Chapter 12 #2
Zak moves to my side and looks down at me with worried eyes before I can hide my reaction. His gaze is soft as he takes my hand and gently pulls me back down the hall from the way we came. "Come on," he says gently. "I'll show you my favorite part of the house."
He leads me through the living room at a much slower pace than Freddie, giving me a chance to try to catch my breath. He walks close enough to me that our shoulders brush every few seconds, each touch sending a little pulse of awareness through me.
I want so badly to let that feeling sweep me away. I don't want to be the asshole instantly judging the pack by their house. Not when their house looks like this. How do I get back the joy and comfort I felt only an hour ago when they were walking me out of the stadium?
Zak pauses at a wide door, releases my hand, and gestures for me to enter ahead of him. My hands tremble as I push the door open and step into their kitchen. The lights automatically come on to illuminate the huge space.
Their kitchen is bigger than my whole living room, kitchen, and dining area combined. I might consider the size impressive if the kitchen looked any more lived-in than the rest of the house.
An island stretches seemingly forever in the center of the room, the glossy granite top reflecting so much light that I feel like I need sunglasses to look directly at it for too long. The cabinets are the opposite, so dark and sleek, with no handles in sight.
How do they open those things? Or remember where they keep the snacks? There are like a thousand cabinets in here that all look the exact same. I'll never be able to find anything. Would they be opposed to me bringing a label machine home from work?
"This is my favorite place in the house." Zak smiles faintly, watching me while I examine the room. "When we decided to have the house built, this was one of the first rooms we designed with the builder."
The way he continues to provide commentary and personal insight with every step of the tour makes my stomach churn. He’s clearly very proud of the work they have put into this. It’s obviously custom-built with my pack’s needs considered.
My pack without me. Before me.
Because nothing about this place provides me comfort.
Freddie huffs in outrage. "You can't pick the kitchen. Everyone's favorite room is the kitchen. Boring."
"That's because it's the right answer." Zak shrugs, unbothered by Freddie's assessment of his choice. He seems to do a good job of finding the balance between indulging Freddie's silliness and standing his own ground.
Spencer leans in the open doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene unfolding in front of him. I can't read his expression to know what he's thinking, but his gaze keeps coming to rest on me like he's trying to read my mind.
Zak puts his hand on my lower back and guides me toward the island.
"This is one of the places we all gather the most. Even when life gets busy during football season, we find each other here.
Coffee in the morning before practice. Post-game takeout dinners.
Late-night snacks when two or all of us happen to show up at the same time. "
I can imagine them all wandering in on a sleepless night, leaning on the ugly countertop, and laughing at whatever late-night antics Freddie can come up with.
And if the kitchen looked different, maybe I would imagine myself wandering in with them.
Laughing with them. Snacking with them. Being laid back on the kitchen island and...
No. Not on that shiny island. Imagine the ass prints I'd leave behind.
Like the rest of the house, this room is too polished. Too cold. Not the kind of place I can ever imagine myself feeling comfortable and making myself feel at home.
I wrap my arms around myself for comfort as I try to force a smile.
There's a heat in the corner of my eyes where tears threaten to form.
What can I do? I don't want to admit to them that I can't appreciate these three gorgeous men in this mansion because I'm too busy missing my chipped cookie jar sitting on my butcher top counter at home.
"Nice kitchen," I lie, crossing my fingers hidden behind my arm.
All three men huddle around me, studying me with concerned expressions.
Even Freddie's sparkle seems to have dimmed as he frowns with an unspoken question on his lips.
These are supposed to be my mates, of course they sense something is wrong.
I can only imagine what my distress is doing to my scent.
"Mia..." Zak says my name carefully. He extricates his coat from my arms, and I reluctantly let him take my favorite coat and set it on the abominable countertop.
He takes both of my hands in his and squeezes in a way that's meant to be reassuring but makes me feel a little trapped.
He's looking too close. Seeing too much.
When he looks at me like this, it's hard to keep pretending nothing is wrong.
"I'm fine," I blurt out.
No one believes me.
Spencer studies me with his warm brown eyes narrowed slightly. Assessing from his perspective as the head of the pack. The one who will feel most responsible for fixing whatever is wrong. "You don't seem okay."
"I am," I insist desperately, my voice strained. "Just... overwhelmed. That's fair, right? I rushed to the football stadium for my brother, got abducted by a Sloth, and found my scent-matches... All while dressed like this." I gesture at my disaster of an outfit.
Why didn't I take Zak's offer to loan me some sweatpants before we left the stadium?
Freddie snorts at my panicked explanation despite himself, but none of them relax.
Zak squeezes my hands tighter. "You can be honest with us. We can tell you don't seem like yourself since we arrived. Is it the house?" His frown deepens. I don't think he can fathom the house being the problem.
I look between the three of them, all handsome but increasingly concerned, and try to think of a way to soften the truth so that I won't look completely awful.
"The house doesn't exactly feel, uhm, comfortable to me."
Silence.