I roll my eyes at his dramatics but pinch him to get his full attention. “Get this, Keegan. I’m actually a big girl and have survived up to now without your meddling. Stop treating me like I'm incapable.”
His eyes flare, and shock echoes over his face, making his sweetness fade. “When did I treat you like you weren’t capable?”
I spin away from him, needing the distance. His touch and attention do strange things to my independence. It irks me how easily it happens. Standing on the opposite side of the islandgives me the space I need to think clearer. “You purposely drugged me.”
He pulls a face. “Not just me. We all did.”
“Kind of a moot point, wouldn’t you say? Anyway, let’s move on. We’ve got lots to talk about. Where are the others?” I swing open the fridge as a way to deal with him.
I remember Keegan being intense in Genoa, but I must have been drunker than I remember because he’s all over the place with his shitty attitude one second, his over-the-top personality making me swoon the next. I shouldn’t respond to him, but I do.
“Tynan,” I call over my shoulder, and he’s up on his feet in an instant. “Tell me the truth—is any of this food drugged?”
“You didn’t want to ask me?” Keegan asks, his voice edged with anger and dipped with dangerous suggestions. Making a point only I get.
“Nope,” I answer Keegan while not looking away from Tynan.
He doesn’t see the humor in my question; at the same time, I wasn’t trying to be funny. Nor does he get antsy at getting called out, like Keegan did. He’s just his usual levelheaded, calm self. “No, I made it.”
I actually figured that out for myself, given the plates are an example of perfect portioning with maximum nutritional loading. You could seriously post a picture of the fridge and put it on the gym's socials, and it wouldn’t look out of place.
Tynan purposely moves himself into the space between Keegan and me, and his presence acts like a screen. Almost instantly, Keegan’s domineering is easier to manage, like someone has dimmed his switch. I hide my surprise by moving fast and stretching more than I should, barely hiding the groan when my side reminds me of my injury.
Wordlessly, Tynan’s there. He grabs the plate for me while also steering me out of the kitchen. “I’ll do that for you. Go sit.”
His scent is so faint compared to the way Keegan’s basically slaps you, I’m sure some people would miss it, but I don’t. Like a steadying hand or a shoulder to lean on, his lemon verbena scent settles me more and more with each second that passes. At the gym we were like this. Kind of.
“Why were you weird at the gym that day?” I swing around. My voice isn’t like a shrill or a sass like it is when I speak with Keegan. It’s softer, more balanced and less hyper.
He doesn’t answer, instead heating up food, gathering a tray, and setting it all up like room service. When he looks up at me, there’s a hint of impatience that has me rushing to sit down like he told me to. From the kitchen, his focus is split on making sure everything is happening on time and to making sure I’m doing what he said. He eventually carries it over, and I get the response I was waiting for.
“Lots of reasons. You being hurt and upset was a big one.” He places the tray on my lap, then settles a pillow behind my back, and turns on the lamp next to me. Then he sits back in the chair he was in when I walked out. “But bigger was the fact I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize me. Or you weren’t saying you did, because you were looking at me like we knew each other.”
Tynan’s focus goes to the food on my lap, and he refuses to glance away from my plate or talk again until I’ve started eating. The message is clear—eat first, talk next. Keegan’s mobile rings, and he starts pacing up and down the hallway, winding my anxiety back up. Tynan gets up and sits on the edge of the table, blocking Keegan, tempering my moods and emotions to something calmer like he did before.
I’ve worked with Betas, but my time with them has been limited, so I don’t know if I’m responding to Tynan’s designation or to him being a scent match. It’s intriguing, not confusing, and I’m in no rush to figure everything out if it means I get to simplyspend time with him. After a few more bites, I lay my knife and fork down.
“At the gym, I was pissed off two mutty girls served me a reminder I’d been sitting on my laurels too long. My ego was bruised as much as my face was. Throw in the fact I thought you were someone else, and things got pretty loud inside my head very quickly.”
“You thought I was Rafferty,” he clarifies, his demeanor calm and mellow. Buffering me from Keegan, who’s getting louder and walking faster behind him.
Tynan taps his fingers on his thigh, giving me a focus again.
“Yeah. Did he tell you what happened between us?”
“He’s my twin. There’s not a lot we don’t share.”
My eyes flare, and a blush pinks my cheeks. It’s not embarrassment or shame. I’m not sure what it is, actually, but it’s not an awful feeling.
“He’s an Omega, and let’s just say, there’s part of his designation Rafferty loves. His sexuality included.”
I don’t miss the suggestion Rafferty doesn’t like everything to do with being an Omega, but I leave it, already knowing it’s not up to Tynan to explain.
“Keep eating.”
I do as he says, and I let his very nature wash over me while I eat. His nature and subtle scent are an added and necessary boost to my energy.
Chapter Twenty-Five
