I place the car into park and kill the engine, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I hit something.
Something happened.
My breaths come in frantic gulps, and my vision whites out as the rain pours down on the windshield.
I killed someone, again.
I put my face in my hands and whimper, fear leaving me frozen in my seat.
But then there’s knock on my driver’s side window, and Travis is there, his face twisted in concern.
Then, I realize what I’ve done.
I knocked over their trashcans.
That’s all.
The wind howls around him. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice muffled by the storm.
I know he’s asking if I’m injured, but the way he’s looking at me makes my resolve break.
No.
I’m not okay.
I haven’t been okay since I scent matched with Ryland.
I haven’t been okay since I met Travis and secretly wished I could have him.
Actually, I haven’t been okay since before two years ago.
Sighing, I shake my head.
Travis doesn’t hesitate. He opens my car door, and when I don’t move, reaches over my chest to unbuckle my seatbelt. His smokey scent swirls around me, and I don’t protest as he helps me out of the car. I grab my phone from the center console, then slam the driver’s door behind me and face him, his body shielding my face from the worst of the rain and wind.
“It’s not safe out there right now,” his voice booms over the wind. “Just stay until the rain lets up.”
The shame, shock, and agony of the evening finally come to a head.
Tears leak from my eyes, and I step forward into Travis, burying my face in his chest before he can see my face scrunch up in sorrow.
The storm is too loud for him to hear me weep, but he wraps a strong hand around my back, pressing me tighter to him.
He doesn’t say anything. He just lets me cry as the rain pours down on us.
His Alpha scent, though delicious and welcoming, only makes me sob harder.
I hate how much it comforts me, especially tonight.
Tonight should be spent in mourning and remembrance, not with me selfishly seeking comfort from an Alpha.
I finally pull away from Travis when his sweatshirt is soaked and my hair is sopping wet.
Only then does he lead me inside, keeping a gentle, steady hand at the small of my back.
