Nope, he doesn’t deserve an ounce of my time.
Instead of answering, I turn the device face-down on the coffee table and lay down on the couch, curling into myself, fingers shaking, lips trembling, sniffling.
I keep telling myself they’re just being polite. Just checking in. They’re good men. Kind men. Men who saved me when I needed saving. Men who kissed me like I mattered for one night. But that’s all it was—a night. A moment.
The thoughts go on repeating in my brain as I try to convince myself of anything else other than they used me. Betrayed me. Broke my heart.
Them caring and loving me is a mistake I shouldn’t have let myself believe.
I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, only to be startled awake by someone shaking my shoulder. The hand is heavy, yet familiar. His scent wraps around me, coconut.
James.
The only man other than my father and brother that I can count on. Too bad he’s gay. Just the thought of seeing a vagina, much less touching one, has him gagging.
He doesn’t pull away to find out what’s wrong; he just holds me tighter, his hand rubbing my back, trying to comfort me. He doesn’t rush me. James just lets me fall apart in his arms until I pull away.
He signs, not even bothering with talking.
I saw the news report. Did you know?
Shaking my head, I begin to sign everything to him in a frantic rush: my conversation with the guys, the PR post, how stupid I feel.
I see the way James’ brows furrow as he processes everything. He doesn’t rush to respond, or cut in. He lets me finish, and only then does he answer.
Bayleigh, I love you more than anything. And I’ll always have your back. We can ride at dawn to roast those alpha knotsto a crisp. But something doesn’t seem right. The way they were with you, to then just run off and meet with the matchmaker and accept the omega they’re offering to them on a silver platter?
But they did. I insist.They didn’t even tell me they had a meeting. They just hid it from me. Even Lincoln. That’s what hurts the most. We had the strongest connection.
Yes. And they are in the wrong for that. But it doesn’t make sense. Talk to them. Let them explain. Then if you still feel the same way, cut them loose.
I’ll think about it. I just want to be alone right now.
Bayleigh.
I take hold of his hands, stopping him.
“Please.”I use my voice, knowing it will make a greater impact than any signing.
His eyes tear, and he nods his head. I love that he doesn’t make a big production of me speaking. He knew I could. It’s just never something I’ve done around him. Until now.
“I’m going to go. But if you need me, I’ll be back. Just message me.”
“Thank you,” slips hoarsely across my lips.
“Bayleigh. Just talk to them. Give them a chance to explain.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. As much as I want to let them explain, the pain that will come with the truth is unbearable to think about.
My eyes stay glued on him until he steps out the door, shutting it behind him. Now that he’s gone and I’m alone again, the pressure builds in my chest until I feel like I’m drowning in it. I need air. Space. Quiet. Somewhere where I’m not accessible for anyone to walk in on me. Where I don’t have to retell the story to anyone.
Standing up, I pick up my purse and keys from the hook by the door. Benton must have hung them up there. I don’tremember doing it. I don’t have a destination of where I want to go. I just drive aimlessly through the city, while trying to clear my head. But everything I see reminds me of them. The twinkling lights in the bakery window remind me of Lincoln’s smile. The older couple sitting on a park bench, holding hands, remind me of Milton’s softness. Every stoplight hits me with the memory of Korbin’s devastating protectiveness.
It hurts to even breathe their names. When I see the sign for the town park, I decide to go there. I don’t get out of the car, just pull into a spot and sit in the empty parking lot. Only then do I let myself break down—again—crying silently, shoulders shaking, gasping for air.
My phone continues to go off. But I don’t answer any of them. I don’t even message anyone to tell them where I’m at.
Maybe it’s better it happened this way. Milton, Korbin, and Lincoln are better off without me. They deserve someone they don’t have to accommodate. They should be able to talk freely and not worry about if they are positioned where I can read their lips or be with someone that they have to learn how to sign for. Them doing this now, and me not responding, is just saving us all from them having to cut me loose later.
