Chapter 11
Andromeda
I’ve hit the nail on the head. It’s written, clear as day, on his face.
Elijah’s expressions, at least when I’m around him, always seem to be different shades of anger.
“How did you—were you listening? What did you hear?” he sputters.
“I heard the tail end of it,” I shrug, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek when I remember him mentioning how difficult it was for him to watch Beck and I during the photoshoot. “But I would’ve come to the same conclusion even if I hadn’t.”
He stares at me, dumbstruck.
Well, I guess dumbstruck is better than anger.
The wariness that seemed to have been slammed deep into my brain after Ezra slammed my head into the counter isn’t something I’ve been able to shake yet.
I should get over it. I’ve always been able to get over shit quickly. I had to, growing up with my mother. One second she’d be screaming, the next she’d be fine, as long as she got what she wanted.
And if you couldn’t catch up with her mood, she’d go right back to being pissed. As a little kid, I’d done whatever I could to keep her happy.
Maybe this is different. For all her faults, she was never physically violent. She’d bring that up all the time.
I’m glad Leo insisted he was staying. I don’t think I would’ve asked him to. I’m not used to asking for help.
“Do you... think he knows?” Elijah murmurs, his voice much softer than I’ve ever heard it.
I blink at the massive alpha. Now he’s asking me questions? When all our previous conversations have ended up with us at each other’s throats?
Now, because I’m useful to him, he’s asking me whether a boy likes him, like we’re good girlfriends?
My chamomile scent turns bitter with resentment. But the question still bounces around in my brain.
Maybe this is what I need: an in, something to prove that I’m not the threat this guy seems to think I am. This is the way things will go for the rest of my life. I’ve got to be useful. If I’m not, then I’m replaceable.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “You guys have known each other forever, right? I think he’s so consumed with how much is changing that he hasn’t slowed down to see what’s in front of him.”
That much was obvious based on the way Beck reacted to Elijah’s earlier question. I’d hate to be these two. They both seem to be dancing around this thing between them for different reasons.
I’m not going to pretend to understand.
It’s not like I’m good at picking them, considering what happened to me.
It’s an especially bitter pill to swallow, knowing that I’m going to go home tonight to my empty apartment and feel that all-consuming, gnawing loneliness.
Elijah slumps back into the wall behind him, looking small and lost.
It’s the first glimpse of the man underneath the anger. No, not the man, the boy.
It reminds me of Ezra. It’s strange. Maybe everything reminds me of him, to a certain degree.
“Why’re you angry all the time?” The question bursts out of me before I can catch it and stuff it back down.
That’s a big question. A stupid one, if Elijah is as opposed to talking about his feelings as he seems to be.
Ezra always got frustrated at questions like that. Maybe because everything was too big for him to confront.
Ezra’s father was a big A-list actor. Larger than life. But Jonathan Fletcher carried within him the kind of anger that seeps into everyone around him.
You’d never know it looking at the photos of him online, or seeing him talk in his press conferences. The PR team he pays ridiculous amounts of money for would never let any hints of who he really is touch the mainstream media.
But that PR team exists to protect Jonathan Fletcher, not his son, and that ever-present anger became Ezra’s.
And it led to the explosive end of us. Our years of history, gone in a single moment.
But maybe things were doomed long before that night.
“Nevermind,” I mumble, feeling far too vulnerable. Like the question itself revealed more about me than I wanted it to. “Don’t wanna piss you off.”
His jaw works as he stares at me.
“You’re thinking an awful lot about what’d piss me off.”
“You always seem pissed off around me. I don’t think that’s a weird leap for me to make,” I huff.
I feel like I’m going insane. My throat feels tight and I can feel my pulse racing. My fingers reach up to brush against my neck as I fight the memories of Ezra’s hands there.
Elijah catches it. Of course he would.
“I’m not him. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Ezra was angry all the time, too,” I croak out.
Elijah’s jaw works as a flash of anger appears in his gaze as he stares at me.
Leo shifts behind us, stepping closer to me. His cozy warm paper scent, fainter than Elijah’s blood orange but far more comforting in this moment, washes over me.
“Just ‘cause you have your own shit doesn’t mean you go around beating on other people. Even if you were beaten as a kid.”
I blink up at Elijah in surprise. I never mentioned that Ezra was beaten by his father, so maybe this is him speaking from personal experience. Was he hurt by his father?
“Especially people weaker than you. That was a him problem,” Elijah says, his voice pitched low. His gaze cuts to Leo, over my shoulder. “I’m not gonna hurt her. You can chill the fuck out.”
“Okay,” Leo nods, taking a step back with his hands raised in surrender. His gaze lingers on me in a way that I can’t quite read.
“The only man I really had growing up was angry,” Elijah answers slowly, in a rare moment of vulnerability.
My eyes widen in surprise. This is progress. A whole lot of it, considering the kind of bickering we’ve done every time we’ve spoken in the past.
“Your dad or something?”
“Yeah.”
I nod slowly, feeling a strange urge to comfort him. Well, I guess it’s not that strange, considering I know it’s my omega instincts. Omegas are biologically wired to be drawn to alphas, to comfort and support them in the same way alphas are drawn to protect omegas. Well, at least in theory.
“So your daddy issues are why you’re such an asshole all the time,” I tease as I let out a huff of laughter.
His lips quirk up as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Guess so.”
“Don’t worry, I can say that ‘cause I’m part of the club too. Though, I guess my Daddy issues come from not really knowing my dad,” I shrug.
“Really? He wasn’t...” Elijah tilts his head, pausing like he’s trying to find a tactful way to ask what he wants to ask.
First time for everything, I guess. Subtle is the last adjective I would use to describe the guy, but I appreciate him trying.
I match his pose, crossing my arms over my chest, the silk fabric of the robe brushing up against my bare breasts with the motion, reminding me that there’s only one thin layer of fabric between me and the ridiculously hot man standing in front of me.
When he’s not being a dick, I can actually slow down and take in how unfairly attractive he is.
“He never hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking,” I answer. “I’m sure you know what happened between him and my mom, though. It’s why she left and took me. Haven’t seen him since.”
“How old were you?” he asks.
“You’re so chatty now,” I huff. “I was maybe six or seven? I don’t remember a lot from my childhood.”
“Me neither. Far prefer being an adult, so why try to remember shitty times.”
“Exactly.” I nod.
I don’t know if I’d call myself happy right now, but I far prefer the little bits of control over my life I’ve been able to carve out for myself than the way I grew up, always monitored by my mom or her team.
“I think this conversation needed to happen. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s shown me we can talk without biting each other’s heads off,” I say, straightening my posture.
“You’re not how I thought you were,” Elijah says, nodding slowly.
“What, did you think I was some spoiled brat?”
He just shrugs, not bothering to answer.
I roll my eyes. Okay, maybe things aren’t going to be perfect.
“We have to set aside our differences, okay? I’m going to have to do things like this photoshoot again. Beck and I need to sell our ‘relationship,’ there’s nothing I can do about that,” I say, using air quotes.
Elijah offers me another one of his slow nods. I wish I could know what he’s thinking right now.
Actually, considering the shit he’s said to me before, maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe silence is better. Eye candy without the sour surprise that is his personality.
“Not like today,” Leo murmurs from behind me.
“What?” I ask, spinning on my heel, my brows drawn down in confusion.
“Why do you look so shocked?” he asks, his dark eyes roving across my face. “What you just went through in there? That shit was terrible. That fucked up photographer asked you to strip, and anyone with a nose could tell you didn’t want to.”
“Really?” I ask, wiping my sweaty palms on the silk of my robe. Why does Leo sound upset? He seems like the most even-keeled of all the guys. Did I fuck up that badly? “I thought they put de-scenter in the stuff they use to airbrush us. Sorry, I—”
“That’s not the point, Andi,” he says. “Does that kind of stuff happen often?”
“It was pretty fucked up,” Eli agrees slowly.
I glance between the two of them before throwing my hands up in the air.
“Now I feel like I’m being ganged up on! It happens every now and then. Some photographers or directors are creepy motherfuckers. I don’t know why you’re getting mad at me.”
Leo’s expression only gets more intense.
“We’re not mad at you. We’re mad at the situation.”
His words stop me in my tracks.
What?
That’s certainly a line I haven’t heard before.
“Well, I don’t have control over that kinda stuff.”
“Well, we do,” Leo nods.
I shake my head. I don’t know what he plans, but these guys are part of Beck’s team. I’m not going to get my hopes up that they’ll put in work to help me when they’ll have their hands full keeping Beck safe.
“I should go check on Beck,” I mumble, pushing past Leo to head down the hall.