I nod my head and dip my biscotti in the hot coffee, selfish fear gripping my spine. Am I going to lose Piper? I want her to be in a relationship and be happy. I want that for myself too. It just doesn’t seem to be happening for me. It’s probably something that I’m doing, right? All of these Omegas at school seem to really connect with an Alpha or are really into their scents. I feel like an asshole for only being into their knots, and then being irritated when they don’t want anything more.
Even Piper, who is a serial non-monogamous Alpha, is dating someone. Maybe I need to get my priorities straight.
“I’d love to meet him, Pipes.” She smiles and takes a sip of coffee. Her gaze squints out the window, and I follow her line of sight. Three massive—I’m assuming Alpha—backs are facing us as they walk to the black truck we parked next to. Piper furrows her brow. I don’t catch their faces but shrug my shoulders at the encounter.
I enjoy my coffee, and my best friend and I try so fucking hard to think about not getting left behind.
Chapter four
IgroanasIwake up, blinking and seeing nothing but a blurry black blob in front of me. He decides to thoroughly lick my face by way of saying good morning. Mindlessly, I reach for my glasses on the side table and put them on my face. The sun is rising, and I stretch in bed, knowing that I’ll miss the warmth, but if I don’t get up now, I won’t get up at all.
“Let’s get ready, boy.” I pat his head and let him outside as I get ready, putting in my contacts and dressing warmly. I keep my hair down, loose around my back, as I put on a wool cap. When I let Hank in, I put his vest on. It has pockets, and he carries our snacks, water, and my skates as I get my boots, jacket, and gloves on.
Say what you want about big dogs, but Hank loves being useful, and he loves the snow. We’re kinda made for each other.
The lake is about a mile walk, but I don’t enjoy driving, let alone in the snow and ice. My boots have spikes on them to help me not eat shit. I’m not a terribly clumsy person, but anything can happen when you’re walking on snow and ice. Hank also walks close beside me, never walking too far ahead or astray. We both love these days when we get to spend most of the day outside. He gets to roll around in the snow and cool off, and I get to forget all about school. He’s slightly miserable in the summer, but it could be worse.
I smile at the beautiful scenery, the trees covered in thick snow, the lake completely frozen over with a thick blanket of ice. I grab the blanket off of Hank’s vest and put it on the ground as I take my boots off, storing them on the blanket and putting on my skates. They’re old, nearly a decade old, but they’re broken in and perfect on the ice. They were originally white, but at this point, they’re more of a tan color. I lace up the pink laces, making sure they’re tight enough around my ankles.
I smile down as I look at the worn skates. Nothing but good memories of my dad taking me out on this very lake and holding my hand as we skated together. Or when he would drive me into town and take me to the indoor rink for lessons. My parents didn’t have a ton of disposable income, but when I told them I wanted to learn how to skate, they made it happen. I went to group classes and would go to open skates. I smile at the memories even though sometimes they hurt so fucking bad I want to crack into a million pieces.
I pet Hank and kiss his head, relieve him of all of our items, and put them on the blanket. He knows to stay nearby and not walk on the ice. He just walks around lazily and plops down on the snow now and then and uses his snout to dig. “Be a good boy,” I tell him. He acknowledges me by raising his head, but continues to explore.
My arms are out by my sides, holding my balance as I walk on the skates, reaching the lake’s edge. As soon as I’m on the pristine surface, I sigh as the sharp edge of my skate leads me farther out onto the ice. The air is so fresh; the surrounding sounds are so quiet as I glide over the ice. It feels like I’m floating as my feet carry me in a small circle.
I never thought I was going to be a figure skater, but I know a few tricks. Really, I just love skating, the feeling of the cold snowy air hitting my skin and the weightlessness of going too fast over the smooth surface.
Sometimes on the ice, it’s like my head is clear. Skating has a deep sense of nostalgia for me, and sometimes it makes life seem simpler. Like all I have to focus on is keeping myself balanced and feeling the cold air against my skin. I’m not thinking about my issues at Mercy, or all the other overwhelming shit that can consume me if I let it. I’m just Charlotte, and I can live in the moment completely.
I just simply skate. I do a small twirl and love the dizzying feeling it gives me. With my arms close to my chest, I do another one. My cheeks are cold, and smiling makes my teeth cold, but I can’t help the grin that takes over my face.
It’s like I’m in my own snow globe of happiness. It’s just me, and the lake, and Hank is around here somewhere. I’m so caught up in me and how light I feel I don’t even notice at first the guys on the other side of the lake. I squint, seeing three large bodies holding sticks and one smaller one holding a stick as well. I shrug and just keep to my small corner of the lake, holding in this happiness for as long as I possibly can.
I do a spot check and make sure Hank is nearby. His gaze is facing the newcomers on the ice, but he doesn’t make a move toward them, just observing.
My calves are feeling a little overworked, but I push past the burn, skating backwards and in a circle doing a few spins. My lungs feel like they may explode, a combination of the skating and how cold the air is. I should take a break, eat a snack, take a drink, and warm up. Reluctantly, I skate toward where my blanket is off the ice. I applaud myself for being an Omega who takes care of herself. I’m nearly to my little set up by the ice when I’m hit with such an intense force it makes me fall to the ice.
My feet in skates don’t hold me up as I go down harshly, the back of my head hitting the ice. My hand clutches my chest where whatever the fuck hit me made contact. I thought my lungs hurt before, but now they’re screaming. I blink my eyes and can’t see shit, and I wonder how hard I hit my head.
“Mother fucking cocksucker,” I mumble under my breath.
“Holy fucking shit,” I hear a deep voice say.
“Kid, you can’t just slap shot and not know where the puck is going.” That voice is a little mean, slightly accented, but not an accent I’m unfamiliar with. Maybe French Canadian?
I’m nearly wheezing. My head is throbbing. For some reason, my nose feels wet. And don’t get me started on how bad my left tit hurts. I groan and hear a bark in the distance. No doubt Hank is worrying about me. I try to sit up, but feel dizzy and lie back down instead.
“You probably really hurt that kid. You need to be more careful.” That accent is different from the first, but I can’t help but like it. His voice is soft and commanding at the same time, while still having a softer edge.
The sound of skates hitting the ice fast and hard booms through my ears before there are three loud scratches against the ice.
“Hey, kid, you okay?” the one with the deep voice says. I remove my gloved hand from my face and whine. It’s pathetic, but I’m hurt.
“I’m not a fucking kid,” I groan.
“Clearly not,” the soft voiced one says.
The mean voiced one starts spouting out a string of phrases I can’t understand, and I touch my head again. Oh my god, did I hit my head so hard that I can’t understand?
