Chapter 44 #2
“My accountability has led me through a kidnapping, stabbing, and lengthy surgery,” I explain.
“I am currently at home recovering from multiple skin grafts. I did not ask to be taken off the street from my pack, just like I didn’t want to be away from helping get this organization off the ground.
However, I’m back now, and making calls from bed. Any other questions?”
I wouldn’t normally trauma dump on someone, but I need her to actually give me a fucking chance.
I have the phone on speaker due to how I’m laying, while everyone else is sprawled out speaking normally.
This isn’t an ideal situation. I can’t have interviews or meetings like anyone else can, which is why we’re making calls like a phone-a-thon.
At the end of the day, done is better than fucking perfect.
“You…People like you have money. Why isn’t someone else calling me, like a secretary or some shit so you can rest?”
“I don’t have a secretary,” I snort. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, and be glad it’s not today. Making calls is keeping me sane while I’m on bed rest. It’s been weeks of being in bed, and I’m already tired of it. I need to do something.
”I am twenty-one years old, and no one’s hero.
This all started because my alpha was homeless for three weeks and almost herded into a cage by auction hunters during her time hiding from people even worse than they were.
Everyone deserves a safe place to lay their head.
That’s why I’m doing this. I need people who give a shit to do the footwork because I can’t.
I haven’t earned the trust of the community we want to serve, but it sounds like you have.
If you want a hand in helping shape what this place could be, then let’s work together to make this happen.
If you’re not interested, then I’m sorry I wasted your time. I will not beg.”
My tone is cool by the time I stop speaking, and someone’s warm hand rubs my ankle.
Based on the callouses on his palm and fingers, I can tell it’s Nico.
I’m not surprised he can tell exactly how upset I actually am despite my cool demeanor.
My pack keeps an eye on me, ready to end the call if necessary.
“Twenty-one. You’re a goddamned baby,” Carla mutters. “I would say you can’t help anyone, because you’re too green, but that would be cruel and untrue. I won’t be a bully. Let’s get to it then. I have a dream list of shit I’d love to have in place for this city.”
Getting as comfortable as I can despite my back, I listen to what she has to say. We discuss what we can offer at the outreach center, what would be best suited for the shelter, and how to help individuals get back on their feet if they want that.
Dr. Walsh comes in to check on us, and then stays to listen to the conversations happening.
“I heard there is a place in Minneapolis called Omega’s Haven that offers free therapy and law services. Is that a possibility?” Carla asks.
“I can wrangle pro bono services,” Lyle says, unmuting himself. “I’ll reach out to the bar association here in Savannah.”
“Thank you, Lyle,” I reply. “Yes, we can work out law services, Carla. I need to see about—”
“I can help with a list of possible therapists, Rosa,” Dr. Walsh says, stepping further into the room. “You all have your hands full, and I feel lazy with a patient who insists on working despite her injuries.”
“How many people are with you? I thought you were laid up in bed,” Carla says, confused.
“I’m her physician, and I moved in to take care of her,” Dr. Walsh says drolly.
“My pack is with me making calls, and I’m on a video call with some friends that are helping us. Just because I’m in bed, doesn’t mean I can’t be productive,” I mumble. “I need something to do, so here I am.”
“I still don’t understand,” she sighs. “I have been homeless off and on for years. When I’m doing well, I help others. I do best outside. I can’t work indoors if that’s what you’re wanting.”
“We should have an outreach team to go where people will need us the most. Word of mouth is the best way to help. Verona, my alpha, mentioned she met people while she was homeless that helped her find food. Being newly homeless and alone is scary even for an alpha,” I say easily.
“We’ll work out a plan for paying you all. I’m just the girl making the calls.”
“That’s actually really smart,” she mutters.
Dr. Walsh rolls his eyes and pulls out a recording device to place next to me. That’s probably a good idea. If I’m going to be spitballing ideas, I want to make sure I remember what I said. My heart may be in the right place, but my memory is shit.
The doctor makes sure the device is recording before retreating so he won’t say anything else. They’re all very protective of me, but I can handle this.
The next few hours fly by, and we find ourselves with a group of people willing to start pulling together a decent staff. I have a million ideas, some of which will be able to be implemented quickly, and others that need time to build.
I’m aware that none of this is going to be easy. I don’t have the background to know how to properly bring this to life, but at least the ball is rolling.
Around six in the afternoon, I am peopled out from the calls, and I fall asleep as everyone around me begins to wrap things up.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but even they had to lay the first bricks down, and that’s what we managed to do today.
* * *
Two months later
January
My fingers tug at my linen pants as I walk through the house to find my purse. I have my gun at the small of my back, good walking shoes on my feet, and a dozen other things that don’t fucking matter.
I’m stalling. I’ve taken walks in the backyard, helped my pack plant flowers and create the perfect hideaway for ourselves. The house is still a work in progress, but it’s coming along nicely.
For some reason, being in the backyard feels safe, but I won’t even look out the windows on the second floor at the front of the house.
I’ve been working with a physical therapist going up and down stairs, going for laps around the house, and in the backyard. To most people, I appear to be progressing well, but I know that’s not true. There are still roadblocks in my mind.
Dr. Walsh decided to give up his apartment and move in with family that live nearby. He said that I may not need him as much, but he still finds a way to come by once a week to chat.
Every day is filled with my pack, status calls to check in with the project manager at the shelter to see what else they need, and find new ways to heal. The nightmares are finally making their appearance, and I sleep in my nest, hidden behind the secret door with my pack.
It’s maddening that I have survived so much, only for the devils in my mind to decide this was the perfect time to torture me.
Avery is still lost in the wind, and life continues. How the fuck am I supposed to pretend that doesn’t scare me?
My therapist and I decided that today, I’m going to leave the house and go for a walk. Simple, right? This isn’t simply a walk around the block, no it’s a walk into town to get dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. If I’m doing big girl fucking things, then I deserve a damn treat.
I haven’t left my property since the surgery, and I was firmly focused then on getting to the hospital. There was no time to worry about anything, I just left the house like anyone else would.
Fuck. My hair is down, and sweat is beading up at the base of my skull. I’m feeling flushed throughout my body that has nothing to do with a heat and everything to do with panic.
The truth is that today, I am proving to myself that I am not agoraphobic, even though so many things say differently. I haven’t left my property in over two months. I have all the clinical development for it, but I refuse to be a prisoner in my own home.
“You can do this,” I whisper, dumping out my purse on the dining room table. It’s a beautiful solid oak antique, and I hold onto the mindless details of it while I repack my purse.
“Rosalia.” Flinching, I take a shuddering breath as I glance over my shoulder to find my pack standing there. Anyone could have called my name, but it came from Pablo. “Are you ready?”
He’s giving me a chance to say no. They’d accept it and we’d say we’ll try again, but it has to be today.
It has to be.
Lifting my strap to my shoulder, I smooth my hands over my cropped shirt. The gun is hidden well enough at the small of my back that I don’t need a longer shirt, and it’s a beautiful afternoon.
If I want to feel the heat of the sun on my face, I have to walk out the front door today. Forcing my feet to move, I begin walking to the door without speaking. No one pushes me to say anything as they follow me through the house to the entryway.
Verona and Dario have the therapist’s number on speed dial, and he told me to call him if I needed help. This could mean anything, and I’m not really sure how I’m going to react when I walk out the door.
My fingers tremble as I unlock the door and my eyes glance at the security box. Pablo began working with Pack Alston recently, and he created our home system. Along with the security walking our property, this is supposed to keep us safe.
My mind still wonders what a little box can do against a kidnapping. Logistically, I know how it all works because Pablo showed me, but my brain is currently an asshole.
A small whine escapes my lips as I pull the door open, and my alphas purr for me. I can feel the warmth of their bodies behind me, and Pablo presses his hand against my back as he sucks in a breath with me.
We’re all on edge, and the tension is thick.
The gate to the fence is the same as it’s always been. It’s meant to keep us safe, but Avery proved that once I leave through the gate, all bets are off. I was three houses away from home when I was taken off the sidewalk, despite having a gun and tactical training.