I tilt my head and consider for a second. I have two tapestries hanging from the ceiling to create a little indoor tent, and if I drape the fabric just so, I could include the table in my makeshift nest. No clue why I’d need a table in my nest, but it’s nice to have options, I guess.
It’s not a real nest. Not even close, but it’s hard to find just the right pillows on sale. I’m stumped on how to make it cozier with the limited space I have. There are no online style guides for improvised nests in rundown garage apartments. Not that I could do a lot of online research. My phone is so basic. I run out of data before the month is half over.
The loft isn’t much. Not even a real apartment. There’s a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a shower just big enough for me if I keep my elbows tucked in. And no real kitchen. Just a microwave and a hot plate.
It’s grungy and dark and falling apart, but I don’t care. It’s mine.
The door bangs open and I freeze.
“Where the fuck were you?” Papa says.
“I just went for a walk.” I blurt it out, and it’s not even a lie.
“A walk at this time of night?” He steps further into the apartment. Technically, it’s his apartment, over his garage. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Papa, it’s 8 p.m. You picked this neighborhood because it’s safe, didn’t you?”
“You know what can happen to an omega left alone.”
He stumbles over the tote bag, and the boots spill out. He kicks one carelessly into the corner.
“How’s the job?” he asks in that snotty tone I’d get smacked for. He doesn’t really want the answer.
“It’s great.” I force a smile.
“Making enough for rent yet?”
I cringe. He knows I’m not.
“I wouldn’t have to charge you rent if you just came back inside.”
We’ve had this argument over and over. He thinks it’s ridiculous that I don’t want my bedroom right next to his and that I’d rather live “like a stray dog in the garage”, even if it’s only twenty-five feet from his house.
My logic was that since we moved to Nashville for a fresh start, it made sense to try living on my own. He’d been drunk during that conversation, and his beta pride won’t let him go back on his word.
“I don’t like you being out after dark, Lynn,” he grumbles.
Lynn. He’s never called me Ash. I used to think it was so he wouldn’t be reminded of my mother, Ash Lee. Sometimes, I think it’s because he wants even her memory dead.
“Reed wouldn’t like it either,” he adds.
I barely hold back a sob. Just barely.
“Reed knows exactly how dangerous alphas are.” His words start to slur slightly.
I don’t respond. Any response would probably get me in trouble. By now, he’s circled the whole room. He pulls back a corner of a tapestry to peek inside, holding it between two fingers like it’s disgusting. He’s weaving on his feet and tugs a little too hard. Half the tapestry falls, and he tosses it aside. My skin feels like it shrinks three sizes.
“Is this your nest?” he asks.
I just nod. If I open my mouth, I might throw up. He used to crawl into my nest all the time, make me sit on his lap as he drank his beer. Leave his scent everywhere.
“Your heat must be coming up soon.”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead.
“I’ll have to rent a hotel room again,” he says, thinking out loud. “I’m not bringing alphas to this.”
My mouth waters, puke threatening.
