“The one that made you disappear overnight?”
I nod, throat tight. “A friend died. I was there. I…” The familiar pressure builds behind my eyes. “I ran. Afterward.”
Mickey doesn’t push, just waits. Another thing I’d forgotten about him, he knows when to shut up and listen.
“I thought I’d dealt with it. Packed it away. But lately…” I take a long swallow of whiskey. “There’s this omega. Dating my packmate.”
“And?”
“And she’s got me feeling…” I cut myself off, frustrated at my inability to articulate the storm inside me. “I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing to me. I can’t think straight around her. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. And I can’t figure out why.”
“Scent match’s a bitch,” Mickey offers.
“She’s not my fucking scent match.”
“So, she’s the past that’s come back to haunt you?”
“No.”
“Spit it. I ain’t got all day?”
“Is this what they teach you in therapy? Bully old friends over drinks?”
“Nah, I was always good at that.”
I spin my glass on the table top. What the fuck am I doing here? Ash has nothing to do with anything, and she’s not my fucking scent match.
Mickey sighs, leaning back. “Look, I don’t know what happened back then. But revenge won’t ease your conscience. Trust me on that.”
“Who said anything about revenge?”
“I’ve seen that look before. Usually right before someone does something real stupid. And it always ends in orange jumpsuits.”
I stare into my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “Maybe it’s not revenge,” I say, almost to myself. “Maybe it’s answers.”
“What kind of answers?”
“That night, when he died, it’s not… clear.”
Mickey makes a “get on with it” gesture, and I roll my eyes.
“I was drunk. There was a fight. And then he was just… gone. And I was running.” I look up at Mickey, suddenly desperate for him to understand. “I’ve been pushing it down for so long that I don’t know what’s real anymore. What I did. What I didn’t do.”
“And you think finding whoever you’re looking for will give you those answers?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“And this omega? How does she fit in?”
“Look, drop the omega. That’s a totally separate problem.”
“You ever consider that maybe you’re not as okay as you pretend to be? That maybe all this,” he gestures vaguely at me, “is you finally dealing with shit you should’ve faced years ago?”
Reed’s dead. It’s my fault however you slice it. And I ran. Leaving that all behind. And I dragged Liam with me. I’ve been bullying him for years not to talk about it, not to mention it, not to even think about it.
“Your friend,” Mickey says carefully. “Would he want you tearing yourself apart like this?”
Reed’s face flashes in my mind, not bloodied and still as I last saw him, but alive, laughing, eyes bright with that fierce protectiveness he carried for everyone he loved. For his sister, for me, for Liam. What would Reed have done? He wouldn’t have run like a chicken, or lied his ass off and be facing down the barrel of blackmail now.
