Chapter 4 #2
I abandon my packing and pace to the kitchen, where my broken coffee maker sits on the counter like a monument to everything currently going wrong in my life.
Yesterday it made concerning gurgling noises that sounded like mechanical death rattles.
Today it won't even pretend to function.
I'm pretty sure it's given up on life, which makes two of us.
Weddings are my calling. Making other people's fairy tale dreams come true fills something in my chest that nothing else touches, even when my own dreams are falling apart faster than a house of cards in a tornado during an earthquake.
My phone rings. Emma's contact photo fills the screen, showing her laughing face from last year's girls' trip to Colorado, back when I could still afford to split dinner checks without calculating tips down to the penny.
"Don't be mad," Emma says immediately, which is like telling someone not to think about elephants while showing them elephant pictures.
"Too late. I'm already mad. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I know the answer to my question, but I wasn’t expecting this especially from my best friend.
"It's complicated,” she mutters.
I start throwing underwear into my suitcase with enough force to probably damage something. “How? Aren’t they all married with perfect families? Are they all successful and happy while I'm over here falling apart like a rejected contestant on a reality show? Give me something to work with, Emma."
"They're not married."
"Okay. Fine. I mean, not good for them obviously, but helpful for my mental preparation process. What else aren't you telling me?"
Emma's silence stretches so long I check my phone to make sure the call hasn't dropped, which would be perfectly on brand for this disaster of a morning.
"Em?"
"They're Dax’s best friends. He couldn't not ask them."
"He could absolutely not ask them. People make those kinds of decisions all the time. It's called tact, Emma. It's called considering other people's feelings. Look it up in the dictionary under 'things good friends do.'"
I grab my pajamas from the drawer and stuff them into the suitcase with enough violence to wrinkle everything I've carefully folded, which seems appropriate for this conversation.
"Sav..."
"No. This is not happening. I cannot plan your wedding with Logan glaring at me like I personally ruined his life when he is the one who ruined mine. Griff’s charming everyone while pretending I don't exist, and Xavier analyzing my every decision like I'm a medical condition he needs to cure.
" I'm pacing again, wearing an actual track in my already pathetic carpet.
"Do you remember how everything ended between us? All of us? It was like a romantic disaster movie except instead of getting the guy at the end, I got trust issues and a one-way bus ticket to Denver.”
“It was years ago,” she whispers.
"Some things don't improve with age, Emma. Some things get worse and more complicated. Like milk. And cheese that's been left out. And romantic relationships that ended in mutual emotional destruction with a side of hurt feelings."
I walk back to my bedroom, where my half-packed suitcase sits like evidence of everything I'm risking by taking this job. My business. My sanity. My carefully reconstructed sense of self-worth that took actual years to build after leaving Pine Hollow like I was fleeing a natural disaster.
"Besides," I continue, because apparently I'm not done torturing myself, "they probably don't want to work with me any more than I want to work with them.
Logan hated how I reorganized his firehouse supplies.
Griff thought I was pushy for suggesting home improvements.
Xavier made me feel like I was constantly disappointing him just by existing in his perfectly organized space. "
"People change, Sav."
"Do they though? Because I'm still the same woman who tries to fix everything.
I'm still the same woman who falls for alphas who don't actually want to be improved.
" I grab my toiletry bag and start throwing random items into it like I'm stocking for the apocalypse.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, the expensive face cream I bought when I thought landing that celebrity wedding was guaranteed.
"I'm still the same disaster with slightly better hair products and a business degree. "
"Maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing."
"It's a terrible thing. It's why I'm alone at twenty-eight with a failing business." The words hang in my tiny apartment like smoke from a fire I can't put out.
I catch my reflection in the dresser mirror and wince.
My hair is half-curled, half-flat. My makeup is smudged under one eye from my earlier mascara adventure.
I look exactly like what I am: a woman having a complete breakdown while packing for a trip that might destroy what's left of her carefully reconstructed dignity.
"What's been happening with the cancellations?" Emma asks.
"Alphas are asking me if I do background checks on omegas before I plan their weddings." I grab my jewelry box and dump the contents into a travel pouch. "And omegas wanting to know if I provide security services to keep their other packs away from the reception."
"Other packs?"
"Apparently there are birth packs, mating packs, bonding packs, and emotional support packs now." I fold my black dress with the kind of precision that comes from years of packing for destination weddings. "I thought they were all the same thing."
"Wait, what? Since when do omegas have multiple packs?"
"That's what I said!" I throw my hands up, nearly knocking over my lamp. "This omega from Boulder wanted protection services in case four different packs showed up uninvited to her wedding. Four! How many packs does one person need?"
"That's insane."
"Tell me about it. I'm a wedding planner, not a security firm." I zip up my toiletry bag with more force than necessary. "But apparently I'm behind the times on modern pack dynamics."
"One wedding. You just need one really good wedding to turn everything around,” she says.
"What if I completely mess this up?" I ask quietly, my voice small in the morning light filtering through my apartment's cheap blinds.
"You won't."
"What if seeing them again proves I haven't grown at all? What if I'm still the same woman who thinks love means fixing people until they're perfect enough to want someone else?"
"What if you're not?"
"They live together now," Emma mutters suddenly, like she's ripping off a bandaid made of emotional dynamite.
"What?" I blink at my reflection, trying to process this information while holding lipstick with hands that are definitely shaking. "What do you mean they live together?"
"The three of them. They live together in a house on Maple Street. Griff built it himself."
My brain struggles to compute this information like it's trying to solve advanced calculus while drunk. "They live together."
"Pack house. They formed a pack last year.”
The lipstick slips from my fingers and rolls under the dresser like it's abandoning ship. Pack house. They formed a pack. The three men who couldn't handle my individual brand of loving attention created a collective life without me.
"Oh." The word comes out small and deflated, like a balloon that's given up on floating.
"I thought you should know before you get there and see their mailbox or something."
"A pack." I test the word, tasting its implications like medicine that might be poisonous. "They're bonded to each other?"
"Not to an omega. Just to each other as alphas."
"Right. Of course." Because why would they want an omega when they have each other?
I crawl under the dresser to retrieve my lipstick, bumping my head on the way back up because apparently coordination has left the building along with my dignity. Perfect. Now I look like a woman who's been in a fight with her furniture and lost decisively.
"Sav? Are you still breathing over there?"
"I'm here." I stare at my suitcase, calculating whether I can fit enough professional composure inside to survive three months in Pine Hollow without having a complete emotional breakdown in public. "This changes things."
"I need you."
"I need my sanity more than I need money." (This is a lie. I need money desperately. But my pride is apparently still functioning.)
“You need to face whatever unfinished business you left behind in Pine Hollow, and to stop your best friend from going insane. I did a shitty thing, but with the best intentions. I know you’re not happy. And I want more than anything for you to be happy. I love you…”
I look at my reflection one final time. Hair finally curled, makeup applied with the precision of a professional, suppressants working overtime to keep my scent neutral.
I look like someone who has her life together.
I look like a successful wedding planner who definitely doesn't survive on ramen noodles and stubborn optimism.
Too bad looks are more deceiving than a politician during election season.
"I don't have unfinished business. I have regrets that should stay buried like old pets in the backyard."
"Xavier volunteering to pick you up from the bus station doesn't sound like someone who considers your relationship buried and forgotten."
My phone buzzes with another text. I glance at the screen like it might bite me.
Xavier: I should probably mention that Logan, Griffin and I live together. In case that affects your decision about the ride.
My laugh sounds sharp and brittle in the quiet apartment, like glass breaking in slow motion. "He tells me now. After I've already agreed to let him pick me up."
"What happened?"
"Xavier casually mentions that Logan and Griff live with him. Right when I'm about to say yes to the ride." I grab my phone and type with the fury of a woman whose day keeps getting worse. "This is like a romantic comedy directed by someone who actively hates happy endings."