Chapter 6 #2
I turn, trying to put distance between us, but I only make it two steps before his hand catches my elbow.
The contact stops me dead.
His fingers wrap around my arm through the thin fabric of Mom's sweater. The touch is gentle. Barely pressure. Just his hand on my elbow, that's all. Simple. Innocent.
Except it's not simple and there's nothing innocent about the way my body reacts.
Heat radiates from the point of contact. Not the medical kind that Pedro warned me about. The other kind. The kind that starts low in my belly and spreads outward in waves until my whole body is humming, thrumming, singing with awareness.
His scent washes over me, stronger now that he's touching me. Sandalwood and sawdust and alpha, filling my lungs until I can't breathe anything else. Until I don't want to breathe anything else.
My omega purrs. The sound vibrates in my chest, and I see Carlos's eyes darken, his nostrils flare. He heard it. Of course he heard it.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and his thumb strokes along the inside of my elbow where my pulse is racing. "For what happened. For the kiss."
I should pull away, and keep my distance before my newly awakened omega does something embarrassing. Like beg him to touch me everywhere his hand isn't currently touching.
I don't move.
"You don't need to apologize," I manage, and my voice is breathier than I want it to be. "I'm the one who ran."
"Because I scared you."
"I kissed you back, Carlos. I wanted it. I wanted more than I should have. And I didn't know how to handle that, and Callum was being a jerk and I used you."
His grip on my elbow tightens. Just slightly. Just enough that I feel the strength in his fingers. Just enough to remind me that he's an alpha and I'm an omega and there are instincts at play here that neither of us can fully control.
"And now? Do you still feel that way?" The question is rough. Raw.
Now I'm standing on a sidewalk with his hand on my arm and his scent in my lungs and my omega screaming at me to get closer. The want is still there. Stronger, if anything. Sharper.
I look up at him. At the lines around his eyes that weren't there before. At the tension in his jaw. At the way he's holding himself like he's afraid to move too fast. Afraid I'll bolt again.
He's right to be afraid.
Because standing this close to him, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of his hand through my sleeve, I want nothing more than to lean into him. To let him wrap those carpenter arms around me and hold me until the world stops spinning.
But I can't. Not yet. Not with everything else falling apart around me. Not when I don't even know who I am anymore.
"Now I have to go fill a prescription," I say softly, pulling my arm free. The loss of contact feels like grief. "And figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my life."
Disappointment flickers across his face. His hand drops to his side, fingers curling into a fist like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for me again.
"I'm here," he says, and there's something fierce in his voice. Something protective. "If you need anything. The whole pack is. You know that, right?"
The whole pack. Sergio with his warm brown eyes and easy smile and cedarwood scent. Pedro with his grumpy concern and wire rimmed glasses and sage and honey. Nacho with his quiet intensity and solid presence and leather and rain.
And Carlos with his carpenter's hands and summer blue eyes and sandalwood that makes me want to bury my face in his chest and never leave.
Callum's best friends. The men I fell for while I was dating their best friend. The complication I've been running from for years.
"I know," I whisper.
I turn and walk toward the pharmacy before he can say anything else. Before my stupid omega instincts override my brain and I throw myself into his arms and beg him to help me through the heat that's building inside me like a storm gathering strength.
The bell over the pharmacy door jingles when I push through. The sudden warmth after the cold air makes my cheeks burn. Or maybe that's just the lingering effect of Carlos's touch. His scent. His voice saying my name like it matters.
The pharmacist, Brenda is wearing a cheerful red cardigan with snowflakes on it.
“Oh Jessica, you’re back. Nice to see you. How can I help you?”
“Thank you. Yes.”
I hand over the prescription with fingers that won't stop shaking.
She scans it, and something shifts in her expression. A softening. Understanding. Like she knows exactly what this medication is for and what it means.
"Fifteen minutes," she says gently. "You can wait or come back."
"I'll wait."
I can't go back out there, and face Carlos again. I find a plastic chair in the corner, away from the windows where I can't see the street. The good news is that I can't see if he's still standing there.
The pharmacy is warm. Too warm after the cold outside.
I pull off Mom's sweater, and the air conditioning hits my overheated skin.
I'm wearing one of Dad's old t-shirts underneath.
Faded blue with "Largo Waters Little League" printed across the chest. It's too big, hanging off one shoulder, but it's soft and it smells like home and right now I need that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out without thinking.
A text from a number I don't recognize.
This isn't over. You owe me an explanation. I'm coming to Largo Waters.
My blood runs cold.
Callum.
He must have gotten a new phone. Or borrowed someone else's. He must have found a way around the block I put on his number.
Another buzz.
You can't hide from me, Jessica. You're mine. You've always been mine.
The words make my stomach turn. Make anger rise up, hot and sharp.
I'm not his. I was never his. Not really. He had my time and my attention and my body when I let him, but he never had me. Not the real me. Not the parts that matter.
And if he thinks he can show up in Largo Waters and drag me back to the life I escaped, he has no idea what's coming.
My fingers move before I can think about it. Delete the texts. Block the new number. Shove the phone back in my pocket like it burned me.
"Jessica?" The pharmacist's voice cuts through my spiral. "Your prescription is ready, dear."
I stand on shaky legs and cross to the counter. She's put the pills in a small white bag, stapled it closed with the instructions attached.
"Take one twice a day with food," she says, her eyes kind. Knowing. "It'll help with the symptoms. But if things get worse, if you need anything else..." She slides a business card across the counter. "This is a heat support line. They have counselors. Resources. They can help."
I stare at the card. At the phone number printed in neat black letters. At the tagline: "You're not alone."
Except I am alone. Mom's in Mexico. Sharon's hours away with her own life. And the four alphas I can't stop thinking about are the last people I should be leaning on right now.
"Thank you," I manage, taking the card and tucking it into the bag with the medication.
I pay with the emergency cash Mom pressed into my hand this morning. Brenda gives me change and that same understanding look, and I flee before she can say anything else kind. Before I start crying in the middle of Walgreens on a Sunday afternoon.
The bell jingles again when I push back outside.
Carlos's truck is gone.
The street is empty except for a few people doing their afternoon shopping. An elderly couple walking arm in arm. A mother with two small children. Normal people living normal lives while mine implodes.
I should feel relieved that he left. That I don't have to face him again. That I can walk home without his eyes on me and his scent in my lungs and the memory of his hand on my elbow making my skin tingle.
Instead I feel bereft. Like I missed something important. Like I ran away from something I should have faced.
Story of my life, apparently.
I start walking. Not toward Mom's house. Not yet. I need to move to let my omega settle down before I'm trapped alone in that empty house with nothing but my thoughts and the ghosts of what might have been.
Lanzarote Street unfolds around me. The same brick storefronts. The same Christmas decorations going up in shop windows, twinkling lights and garland and wreaths with big red bows. The same faces that watch me pass with barely concealed curiosity.
She's back, they're thinking. The girl who ran. The one who kissed Carlos and disappeared. Wonder what she's doing here.
No, I want to scream. I have no idea. I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going or how I'm going to survive the next two weeks.
But I keep walking anyway. Past the coffee shop where I used to study in high school.
Past the bookstore where I bought my first romance novel and hid it under my mattress.
Past the pizza place where The Negrorios Pack and I used to hang out on Friday nights, crowded into a booth meant for four, laughing too loud and eating too much and living in a moment I didn't know was precious until it was gone.
Everything looks the same but feels different. Or maybe I'm the one who's different. Changed. Broken and rebuilt in ways that don't quite fit together anymore.
My phone buzzes again. I almost don't check it, afraid it's another number from Callum, another threat, another reminder that I'm not as free as I want to be.
But it's Mom.
Mom: How did the appointment go? Are you okay? Call me when you can.
Sweet. Concerned. Probably checking her phone every five minutes even though she's supposed to be having fun in Mexico instead of worrying about her disaster of a daughter.
I type back: Appointment went fine. Got medication. Home soon. Stop worrying and enjoy your trip.
The lie comes easily. Too easily. But what am I supposed to say? That I'm going into heat in two weeks? That Callum's threatening to come get me? That I saw Carlos and wanted to climb him like a tree?
No. Some things you keep to yourself. Some burdens you carry alone.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and keep walking.
The town ends and the residential streets begin.
Maple trees line the sidewalks, their bare branches reaching toward the gray December sky.
I climb the porch steps, my footsteps echoing on the old wood.
I hesitate as I reach for the key in my purse and open the door.
Inside, the silence is overwhelming. No footsteps.
No coffee brewing. No Mom humming in the kitchen while she cooks.
Just me and the ghosts and the prescription bag clutched in my hand.
I make it to the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. Pour myself a glass of water. Take the first pill even though I haven't eaten. Chase it with half the glass, swallowing past the lump in my throat that has nothing to do with the medication.
Two weeks. Maybe less.
Heat is coming whether I'm ready for it or not.
And I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do when it hits.
I ran once. From the kiss. From the Negrorios. From the feelings I was too scared to face.
I'm done running.
Even if standing still terrifies me more than anything else ever has.