Chapter 31 Ryder
RYDER
LOS ANGELES…
I stood across from our PR manager, stewing on her words while relentlessly imagining a future where the coffers ran dry, the music truly went to shit, and we lost... everything. That kind of pressure was never good for stimulating fucking artistic inspiration.
Oblivion Haze needs to rock the charts. Cat always made it sound easy.
Sure, we weren’t fucking brain surgeons, but writing a good song took scalpel-precision.
We had to know where to slice, where to insert notes.
What notes. How long we should hold the note.
A half note, or a quarter note. Fuck, a whole note.
The lyrics had to weave with the music or override it when necessary.
Was it a string of words that should be screamed or whispered?
Both could be impactful depending on what we wanted to communicate to our fans.
The song I’d tried to write recently, the one that wrapped everything I’d felt since the Seattle concert into one shoddily wrapped package, could be our next ticket.
“You really don’t need to worry, CeeCee,” Tray finally broke the awkward quiet.
“Our jam session maybe sounded like shit the other day, but the new song is solid. What was the title we finally settled on?” He looked around at us, his puppy dog eyes willing someone to help him convince Cat we weren’t a lost cause.
“‘Sinner’s Kiss’,” I pushed out, feeling broken for the millionth time.
“Yeah, “Sinner’s Kiss”. It’s a killer title.” Tray moved between me and Mac, clapping us both on the shoulders. “Absolutely nada to freak over, CeeCee. Oblivion Haze isn’t washed-up yet. Not by a long shot.”
“Right, not by a long shot,” I agreed halfheartedly, trying not to sink low.
An email pinged through on Cat’s tablet, thankfully yanking me from spiraling into complete depression. I watched as her expression lifted when she opened the new message. “Shipment update,” she breathed out. “The plane should be in the air soon.”
“How long’s the flight?” I felt on edge, nerves frayed. The anticipation was both breaking me and healing something that had been busted for a long fucking time.
“A little under three hours,” Catalina checked the previous email with the travel itinerary. “They’ll land in LAX, transfer to Eros product agents based here, and head over.”
Four hours, maybe longer. It might as well be an eternity.
“Thanks for manning the ship, Cat.” I smiled at her, but knew I couldn’t feign happiness for long, not while my insides felt like they were twisting and turning. Before the grin could melt away, I decided to retreat. “I’m going to check on Dixon.”
“Probably a good idea,” she nodded, “he looked pretty on edge earlier.”
“He’s always on edge nowadays.”
It felt freeing to walk out of the house and into open air.
I instantly felt uplifted, my insides less stale.
I breathed deeply, almost getting a high off the heady scent of flowers in full, post-rain bloom.
Dixon had moved to sit by the diving board with his legs submerged.
He hadn’t bothered to roll up his thick, stained sweatpants so they were soaked and darker gray now.
He still wore the stretched-out shirt, though strangely he had rolled up the sleeves of that to reveal the tattoos inked across his upper arms. Maybe he was getting a little sun.
He always gave off Spike vamp vibes, a style he often leaned into with his eyeliner and white-blonde hair.
“Still chaos in there?” He asked without looking at me. “It took a lot for me to come and see the new photos. It’s too fucking noisy.”
“Complete and utter chaos,” I confirmed, moving beside him and sitting down on the diving board.
“Good,” Dixon said, staring at the rippling water. A breeze blew, ruffling the California lilac and perfuming the air. “Gives me an excuse to stay out here a bit longer.” He kicked his legs in the water absentmindedly.
I studied my friend's profile, noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers gripped the concrete edge of the pool. Dixon used to be a teddy bear, intentionally so. He tried to cause no harm, refused to even smash a house spider. Because of his past, losing control and hurting someone scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t help what was happening though, which made it so much harder to accept.
His control slipped without warning, and rage bloomed without his permission.
He said it was like a red haze descended on his mind and he wasn’t himself when the ferality flared.
Alphas were completely at the mercy of their primal, baser nature when they didn’t have the centering presence of a mate to cool their rut while dually taming heat.
The incident with the cabinet and the coffee table were just the latest in a string of outbursts I hoped would calm once Tessa arrived.
I hated that I was still struggling with the idea of sharing our Omega.
I’d just pined so long for Tessa. A small part of me still selfishly wanted to claim her for myself, savoring every moment she could offer.
Yet, the Eros Institute’s scent-matching had unequivocally shown that Tessa was never supposed to solely be mine.
She’d belonged with all of us; she always had, even back at that concert.
Never. Supposed. To. Be. Just. Mine.
“I held it together in there, didn’t I?” He looked at me, fractures of his soul on display. “I looked at those photos and I didn’t give into the monster. Just knowing she’s coming here is like a magic pill, man. Don’t even know how to explain it.”
“You did awesome, Dix.” I leaned towards him, gripped his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “Those photos really got to you though, huh?” I asked quietly, Tessa seated so firmly in my brain that she was the only subject I wanted to discuss.
Dixon exhaled sharply through his nose. “They had her posed like a fucking doll, Ryder. Like merchandise.” He kicked his feet in the water, sending a spray across the surface.
“And that look in her eyes... she was terrified. I know that’s what we signed up for, but fucking hell, I didn’t imagine it like that.
Those pictures were almost worse than the other one.
The other one was more... fuck, honest maybe? ”
I nodded, understanding completely. I'd seen that same fear in the photos, and it had twisted something in my gut too. Tessa being scared wasn’t a new thing though. We’d seen it in the first picture. We’d smelled it on her medical gown.
“Remember what you said to me earlier in the kitchen,” I prodded him. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “The details were under lock and key, remember. Proprietary. We signed up for it, but we didn’t know details.”
“If we had, would we give up the chance of matching though?” He growled, clawing nails against the inner rim of the pool. His nails were already cracked, a few of them bleeding. I hadn’t noticed before. When Tessa arrived, would our pain really end? Even the bits that were self-inflicted?
“Maybe, maybe not.” I exhaled, the truth settling over me. “Honestly, Dixon? I don’t think I’d have changed things. We needed this to happen, so fucking desperately, man. What choice did we have?”
“I don’t know. Fuck.” Dixon hung his head, hands going slack, fingers trailing into the water and the blood washing away into the pool.
“Once she gets here, we’ll never let her be scared again.” I patted him on the back.
“We’ll take care of her,” Dixon added, his voice a low, threatening rumble. Seconds later though, when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost a whisper. “What if she takes one look at us and realizes we’re not worth it? I’m a fucking mess right now.”
“We’re all fucking messes right now.” I soothed. “I mean, you’re the messiest, but what’s so new about that?”
Dixon grunted out a short laugh despite himself. “Thanks, asshole.”
“You’re welcome, idiot.”
The sun was setting, hot pink streaks and shocking yellow ribbons slicing through the darkening blue sky, when the sleek limousine pulled to a stop in front of the mansion.
Behind us, the house was no longer abuzz with activity.
The pack suite, an area that had remained unused since we’d bought the property, was now thoroughly cleaned and stocked with a full wardrobe, all necessities, new bedding, curtains, art, and a tree shaped series of cat shelves with three attached hammocks at various heights.
We’d had a local restaurant deliver a variety of dishes.
One thing the Eros Institute had failed to provide was any information about Tessa’s dietary preferences.
That made me realize nothing we’d been sent took her desires or wants into account.
Everything was geared towards us, their clients.
I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. They’d always referred to our potential scent match as a product.
Why had that not bothered me from the beginning?
Dixon had mentioned it once or twice. He’d had a visceral reaction to those photos.
For a heartbeat, as the limo sat idling in the driveway, I wondered if I was worthy of seeing her again. Had I ever been worthy of that beautiful, vibrant girl in the audience?
I wasn’t sure where we were supposed to stand, or what we were supposed to do.
My pack was awkwardly clustered shoulder-to-shoulder at the top landing; the mansion’s ornate French doors stood ajar behind us.
Catalina—now dressed in a crisp skirt suit—took the lead, descending the stairs quickly to stand at the base of our double, circular steps.
She smiled professionally; her tablet and pen were poised for action.
The entire planet seemed to inhale and hold its breath. Even the nearby birds, who’d just been twittering pleasantly, fell quiet.