Chapter 18 Ryder #3
Cat pointed at Tray first. "Ninety-one percent.” Mac next.
“Ninety-three and a half when averaged.” Her finger moved in Dixon’s direction.
“Ninety-seven.” And, lastly, she directed her words at me.
“A whopping Ninety-eight point two,” she concluded.
“Apparently this match is going to revolutionize how they approach group dynamics. It’s literally changed the game for the next pack seeking a single bond.
Most packs have been lucky to get strong matches for one or two, and moderate matches with the rest.”
"Where is she?" I finally managed to ask, my voice rough. "When do we meet her?"
“The email is supposed to have all the details.” Catalina held up her tablet. It should come through any second.
For the next few minutes, which felt like a goddamn lifetime, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Even the birds outside didn’t sing. The dishwasher going in the kitchen hit mute.
Tray abandoned his snacks to stare off into the void.
Dixon’s face had gone pale, and he was wringing his large, meaty hands so roughly that I worried he’d work off a layer of skin.
Mac tried his hardest to appear unbothered, leaning back casually with his arm slung over the sectional back.
But his shaking foot betrayed him. I slid off the sofa to sit on the floor, pressing my back into it for support.
I felt more centered on the ground. If this ended up being false hope, I couldn’t get any lower.
Catalina just kept staring at her tablet, refreshing her email server.
“It’s here,” she finally breathed out in relief. “I’m going to talk to them about how long that took.”
“What does it say?” My voice cracked as I asked, chest trying to fracture as I expected this sliver of daydream to fall apart.
There was so much longing inside of me. So much pent-up need.
How had I denied myself this long? How had I cleaved to something impossible while falling apart inside, each day bringing me a step closer to losing my mind?
Not just myself. Dixon. Mac. Tray. I’d kept them from satisfying their true needs.
Told them that endless, mindless fucking was enough.
I’d been lying to them, and to myself, for too damn long.
“Tessa Fortune. She’s a little over twenty it looks like,” Cat read from the email, “Oh, almost twenty-one. Her birthday’s pretty soon.”
“She has a birthday,” Tray said stupidly, as if someone having a birthday was an anomaly. It was his tone though, void of goofiness and full of innocent awe, that kept me from laughing at him.
“Mm-hmm,” Cat nodded, “She’s a virgin. A Seattle native.
Oh,” Catalina frowned, “she’s an orphan.
Her whole family apparently died. Gosh, I guess that makes sense.
Her name... I remember when that crash happened.
It was all over the news.” Her lip quivered a little as she said it, eyes growing wet.
Cat always got emotional about kids. She’d told us once how she felt so guilty that her own kids grew up without their dad.
“She’s got no family?” Dixon stood up, hands balling into fist. “Who’s taking care of her then? Do we need to go get her?”
Catalina smiled at him softly. “No, you sweet, giant guard dog. The Eros Institute is handling her transportation here. I’m positive they’re ensuring her safety until she arrives.”
“A virgin’s going to have a hard time with us,” Tray rubbed the back of his neck.
“No, she won’t,” Cat shot Tray a glance. “Because you will all be perfect gentlemen.”
“Gently perfect men,” Tray nodded. “That’s us.”
Cat rolled her eyes.
“When,” I had to pause—pushing through all the information threatening to consume me, not the least of which was the fact our Omega was a virgin—and gather my wits so I could force words out, “will she arrive?”
“Hold on, that’s in the itinerary.” She scrolled down, gently pressing the screen a few times, then her eyes studied whatever she’d accessed.
“They’re planning on prepping her tomorrow.
There’s a lot of paperwork and such. Then she should be here…
gosh either tomorrow night or the day after.
” Catalina looked up from the tablet, a mixture of relief and joy flooding her face.
“We should have a firm answer soon. She’ll be here that quickly. ”
“Did they provide a photo?” Mac stood up next to Dixon as he spoke. Tray glanced up at the two of them and then also bounced to his feet. I couldn’t move a muscle. I’d become one with the fucking floor. It was too much to take in.
“Yes, hold on.” Cat navigated back to the email and clicked another attachment.
She whistled appreciatively. “Guys, she’s ridiculously pretty.
” She flipped the tablet toward us, revealing a close up shot of a woman.
It only captured from the tops of her shoulders to the top of her head, but that was enough.
The other three guys tumbled forward, fighting to get closer.
I didn’t need to get closer to see her.
The eyes were enough.
The blue of them was something I’d never forget.
She looked thinner. Paler. Her hair wasn’t quite as long, and it didn’t shine the way it had back then, as if made of polished obsidian. But it was her.
Now I did move, crawling forward until I was close enough to use the coffee table for leverage.
I pulled myself to standing, walking slowly to where the others were already crowded around the PR manager and unofficial assistant who had absolutely zero idea that she’d just shown me the only thing I’d wanted for nearly two years.
I pushed between Mac and Tray. I didn’t even care that they protested.
Cat quirked an eyebrow in confusion as I took the tablet from her and brought it closer.
I didn’t cry. I never fucking cried, unless minutes away from blackout drunk, that is, when I’m momentarily caught in that hyper emotional state of losing all inhibitions.
But now, a scorching, rebellious tear broke rank.
“Christ, man, what the fuck’s wrong?” This from Dixon, who moved into view and clamped both hands over my shoulders. He stared at me, black-rimmed eyes intense. He shook me a little when I didn’t immediately respond.
Blinking up, mind still reeling, all I could manage was two words.
“It’s her.”