Mirabelle rolls down the back passenger window, leaning past Rage to look at me.
“You do look pretty sweaty, Griffin,” she says.
I clutch at my heart like I was just shot. “Ah! You wound me, Sweetheart.”
“Stop trying to claim my trauma for yourself,” Rowan says with a huff of laughter.
“I’m gonna claim your seat in the back,” Ash mutters, wrenching open the back door and slipping in next to Mirabelle so she’s sandwiched between him and Rage.
“Guess I’m sitting shotgun then,” Rowan shrugs. “Unless you want me to drive?”
“Nah, I’m driving,” I say, releasing him from under my admittedly sweaty arm. I lower my voice so Mirabelle can’t hear. “We’re all packed up, right? Everything from the old room is in the back?”
“All packed up,” Rowan nods. “We going to change places or something?”
“Yeah,” I say, a toothy grin splitting my face. “We’re gonna get some place fancy. Place with 24/7 room service or something.”
“Seriously? That’s fucking awesome, man! Is it a surprise?”
“Totally, I want to see the look on Mirabelle’s face when we roll up to it. Fanciest hotel in the Southside. Used to drive past it as a kid.”
Rowan’s excitement mirrors mine as he makes his way to the passenger side.
I was a little worried Mirabelle would notice Rowan and I were talking outside, but she seems focused on making sure Ash is okay.
“That guy sounds mean, but he can’t do anything to you,” she murmurs, running her nails over Ash’s scalp. “You’re okay.”
I meet his gaze in the rear-view mirror. His glare says one thing:don’t say shit about me being babied right now.
And I don’t. Because sometimes we all need a good hit of Mirabelle’s sunshine and reassurance. And he doesn’t have the bond to fall back on yet.
“How was your night, Rage?” I ask, glancing at the big guy as I turn over my shoulder to back out of the parking spot we’re in.
“Fine...” Rage says. “Really loud.”
He’s been talking a lot more. There’s obviously some lingering physical damage to his vocal cords, but without going to a doctor to get some x-rays and testing done, none of us know the full extent of it. But it seems like a big part of his inability to talk at the farm was a mix of a mental block and the ridiculous amount of drugs they had him on.
The withdrawals have been the worst for him, I think. He complains the least, but I see the way he clings to Mirabelle’s side, constantly touching her in one way or the other and soaking in her perfume.
It’s the only thing that eases that violent, buzzing itch beneath our skin.
We’re lucky as hell we have her with us because I think the withdrawals from the ridiculous doses we were forced to take would drive us insane.
Now that we kind of know how they work—and how they’re made from the blood of tortured omegas—I can kind of see in a twisted way why being around an omega that’s happy can really help reverse whatever fucked up effects it had on us.
“How was ... your night?” Rage asks slowly.
“Hm? My night? Same old, same old. Gave a good show, got a fuckton of money. You know, it’s nice getting all the money to myself instead of having my dad divvy it up and giving me a fraction while he blew the rest on God knows what.”
“Same old... is good then,” Rage says with a nod.
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”
“I think it was good ‘cause you guys didn’t get hurt!” Mirabelle says, smiling brightly. “I could actually watch without being super scared.”
“Glad it wasn’t like before,” I say, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. “I like the idea of rewriting those shitty experiences and making new ones, what do you guys think?”
“I’ve loved all the experiences we’ve had so far! Like shopping and eating good food and being able to go wherever we want whenever we want, even though that was scary at first.” Mirabelle’s excitement is infectious. It’s been a highlight of our time out here.
