7. Olive
Two burly Alpha men carry my mattress out the front door and down the stairs. I hired a bonded Alpha moving company so I wouldn't have to worry about an incident. Since they both have Omegas at home, my unbonded scent doesn't affect them at all.
I still wear a thick layer of clinical scent blocker paste under my nose and a disposable blue hospital mask, just in case I run into any unbonded Alphas at the storage facility.
The intense menthol and eucalyptus vapor burns my sinuses and brings tears to my eyes, but I need the barrier.
I want nothing to do with the intoxicating scent of the men who ruined my life.
The screech of a packing tape dispenser echoes through my empty living room as I seal the last cardboard box. My hands cramp from the repetitive motion. Pressing the tape down, I seal away another chunk of my curated, predictable life.
I grab a black marker and scrawl the word "Books" across the top.
The printed eviction notice burns a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. The building manager gave me four days to vacate the premises.
I refuse to let this hormonal shift destroy me. Getting fired and evicted in the same week feels like a fatal blow. But I refuse to lie down and quit.
I drained a chunk of my savings to hire a moving crew. I plan to follow their truck to a storage unit, lock everything away, and figure out a new plan. I pride myself on resilience. I built this life from the ground up, and I can build another one.
But my body keeps trying to sabotage my focus.
The suppressants wage a war in my blood.
They keep the raging fever of the heat locked in a cage, but the side effects leave me nauseous and exhausted.
My joints ache with every step. My skin feels too sensitive to the air conditioning blowing from the ceiling vents.
A hollow, relentless throb pulses low in my pelvis.
It reminds me that the drugs only mask the problem. My new designation demands an Alpha.
I refuse to give in.
One of the movers steps inside the apartment and takes the bulky cardboard box of books right out of my hands. He gives me a brief nod and carries the load out the door.
I grab my keys and follow him down two flights of stairs to the parking lot. The humid afternoon heat hits my face, making me sweat under the blue mask.
The movers shove the last box into the back of their truck and pull the metal door shut. The driver climbs into the cab and starts the engine. "We'll see you at the storage facility."
I walk toward my car, pressing the unlock button on my key fob.
A shadow falls over the asphalt, blocking out the afternoon sun.
I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
The potent smell of a thunderstorm and citrus rolling over a cracked concrete street hits me.
The crisp ozone pierces straight through the thick menthol paste under my nose.
It bypasses the clinical blockers and sinks straight into my blood.
My knees tremble. A sudden flood of slick coats my inner thighs.
I spin around.
Finn stands five feet away.
The moving truck rumbles to life and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving me completely alone with him.
He looks like a mountain. He wears a plain black t-shirt that stretches over his massive chest and broad shoulders.
The afternoon light catches the deep auburn strands of his messy hair.
He radiates a tense, restless energy. His warm brown eyes stay locked onto my face.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I take a defensive step backward until my spine hits the bumper of my car.
"Olive." Finn takes a slow, careful step forward. He keeps his hands open and visible at his sides.
I hold my hand up like a traffic cop. "Stop right there. Don't take another step."
Finn stops himself from taking another step. Most Alphas try to push forward and use their sheer size to intimidate.
I glare at him over the top edge of my blue mask. "How did you find me? My address isn't listed on the hospital website."
Finn rubs the back of his neck. His gaze drops to the pavement for a second. "Lawrence knows people. He called a private investigator. We needed to make sure you made it home."
"You hired an investigator to track me?" I scoff, my voice muffled by the mask. "That screams unhinged. You have no right to stalk me."
"We got you fired." Finn drops his hand. His chest heaves with a jagged breath. "We got you kicked out of your apartment. You left the hospital loaded up on brutal suppressants. We can’t just sit in our house and do nothing while you suffered."
"You did enough." I grip the edge of my open trunk. "You ruined my life. I had a career. I had a secure home. I had a perfectly balanced body. In forty-eight hours, your pack took all of that away from me."
"We want to fix it." Finn takes a half-step forward, his eyes pleading with me. The raw desperation in his voice makes my traitorous chest ache. "Let us move your things. We have a massive house. You can stay with us. We will hire lawyers to get your job back. We will provide everything you need."
"I don't want your money." I point a shaking finger at his chest. "I don't want your protection. And I definitely don't want to live with a pack of arrogant pricks who treat sick kids like inconveniences."
Finn flinches. His expression crumbles.
"I know Victor ruined the first impression." Finn stares at me, his jaw clenching. "He acted like a coward. But we want to earn your trust. Please, Olive. Your body needs a pack. The suppressants will destroy you."
My core throbs in agreement. The ozone scent wrapping around my body makes my mouth water. I want to close the distance and bury my face in his chest. I want to feel his large hands gripping my hips.
I force the terrifying desire down.
"I prefer the suppressants over submitting to you.
" I force my voice to stay cold and hard.
"Get in your car and leave. I have to go.
I need to get to the storage unit at the same time as the movers so they aren't standing around waiting for me.
I pay them by the hour. Don't contact me again.
Tell Lawrence to call his investigator off.
If any of you show up near me again, I will file a police report for harassment. "
Finn stares at me. His chest heaves. His hands flex and clench into tight fists at his sides, like he battles an invisible force to stay in place. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Okay." Finn takes a slow step backward. "I hear you. I'm stepping back."
He turns around and walks toward a sleek black Jeep parked across the lot. He doesn't look back.
I pull my car door open and slide into the driver's seat. Ripping the blue mask off my face, I lock the doors. My hands shake on the steering wheel. I survived the encounter, but the agonizing throb between my legs proves the battle is far from over.
I spend the next hour at a sprawling self-storage facility on the edge of the city. The moving crew unloads my bed, my sofa, and every piece of furniture I own into a ten-by-ten aluminum unit. I pay them for their time and watch their truck rumble out of the gated lot.
Pulling down the corrugated metal door, I snap a padlock into place. The finality of the click echoes in the empty concrete hallway. I only kept a single duffel bag of clothes for myself. I refuse to overwhelm Chloe's crowded house with the remnants of my ruined life.
Getting back onto the interstate, the traffic crawls at a miserable pace. The drive to the suburbs takes over an hour. By the time I pull my car into my sister's cracked concrete driveway, the nausea from the suppressants makes my head spin.
I kill the engine and stare through the windshield.
The two-story suburban house looks like every other house on the block. Faded beige siding covers the exterior. A small patch of overgrown grass borders a concrete walkway. A plastic tricycle sits abandoned on the front porch. The property represents everything I avoided by living in my apartment.
I step out of the car. The humid air lacks the crisp ozone and citrus scent from the parking lot. The absence of Finn's pheromones leaves a void in my chest.
Walking up to the front door, I don't even have to knock.
Chloe swings the door open. She wears a stained t-shirt and yoga pants.
Her thick dark hair, the exact same shade as my own blunt bob, sits piled in a messy bun on top of her head.
A smear of something sticky streaks across her warm golden skin.
She looks at me with the same deep brown eyes I see in the mirror every morning, though hers look a lot more exhausted today.
Rose, her youngest, balances on her left hip, grasping a sticky juice box. The television blares a chaotic cartoon from the living room. Two older kids shriek and chase each other around the worn sofa.
Chloe offers a tired, frazzled smile. "Hey, Ollie. Come on in. Sorry about the mess. The kids are feral today."
I step over a pile of plastic building blocks in the narrow entryway. "Thanks for letting me crash here, Chloe."
"You're family." She shifts the toddler to her other hip. "The spare room is at the end of the hall. Rick moved his weight bench out to the garage this morning. It smells a little like a locker room, but we cracked the window open."
I walk down the hallway. The walls feel too close together.
I push the door to the spare bedroom open.
A twin-sized bed sits pushed against the far wall. A thin, cheap mattress offers the only comfort in the space. The carpet boasts a few questionable stains near the closet. The air in the room smells like stale sweat, a lingering reminder of my brother-in-law's gym sessions.
I drop my duffel bag onto the flimsy mattress. I stare at the cramped, depressing box. This is my new reality. I fell from a respected hospital career and a beautiful apartment to a smelly spare room in a matter of two days.