The bitter thoughts only darken my mood further, as the guilt my anger causes sinks right into my fucking soul.
“Of course. Sorry, Plumdrop. Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’m always here for you,” he murmurs before heading to another area of the tree farm, giving me the space I asked for but maybe didn’t truly want. Despite not snapping at him this time, he still freaking pouts as he walks away.Gah!
It irks my soul how freaking whiny he sounds. Always here for me? Right.Well then, where the fuck were you when I was a kid and hadn’t eaten all fucking weekend?
“Stupid alphas and their stupid bullshit,” I hiss, lining up the next log and blasting it with my axe. “Mother-fucking betas and their mother-fucking insanity!” I growl, already reaching for another.
“Uh, Plum?” Tony, one of the guys that works the farm, says cautiously as he approaches. Thankfully, his voice and scent don’t tend to have the same aggravating impact that my father’s do.
Tony is basically a second father to me. He’s worked on the farm with my dad since they were twenty and this place first opened. He knew my mom. He was here when I was born. Most importantly, he’s the one who finally snapped my dad back to reality, once he realized how bad things had gotten for me.
Though, that was largely thanks to Kai’s mom, Mrs. Berrywill, or Bee, as she likes to be called. If it wasn’t for Kai and Sable telling Bee and her best friend, Grams—Sable’s grandma—I don’t know if things ever would’ve gotten better. Tony might have realized it on his own eventually, but he wasn’t around much in that first year after Mom’s death.
The farm almost went under that year, and it made everything worse.
I’m lucky I had Sable feeding me at lunch when there wasn’t any money in my school account to cover my meals, which was every day that first year. And that Kai and I had the same bus stop. He started bringing me food for the weekends. It’s something little Plum will always be grateful for, but I’m not that kid anymore.
Once Bee and Grams figured out what was going on, they got Tony to help. He’s an alpha and was the closest person to my dad back then. I still don’t know what happened the night Tony confronted my father, but I witnessed the fallout after. Their friendship was never the same, but at least Dad was making sure I was fed again and giving Bee money to take me shopping for appropriate clothes that actually fit.
I was fifteen when my dad finally seemed to snap out of his fog of devastation long enough to fully see the reality of the harmhis actions had caused. By then, I didn’t need him anymore, and his attempts to reconnect only angered me.
“Hey Tony,” I sigh, deflating as his concerned scent reaches me, and the soothing familiar smells of the older alpha fill my lungs. Worn leather and oak sink into my tired system, and I nearly crumble into the safety of it.
I leave the axe wedged in the chopping block and turn to face him.
“You good, kid?” he asks, tilting his head, watching me carefully.
“Never better. Why would anything be less thanfantastic?I mean, it’s not like my ex is running around Gravewood four fucking weeks early!?” I’m shouting, unleashing all my frustration on Tony, who takes every bit of my fire with ease. That’s Tony, though. When I rage, he just absorbs it, sending back only comfort and acceptance.
“You should probably keep cracking logs. I’m sure the poor form and excessive rage are really helping,” he says sarcastically, lifting a brow at me.
“Oh, what do you know?” I grumble, looking away.
“I know you ain’t one to come out here smackin’ wood unless you’re feeling some type of way. You like to let your frustrations out in your art, so what are you really lookin’ for out here, Puddin’?” I can feel his tender gaze on me.
“I could use a hug,” I admit quietly, and Tony is stepping into me before I even finish speaking, wrapping me up in a protective alpha bear hug.
He holds me so tightly that it’s a bit of a struggle to breathe, but that's exactly how I like my hugs. Tony’s never been one to offer up physical affection, worried that it crosses a boundary even all these years later, but when I need it, when I ask for it, he’s always there. It’s something I’m truly grateful for at the moment. I press my face to his chest, breathing in his woodsyfragrance of old leather and oak—and everything else that my father’s scent hasn’t been since I was little.
“Go on then, get back to your workshop. Go make pretty stuff for me to buy for my mate and daughters.” He chuckles, patting his beefy hand over my back. Tony’s mate is a wonderful omega, and their two daughters are five and six years older than me. Even with two kids of his own, he’s still found a way to accept me into his heart.
I nod, sucking in a deep breath, and head away from the field. When I was seventeen, my father built my workshop on the farm. I live closer to the center of town in an apartment but come out here to make my stained glass ornaments and other glass art.
Backing up to the edge of the trees that line the property, the sixteen-by-twelve-foot dark green workshop has clapboard siding and black accents. Copper-tin panels make up the roof, broken up by skylights to let in as much natural light as possible. It’s my own slice of heaven with its small garden and wrought iron table set that I can take a break at when I’ve been working for a while.
As I step through the glass double front doors and breathe in deeply, my shoulders relax. This is my happy place. My safe space. Here, I can let go and just be me.
Between the skylights and the large sliding glass windows, the natural light in my studio space is so bright I rarely need to turn on the overhead lighting. Along the back wall, the only one without a window, is a tall custom-built shelving unit with upright slots. It holds the sheets of glass in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors I keep on hand and the drawers that I store my tools in. The large workbench and light table that take up the bulk of the space are currently covered with neatly organized cut glass that I’ve already foiled for assembly.
After putting on my apron and turning on the overhead exhaust for the fumes, I pull the tray with the next piece to work on over to me.
Despite my best efforts, as the clock hanging on the whitewashed walls ticks over the next hour, I can’t concentrate on keeping my soldering neat, let alone finish an entire piece. My mind is blank, and all I can think about is last night. The way Benson made me feel. The way Kai looked at us. The lie Benson helped me sell.
“That doesn’t sound serious,” Kai says again, breaking the spell between Benson and me.
“Does it need to be serious to be real?” I ask as I jerk my head to look at Kai once again. Why the hell is he here? Just to mess with me? He hates Halloween, or at least, he used to. “We’re leaving,” I growl, dragging Benson away from my ex. He lets me, not protesting as we make our way out of the bar and into the parking lot. I couldn’t take another second under Kai’s intense, watchful gaze.
“Hey, slow down. He’s not following us,” Benson says softly, pulling me to a stop between two parked cars and taking my hand in his when I release his bicep.
