By the time six p.m. rolls around, we’ve already made the decision.
If she won’t answer us—if she can’t—then, we’re going to her house.
We refuse to let another minute pass wondering why she’s not answering us.
Bayleigh Lennox isn’t just some omega anymore.
She’s ours.
Whether she realizes it yet or not.
40
Bayleigh
Air won’t stayin my lungs. It keeps slipping out in these shaky little bursts while the space beneath my sternum tightens, like invisible hands pressing down until I’m sure something inside me will crack. I fold forward without meaning to, like my body is trying to protect what’s already breaking. Thinking about them hurts most of all.
They lied to me. Made me feel like I was wanted. But they knew all along about this meeting and never once uttered a word to me. Was this all a game? Their feelings toward me felt so real. Fuck, they were masterful in their acting. Pretending to care just to make me the butt of their sick joke. Benton was right. I was a fool.
I don’t remember the drive home, but somehow I managed to pull into the driveway without crashing. Without hurting someone or myself with blissful unawareness. The moment I see the familiar vehicle parked there, my stomach sinks.
Benton’s home.
Of course he is. Why wouldn’t the universe throw more fuel on the flame?
I already know what he’s going to say without even seeing him sign or reading his lips. How he warned me. How he told me this is exactly what would happen. That Korbin, Lincoln and Milton are exactly the assholes he professed they were.
Just the thought of the lecture he’s going to give me makes my throat tighten, the ache behind my eyes flaring all over again.
My eyes drift up, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, and I hate what I see: swollen eyes, mascara smudging at the corners, cheeks blotchy from crying too hard, too long.
He’s going to know. There’s no way I can walk in the house and have him see me and not know that my heart is breaking.
I wipe the tears away with the back of my sleeve, trying to erase the evidence, run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it out. At the same time, I’m trying to force myself to take steady breaths. But the moment I step out of the car and walk up the driveway, I feel the façade I tried to build up cracking into pieces.
As I climb the porch steps on shaky legs, I think about turning and leaving. But I don’t. I open the door—and he’s right there.
Benton.
Standing in the entryway like he’s been waiting the entire time. His arms are crossed at first, jaw set, eyes guarded in that big-brother,don’t make me say I told you so.
But the second he really looks at me, everything in him softens. His face falls. His shoulders drop.
“Come here,” his lips move as he signs, just before opening his arms.
That one act undoes me completely. The fact that he cares more about comforting me than gloating.
I don’t walk to him. I run. A broken, desperate sprint straight into his chest, burying myself in the safety of his arms, the oneplace I don’t have to pretend, don’t have to be strong. I’m able to be broken.
He wraps his arms around me instantly. Protecting me. Like he can shield me from everything that just shattered.
And the moment his chin rests on the top of my head, the dam breaks again.
He just holds me, giving me the comfort I need. I don’t know how long we stand there, but he finally pulls away, takes my hands in his and leads me over to the couch.
“Is this about the press release that’s all over the internet and television?” he asks, my eyes focused on his hands when I see his lips start to move.
There’s no way I can look him in the face. I don’t sign. I don’t speak. I just nod.
