Chapter Eleven
I take the last of my suppressant pills in the morning. Kanata transitioned me off the shots once Connor moved away, but the black market stuff still comes in a syringe. Right now, I’m out of both.
I text my plug, Jamie, again, asking when she’ll have more available, then toss the empty prescription bottle in my purse. My refill’s not due for another week, but sometimes I can get the pharmacy to float me a few days.
It’s Connor’s fourth session today, and I’m starting to let my guard down around him a little. He hasn’t shown any signs of identifying my scent. If I can keep up my current suppressant regimen, I should be able to finish out the semester with him none the wiser that I'm his mate.
In the meantime, I'd like to get to know him again. There are things I wondered about his life during our estrangement. And while the rift between us hasn’t healed, time has soothed some of the sting of his betrayal.
My class lets out early, and I get to the study room before Connor.
When he arrives, his scent envelops me like a warm hug. He sits down next to me and sets a sack of food from Etienne’s on the table.
I stiffen. Etienne’s is my favorite. Was my favorite. It used to be our place. Another thing ruined by the end of us.
“What is that?”
“I believe you’re familiar with the concept of food, Ms. Crane. I’m not suffering through another of these listening to your stomach growl.”
“I don’t eat there anymore.”
“I know.”
How?
I stuff the question into the place dangerous thoughts go to die and pull out my notes for the day.
“When’d you turn into such a hardass, Lana? I brought your favorite.”
My eyes slide to the paper bag. Just the mention of it makes the smell more enticing.
Grilled herb butter salmon on a bed of rice pilaf, and the best green beans I’ve ever tasted.
To be finished off with a slice of Etienne’s famous fifteen-layer chocolate cake for dessert, if Connor was feeling generous. Which he always was.
“It’s not my favorite anymore.”
“Bullshit.”
Connor takes the food out and sets it in front of me, then pulls out a real, metal fork from the bag.
Fuck. He’s playing hardball.
“Stop being such a martyr and eat before it gets cold, or I’m going to tell Etienne.”
If I give an inch, he’ll take a mile. He always has. But perhaps this could count as a couple of centimeters, instead.
I fork a piece of the steamy, flaky salmon into my mouth and groan. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Connor smiles. One of the first real smiles he’s given me since before .
I haven’t been to Etienne’s since the ceremony, and one bite has me regretting that decision.
I shovel more food into my face, and Connor pops the plastic lid off his own meal and begins to eat.
If I ignore the whiteboard and the peeling leather sofa, I can almost pretend we’re on a date.
“You should quit one of your jobs.”
I jerk my head up. “What?” I refuse to be disarmed by grilled salmon.
“You’re running yourself ragged. You look tired every time I see you. You need to give yourself a break.”
“We already talked about this. I can’t afford a break.”
His mouth hardens. “Where’s all the money going, Lana?”
The food loses its flavor. I swallow and take a long sip of my drink. I should’ve known Connor would come back to this. He’s like a dog with a bone, but that bone is me.
“I have living expenses.”
“You rent the cheapest studio in town and drive a beater slated for the junkyard.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Been checking up on me?”
“Yeah. Not like you or Mac were going to tell me shit. I wanted to know what was going on in your life.”
“I have medical bills,” I admit. Vague, but close enough to the truth to appease him.
His scent spikes. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine. It just adds up quick when you don’t have health insurance.”
His eyes soften. “Mac and I…”
I raise my hand. “Enough. I draw the line at apology muffins.” I take another bite of food. “And apology salmon.”
I need to change the topic. Something that will distract him from this line of questioning.
“Since you’re transferring, and Cassandra is still out West, how is that going to work?” She followed him to college—or he followed her. One way or another, they were still together, last I heard.
“We’re on a break.”
I struggle to keep my face blank.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“The older we got, the more the differences in our designations became a problem. Things are strained. My alpha’s been angry ever since I moved out West.”
I clench the fork and stab another piece of fish. “Surprised you aren’t married by now.”
“She’d like to be.”
The words are a gut punch.
“I don’t think I’m ready. So we’re taking some time apart before we take that step. I never saw myself marrying a beta.”
“Just stringing one along for four years?” I can’t keep the venom from my voice.
‘Before we take that step’ rings through my head, cutting me deep.
Connor sighs. “I think we’re only together still because it’s comfortable. Easy. To be honest, I thought— hoped —I’d find my mate by now.”
“Might help if you showed up,” I mutter under my breath.
He catches it, of course. “I’ve been to a lot of mating ceremonies over the last three years. Including the ones in Crestwood. You haven’t, I’ve noticed.”
“Nope.” Mac had mentioned his…searching. Connor hasn’t missed the local yearly ceremony once, despite living across the country and having a long-term girlfriend. Not ever since the one .
“When are you going to tell me what happened that night?”
I move my green beans around with my fork. “What night?”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
He thought something traumatizing happened, that was clear enough, but I don’t have any answers that will satisfy him.
“Never, if I can help it.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m fast becoming that sad old alpha on the sidelines, longing for a different result year in and year out.”
“You’ve only ever dated betas. Why are you so into the idea of matehood now?”
“I was never not into it. But I always wanted it to be special. I suppose I was saving myself for her, in a way.”
I grimace. “Right. Saving yourself for your mate by drowning in beta pussy.”
He goes quiet. Retortless, for once.
“You could be waiting forever to find your mate.”
“I could. And that scares the shit out of me.”
“So Cassandra is what, a holding pattern?”
He shrugs. “We’re friends. It may be comfortable, but that doesn’t mean we’re right for one another.”
“And how does she feel about that?”
“She’s getting tired of waiting. All her beta friends are getting married, starting families.”
I clench my teeth. “I see.”
Talking about Cassandra puts me on edge. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that he’s stayed with the woman he abandoned me for. I think I’d hate her either way, as unfair as that is to her.
We finish our meal in silence, and by the end of our session, a summer storm sweeps in and begins a steady downpour outside. The kind of storm I like to stay in and watch through a window, but don’t want to be out in. It shows no signs of letting up.
I eye the umbrella Connor propped by the door. Fucking alpha. Always perfectly prepared.
He won’t offer it to me—he’ll make me ask, make me practice needing and accepting things from him, and there’s no way I’m asking.
I check the clock, then start digging through my purse for my keys. I’ll need them at the ready if I’m going to make a mad dash through the rain to my car.
Connor tsks his tongue against his teeth.
“So stubborn. If you’re not going to ask to borrow it, then at least let me walk you to your car.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you think you’ll make more tips if you spend all shift looking like a drowned rat?”
Ugh. He’s right, and I need every dollar I can conjure if I have to buy suppressants from Jamie. Her lack of timely response is a good indicator that supply is scarce, which means her price will go up yet again.
“Fine.”
We leave the library together, drawing the eyes of patrons and staff alike. Connor Masters is a local legend, and his stature makes him impossible to miss. I imagine there’s no end to the gossip about what exactly we get up to in the study room.
We exit the alarm doors, and he pops the umbrella open with one smooth motion, then gestures for me to come closer.
As we walk, he centers me beneath the umbrella, leaving his whole left side to get soaked.
Walking so close to him, with his warmth and mass brushing against my back, makes me feel safe.
It’s a dangerous feeling. I’m getting too comfortable around him.
We walk in silence, and my mind is clouded by his scent, not focused on where I’m going.
My flip-flops catch on a wide crack in the sidewalk, and I fall forward. Connor catches the back of my shirt and pulls me up against him, but my purse and books go sliding across the pavement.
“Shit.” I dive for the books and shove them beneath my shirt to protect them from the rain.
Connor kneels beside me, umbrella handle cradled in his elbow, and helps me pick up the scattered contents of my purse.
There are soggy brown takeout napkins and receipts illegible with running ink. I mourn the tin of mints that popped open and spilled everywhere.
I grab my phone and start patting away the moisture and checking the screen for cracks as Connor puts things back in my purse.
I nab a stray tube of lip balm trying to roll down the sidewalk and turn back to him.
Connor’s still, staring at something in his hand. The umbrella’s beginning to tip in the wind.
“What’s the matter? Find a tampon or something?”
I come closer to get beneath the umbrella once more.
Then I see what he’s holding.
My empty bottle of suppressants is cradled in his too large hands.
My mind scatters, heart battering against my ribs as time warps around me. Rain slides down my face into my eyes.
His eyes lift to mine.