But for now, I just allow his dark smokiness to wrap around me and chase away the piercing light of truth that seems toobright to handle sometimes. There’s even the smallest hint of Ford. I know it’s Ford, because it’s the softest breeze, like a wind that rustles the needles of pine trees, trying to soothe the wildfire of anxiety threatening to burn me alive.
I know I have to get up. I have to move and get dressed. If I don’t, I’ll talk myself out of this.
The door slams shut behind me as I step out of the house. It’s cold, the sky a washed-out gray that matches the tension knotting in my chest despite the presence of my Alphas.
I should have let Ford mark me.
I shake the thought from my head and focus.
I pull my hoodie tighter around me and start walking, but when I reach the driveway, I notice that the beater truck is no longer there, but my Honda Civic is. For a moment, I pause. Who went and got my car for me?
I close my eyes and, for a moment, I just smile. Ford. It had to be Ford that went and got my vehicle for me. I make a mental note to ask him how much he paid for the damn thing so that I can start to pay him back.
But then all too soon, the heaviness of what’s about to happen weighs me down once more.
My feet drag heavily against the cracked sidewalk. My boots scrape the pavement, the sound too loud in my ears as I make my way down to the café near The Nest. I try to prepare myself for what’s to come.
I wish I had my pack with me.
By the time I reach the corner where the café is, I’m almost sick with anxiety. My breath comes in shallow bursts as I try to calm myself down. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not the girl who ran from town.
I’m someone else now.
Someone who’s learned how to survive without them.
But somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough.
Beck and the small essence of Ford work in tandem in my chest, massaging around my heart and trying to get it to calm down. When I push open the door to the café, the bell jingles too cheerfully, and I can’t help but wince.
I hesitate, my eyes flicking over the crowd, searching for the familiar faces of my parents. I spot them almost immediately. Mom sitting with her hands folded neatly on the table, eyes as sharp as glass, Dad lounging back in the chair as if he owns the place, his eyes scanning the room.
I hate this.
I want my Alphas.
I want my Hayes.
I’m so stupid for doing this alone.
My heart pounds in my chest, fast and erratic, and before I can stop it, a bitter, burned sugar scent surrounds me. The tension thickens, a physical force pushing against my skin. My pulse quickens, and I can feel the heat rising up my neck, the blood rushing to my head.
I swallow, trying to breathe, but I’m suffocating under their expectations, under the strain of their disappointment.
I regret bonding Beck for a moment, because I know he can feel this when he has a job that requires his full attention at all times. But just as quickly as the feeling pops up, a swirl of smoke snuffs out the raging fire threatening to swallow me whole, and the soft wind of Ford pushes the dizzying heat from my head.
My stomach churns as I take a slow, steadying breath before walking toward them. I hate that I ruck my hoodie up a bit, masking the still-healing mating mark on my neck from Beck. The last thing I need is my family breathing down his neck as well. His life is too important here for them to meddle in it just because I’ve been reckless.
The clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation fills the space, but it all feels so far away. All I can hear is the thudding of my own heart.
When they see me, there’s no warmth, no recognition of the girl they used to know. Just that same cold, calculating gaze that I’ve been running from for years.
The moment I sit down across from them, the atmosphere in the café seems to thicken, the space between us charged with all the things we never said, all the things we never could say.
Mom’s eyes flash with disdain, her fingers tapping on the table in a rhythm that matches the rapid beat of my heart.
“You really think you can just come back here, Louisa?” she says, dripping with calm venom. “After everything? You thought you could sneak back into this town without us noticing? Jesus Christ. Not only did you screw us over back then and run us out of town, but now you’re back like you didn’t do anything wrong?”
I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Is she serious? Is shestillnot ready to accept responsibility for what they did? My throat tightens, and I bite back the words that want to pour out.
