shoved in the pockets of my skirt to keep from fidgeting—and then looks at Rhett.
“You’re good for tonight?” he asks, all business. There’s no animosity in his voice, at least.
“Yes, coach,” Rhett says. “I’ll be there at first report to get some extra time back on the ice.”
With nothing more than a quick nod, Dad holds out his arm. I gently grab his elbow like I’ve done since I was old and tall enough to reach it. He doesn’t look back at Rhett as he leads me out of the shop and toward one of the coffee shops a few blocks down.