Chapter 29 Jessica
JESSICA
Iwake to the sound of Stacey murdering Whitney Houston in the shower.
"I'M EVERY WOMAN, IT'S ALL IN MEEEEE!"
I bury my face in the pillow and groan. The guest room smells like wine and girl talk and four different alpha scents from the men who keep finding excuses to walk past my door. My head pounds. The morning sun is too bright. And Stacey is entirely too loud.
Someone knocks.
"Come in," I croak.
Harmony slips inside, already dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, strawberry blonde hair twisted into a neat bun. She looks impossibly put together for someone who drank as much wine as we did last night.
"Is she always like this?" She perches on the edge of the bed.
"Since seventh grade." I sit up, trying to tame my tangled hair. "Once she sang the entire Rent soundtrack at a slumber party. The parents called the police thinking someone was being murdered."
Harmony's lips twitch. "That tracks."
The shower cuts off. Thirty seconds later, Stacey bursts through the bathroom door in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel barely containing her curves, wet braids dripping down her back.
"Good morning, sunshine!" She strikes a pose. "Who's ready for breakfast and an adventure?"
"No adventures." I pull the blanket over my head. "Just coffee. And silence."
"Not happening." Stacey yanks the blanket away. "Today we explore this adorable town and find Harmony a pack."
Harmony goes pale. "Over my dead body."
"Don't tempt me." Stacey pulls on a hot pink sweater declaring ALPHA MAGNET in silver glitter letters. "You've been hiding for months. Time to rejoin humanity."
"I don't want to rejoin humanity." Harmony's voice goes small, anxious. "Humanity takes photos and posts them online and ruins everything."
"Jessica, back me up."
I look between them. Harmony's hunched shoulders radiating fear. Stacey's determined expression promising she won't take no for an answer. The way my omega hums contentedly knowing my pack is somewhere in this house making breakfast.
"One coffee shop," I offer. "Low pressure."
Harmony looks ready to argue, but Stacey's already throwing clothes at her.
Twenty minutes later, we're downstairs.
The kitchen smells like pancakes and bacon and alpha pheromones so thick I nearly trip walking through the doorway. All four of them are crammed around the island, plates piled high, arguing about hockey statistics with the intensity of men who've been fighting about sports their entire lives.
"Morning." Sergio's eyes find me immediately. He's wearing a navy henley that does illegal things to his shoulders, hair still damp from the shower. "Coffee?"
“No, we’re going to the coffee shop.”
Carlos looks up from his pancakes, spots Stacey's shirt, and grins. "Alpha Magnet. Subtle."
"I don't do subtle." Stacey helps herself to bacon straight from the serving plate. Jessica's giving us the grand tour."
"Tour of what?" Pedro's eyebrow rises. "There's a general store, a coffee shop, and and Irish bar that hasn't updated its menu since 1987."
"Perfect." Stacey beams at him. "We need to scout local talent."
Four sets of alpha eyes zero in on her immediately.
"Not for Jessica," she adds quickly. “The other omega in the room, Harmony. Jessica's clearly very occupied."
Carlos snorts into his coffee. Nacho stands from the table, already reaching for his keys.
"I'll drive you."
"We can walk," I protest weakly.
"It's cold. I'm driving." His tone allows no argument. "And I need something in town anyway."
The subtext is clear. He's not letting us wander around town without pack protection.
My omega purrs.
Twenty minutes later, we're piling out of Nacho's cruiser in the town square. Largo Waters looks like a postcard. Brick storefronts. White church steeple. That ridiculous fountain already drained for winter.
"This is adorable," Stacey announces. "Like Stars Ridge but with more flannel."
We head for Roasted Grounds, the coffee shop that doubles as gossip central. The bell jingles when we push through the door.
Every. Single. Head. Turns.
Great.
"Is that Jessica Delacroix?" someone whispers.
"With the Sheriff."
"Living with the Negrorio pack, I heard."
Heat floods my face, but I keep my chin up and march to the counter. Nacho stays close enough that his scent wraps around me. Protective. Possessive. Mine.
"Four lattes," I tell the barista. Her name tag says BETHANY and her expression says she has opinions about my life choices.
Stacey leans against the counter. "And one of those giant cinnamon rolls. The one that looks like it could feed a family."
While Bethany makes our drinks, Stacey surveys the coffee shop like a general assessing a battlefield. Three tables of elderly women. Two construction workers. And in the corner, four alphas who keep glancing at Harmony with increasing recognition.
"Don't," Harmony hisses.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're plotting."
"I'm observing." Stacey accepts her latte. "Those alphas are staring."
"Everyone's staring."
I follow her gaze. The alphas are definitely looking. One pulls out his phone. Types something. His eyes widen.
Oh no.
"We should go," Harmony says quickly. "Now."
"We just got here," Stacey protests.
But the alpha is already standing. Walking over. He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a flannel shirt and work boots. Nice looking in a rugged, mountain man way.
"Excuse me." His voice is deep, nervous. "Are you Harmony Blake?"
Harmony goes rigid. "No."
"I think you are." He holds up his phone showing a magazine cover photo of Harmony looking impossibly glamorous. "My sister loves you. Could I get a picture for her?"
"She minds," Stacey interjects. "She's on vacation."
"Just one photo?"
"She said no." Nacho appears beside us, badge visible, expression carved from granite. "The lady wants privacy."
The alpha backs off, hands raised. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you."
But the damage is done. Everyone's whispering. Phones are coming out. Within thirty seconds, half of Largo Waters knows there's a celebrity in Roasted Grounds.
"We need to leave." Harmony's voice cracks. "Please."
We abandon our lattes and rush outside.
The town square feels different now. More eyes. More attention. A teenager across the street takes photos. Two women near the fountain point and whisper. My chest tightens watching Harmony shrink into herself, trying to disappear behind sunglasses.
"My driver’s on speed dial. He’ll be here in a flash.” Harmony's hands shake pulling her sunglasses down. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come."
"Don't apologize." I hug her tight, feeling her tremble. "Thank you for being here. For checking on me."
She hugs back fierce and desperate. "You've got something good, Jessica. Don't let anyone take it from you."
"I won't."
Stacey wraps us both in her arms. "Group hug! Everyone cry!"
"I'm not crying," Harmony mutters, but her voice betrays her.
We separate. Harmony starts walking quickly toward her car. She's halfway there when a truck pulls up. Three alphas lean out the window.
"Harmony Blake! Can we get your autograph?"
She breaks into a jog.
"Jesus Christ." Nacho pulls out his phone. "I'm calling backup. She's going to get swarmed."
More vehicles arrive. Word spreads at the speed of small-town gossip, faster than light, powered by boredom and the thrill of something exciting finally happening.
Harmony reaches her car. My heart clenches watching her panic, knowing exactly how that feels. Being hunted. Exposed. Unable to escape the eyes dissecting your every move.
Her driver is outside holding the door for her, then she throws herself inside.
Harmony's car peels out, narrowly missing a pickup truck. It speeds down the street going at least twenty over. Nacho wisely pretends not to notice.
"Well." Stacey watches the car disappear around the corner. "That was dramatic."
“More like a disaster," I correct.
"Little bit of both." She links her arm through mine. "Come on. Let's salvage this day. Show me this town. Let me embarrass you in public."
"That's your life mission, isn't it?"
"Someone has to keep you humble."
Nacho drives us back to the house, shaking his head the entire way. When we pull into the driveway, all three of my other alphas are waiting on the porch, alerted by some kind of pack telepathy.
"Heard there was excitement in town," Carlos drawls.
"Harmony got recognized. There was almost a riot." I climb out of the cruiser. "She's fine. She escaped."
"Escaped what?" Sergio's eyebrows rise.
"Approximately thirty alphas who wanted her autograph. And possibly to court her. It was unclear."
Pedro shakes his head. "That's why I don't go to town."
Stacey bounces up the porch steps. "So what are we doing today? Let's make it count."
Carlos grins. "I know exactly what we're doing."
Two hours later, we're at the Irish bar, which does indeed look like it hasn't been updated since 1987. Wood paneling. Neon beer signs. A jukebox playing country music. And a pool table where Stacey is currently destroying Carlos at eight-ball.
"How are you this good?" Carlos stares at the table where Stacey just sank three balls in a row.
"I hustled pool to pay for college." She lines up her next shot. "You think these nails are just decorative? They're weapons."
I'm tucked into a booth with Sergio and Nacho, watching the carnage, sipping a beer that tastes like nostalgia and bad decisions.
"Your friend is terrifying," Nacho observes.
"She's the best." I lean against Sergio's shoulder. He's warm and solid and smells like cedar. "I'm glad she came. Even if it ended with Harmony fleeing an angry mob."
"Eager mob," Sergio corrects. "They weren't angry."
"Enthusiastic mob."
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. "You okay? With everything? The attention in town? People talking?"
I think about the whispers in the coffee shop. The stares. The way Bethany the barista looked at me like I was committing some kind of crime by being happy.