“No.” I grab his arm as he passes. I mean to just stop him, but I fling him back into the wall instead. “This is what you do all the time. You storm out or get me into bed to win every argument.”
“OK, let’s take a break,” says Liam, ever the peacemaker.
“And you, too.” I shrug off Liam’s hand on my arm. “Pierce storms off, and then you come in playing peacekeeper to smooth it all out. Fuck that.”
Liam shouts, “Hey” to my retreating back. I snatch my gear bag off the floor and curse under my breath. I should have seen the doc. I can’t afford an injury right now.
“Where are you going? What are you doing?” Liam has a note of panic in his voice.
“Pierce gets to storm off all the time. My fucking turn.”
Pierce is suddenly in front of the door. “No. You’re not getting in the car. You’re not driving. Your pupils are all jacked. I bet it’s another concussion.”
“I’d rather have brain damage than be here right now. Get out of my way.”
I body-check Pierce, sending him stumbling into the couch.
“Don’t—”
“Fuck you,” I cut Pierce off.
I pound down the porch steps and throw my bags in the car.
“Beckett, please. He’s just…” Liam holds the door as I turn the key and the engine revs.
“He’s just what? A dick?” My jaw hardens. “I need some time away.”
“Please, look, he’s right, you shouldn’t drive. I could…”
“Stop mothering me, Liam. And stop covering for his bullshit.”
He steps back.
“I don’t want to be half in a pack,” I say, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“Beckett, please…”
I slam my door and tires squeal as I peel out of the driveway. Pierce is right. I shouldn’t be driving. But I just can’t be here anymore.
Chapter five
ASH
That’sperfect.
I set the tote bag down, and one of the cute little ankle boots I found tumbles out. I pick it up and dust it off. Just one little scuff on the toe. I should be able to polish it out. I give the bag a shake, then lean it against the fence, turning my attention to the little gem of a table. It’s perfect nightstand height. I wish it had a drawer to hide things in, but that’s fine. I push on a corner. A tiny wobble I could fix with a bit of glue. Some sandpaper and a coat of spray paint, it’ll be as good as new.
This neighborhood isn’t the best. It’s not high-end or gated, but it still amazes me what people throw out.
I adjust the bag on my shoulder and balance the table against my hip. I’m a block away from home, so I don’t even need alpha strength to get it there.
I hesitate in the drive like always. Papa left the gate open so I can just push it in. The stairs squeak, and I still haven’t figured out how to fix it. I have this awful fear that if I even try to tinker with it, the whole rickety staircase leading to the garage loft will just tumble apart. Probably with me on it.
I use my teeth to hold the tote and pull my key from my pocket. I awkwardly glance back at the house. Once inside, I close the door softly and set the table down, placing the bag on top. I fish the pocket knife from my back pocket and tuck it into the plant. It looked like it was dying when I brought it home, and it hasn’t improved much. It’s the plant’s fault, not mine. Yeah, I’ll go with that.
“So much for the nurturing nature of omegas,” I mutter. I scatter a few of the dead leaves to conceal the knife.
Sliding the little table next to my futon, I step back with my hands on my hips. It is just the right height. All I need now is a lamp and it’ll look downright cozy.
