Chapter 10 Reina
REINA
The office was quiet except for the soft click of my mouse and the hum of the computer.
I'd been staring at the same photograph for twenty minutes, trying to decide if the crop was right. It was a shot from last week's Frost Kings game. One of their forwards mid-celebration, stick raised, face caught in that perfect moment of victory.
But I couldn't focus.
My skin felt too tight, too sensitive. The fabric of my shirt kept catching against my shoulders in a way that made me want to crawl out of my own body. I'd taken two pills this morning on top of my usual suppressant patch, but it wasn't enough.
It was never enough anymore.
I checked the calendar on my phone. Three days. Maybe four before my heat fully hit. I needed to finish as much work as possible before then, stockpile enough edited photos that I could work remotely when I inevitably had to disappear to the cabin.
The cabin.
With Luca and Jaxon.
While my pre-heats had been hitting, we’d been nesting pretty hard at the cabin.
My stomach flipped at the thought. The inevitable was coming.
"You good?"
I jumped, nearly knocking my coffee over. Shayla stood in my office doorway, arms crossed, her expression concerned.
"Yeah," I lied, straightening in my chair. "Just focused."
"You've been 'focused' on that same image for the past half hour." She walked in, perched on the edge of my desk. "And you look like you're about to pass out. When's the last time you ate?"
I tried to remember. Breakfast? Maybe?
"I'm fine, Shayla."
"Uh-huh." She didn't look convinced. "Look, if you need to work from home for a few days, just say the word. Nobody's going to judge you."
The concern in her voice made my throat tight. She didn't know what was coming. Didn't know that in a few days I'd be completely non-functional, lost to a heat that would consume every rational thought.
"I appreciate it," I said. "But I'm okay. Really."
Shayla studied me for another moment, then nodded. "Alright. But the offer stands."
She left, and I exhaled slowly.
I went back to the photo, made a few adjustments, saved it. Opened the next one in the queue. This one was from the Steel Wolves game two days ago. Jaxon checking another player into the boards, all aggression and controlled violence.
I'd taken dozens of shots of him that night. Couldn't help myself.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
I glanced at it, expecting a text from Luca or Jaxon. They'd both been checking in constantly, hyper-aware of my approaching heat even from a distance.
But the name on the screen made my entire body go cold.
Mom.
I stared at it like it might bite me.
My mother. Who I hadn't spoken to in over a year. Who I definitely hadn't told about moving back to the city, about the job, about anything.
The preview of the message showed on my lock screen:
Reina, I've been trying to reach you for days. This is unacceptable.
My hands started shaking.
I unlocked my phone with trembling fingers.
The full message appeared: Reina, I've been trying to reach you for days. This is unacceptable. Family dinner this Saturday at 6pm. Everyone will be there. You WILL attend.
I stared at it, my heart hammering. Tried to ignore it, go back to work. But my phone buzzed again with another message from her. Don't ignore me, Reina. I know you're seeing these.
Then immediately another:
Need I remind you that I'm the one who got you that interview with the NIHL? The hiring manager is a personal friend. The least you can do is show your face at a family dinner.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
She’d gotten me the interview?
I sat back in my chair, the room suddenly spinning. I'd been so proud of landing this position. Had thought it was my portfolio, my skills, my merit that had earned me the job.
But it was her.
My mother had pulled strings. Had called in a favor. Had handed me this opportunity like charity.
Which meant she had leverage.
And she knew it.
My phone buzzed again, and I flinched.
6pm. Don't be late. And Reina? Dress appropriately. We're having a special guest I'd like you to meet.
Special guest.
Oh God.
My mother was setting me up. Of course she was. That's what this dinner was really about. Not family. Not reconciliation.
Matchmaking.
I should ignore it. Should delete the messages and pretend I'd never seen them. Should block her number and move on with my life.
But the guilt was already eating at me.
She got me this job. This job I loved, that I'd worked so hard at, that had brought me back to this city and back to Luca and Jaxon.
If I didn't show up, would she take it away? Could she?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I could say no. Could tell her I was busy. Could stand up for myself for once.
But instead, I typed:
I'll be there.
Hit send before I could change my mind.
Immediately hated myself for it.
My phone buzzed with her response:
Good. 6pm sharp. Don't embarrass me.
I set the phone face-down on my desk and pressed my palms against my eyes.
"Fuck," I whispered.
What had I just agreed to?
My phone buzzed again, but this time it was a different notification. A text from Luca: How are you feeling? Need me to bring anything when I come by tonight?
Then one from Jaxon: Away game tomorrow night. Gonna be gone til Sunday. You good until then, Pretty Girl?
I stared at both messages, my chest tight.
Saturday night. The dinner was Saturday night. Jaxon would be at his game. And I couldn't ask Luca to come with me. Couldn't subject either of them to my mother.
I typed back to both of them:
I'm fine. See you later.
Short. Dismissive. A lie. They'd know something was wrong.
But I couldn't deal with explaining it right now.
I turned back to my computer, tried to focus on work. But the photographs blurred in front of me. All I could see was my mother's house. The formal dining room. The judgment in her eyes.
And whoever this "special guest" was that she wanted me to meet.
My phone buzzed one more time.
I almost didn't look.
But it was Shayla, her office just down the hall:
Seriously, go home. You look like death. I'm not asking.
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I should go home. Try to prepare myself for whatever Saturday was going to bring.
I saved my work, shut down my computer, grabbed my camera bag.
As I walked out of the office, I caught my reflection in the glass door.
Pale. Dark circles under my eyes. Blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I looked exactly like someone who hadn’t been using suppressants but will power as a heat was approaching and whose mother had just dropped a bomb into her life.
I looked like I was falling apart.
And Saturday hadn't even happened yet.
The elevator ride down felt too long. The parking garage too quiet. I sat in my car for a long moment before starting the engine, my mother's texts still burning in my mind.
I'm the one who got you that interview.
She'd always known exactly how to make me feel like I owed her.
And I'd just proven that it still worked.
I drove back to my apartment on autopilot, my mind already dreading Saturday.
Whatever my mother had planned, it wasn't going to be good.
And I had no idea how to prepare for it.
·
Saturday came too fast.
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to make myself look presentable. My hands were shaking as I applied mascara, had to wipe it off twice and start over.
The suppressant patch on my hip felt like it was burning through my skin. I'd applied a fresh one an hour ago, taken three pills instead of the recommended two. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough anymore.
My heat was so close I could taste it. Another day, maybe two. My body was a live wire, every nerve ending hypersensitive. The dress I'd chosen, a simple navy blue sheath, modest and appropriate, felt like sandpaper against my skin.
But it was the kind of thing my mother would approve of.
And I hated that I still cared about that.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I grabbed it, hoping it was Luca.
It was my mother.
Remember: 6pm sharp. Edward is very punctual and I will not have you embarrassing me by being late.
Edward. So that was the "special guest's" name.
Another text came through before I could respond:
And Reina? Please make an effort with your appearance. First impressions matter.
I looked at my reflection. The dark circles under my blue eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. The way my blonde hair, even freshly washed and styled, looked dull. The slight flush on my cheeks from the fever building in my system.
I looked sick.
Because I was.
I typed back: I'll be there.
Didn't wait for a response. Just set the phone down and finished getting ready.
Luca had texted earlier, offering again to come with me.
You don't have to do this alone. I can be there in twenty minutes.
I'd declined.
I can handle my mother. It's just dinner.
He hadn't pushed, but I could feel his disapproval through the phone.
Jaxon had called from the road, his team bus headed to their away game.
"You sure about this, Pretty Girl? Because I can fake an injury. Be back in the city in three hours."
"Don't be ridiculous," I'd told him. "I'll be fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"Jaxon."
"I know, I know. You can handle it." He'd paused. "But if she says anything, anything that makes you feel like shit, you call me. Or Vale. Or hell, call Shayla. Just don't sit there and take it."
I'd promised I wouldn't.
Now, standing in my apartment, keys in hand, I wasn't so sure.
The drive to my mother's house took thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of my stomach twisting itself into knots. Thirty minutes of rehearsing things I wanted to say but knew I'd never have the courage to actually voice.
Her house looked exactly the same as it had twelve years ago.
Pristine white colonial with black shutters. Perfectly manicured lawn even though it was late fall. Seasonal wreath on the front door. Everything in its place, everything controlled.
Just like her.