how to rent an apartment
can you stop a heat cycle naturally
how do I get id
how to tell if you’re being watched
what happens if youcall the police
parents heat
I stare at the list and force my fists to unclench.
“What the fuck are you into, Ash?” I whisper to myself.
My phone buzzes and a message alert from Beckett pops up.
Beckett:
Did she break the tablet? Can we buy her a new one? Did she get there yet?
I told him she was coming over to watch the game.
I type “Becks, I think she’s in trouble, we need to talk” but delete it.
Liam:
Her text said she needed help. Not that it was broken. Can’t wait for the game.
I need more. I need more information before freaking Beckett out with this. A search history isn’t evidence of dick.
I need her full name. With that, I can run a proper background check, trace her movements, find out who she really is and what she’s running from. I’m not above searching her wallet.
Wait. She doesn’t drive. Maybe she doesn’t have an ID at all?
I can use Beckett. I can sign her up for a streaming service to watch the Scorpions and Beckett play. Have her put in all her information and get her set up.
The doorbell’s chime startles me so badly that I nearly drop the tablet. I close all the browser tabs and flip the cover closed. When I open the door, and she’s standing there in her rundown coat and nervous gestures, I want to scream at how young and vulnerable she looks.
“Hey,” she says, voice soft against the evening air. “Am I late?”
I step aside to let her in, careful to keep my face neutral despite the storm of concern raging inside me. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “The game hasn’t started yet.”
As she steps past me into the house, her peach scent immediately fills the room. I hold out my hand for her coat and she flinches. All that alpha bullshit of wanting to tear down whatever it is that makes an omega so jumpy settles into my jaw. Thank god Beckett has great insurance in case I crack a tooth from clenching my jaw so hard.
I lead Ash down the basement stairs, watching how she grips the railing, how her eyes dart around the space like she’s mapping exits and scanning for threats. Just like Pierce does. I pinch the bridge of my nose at the realization that the two of them probably have more in common than I want to admit. Her search history makes so much sense if, like Pierce and Reed, she had shit parents who couldn’t find the line between abuse and discipline with two hands and floodlights.
“Make yourself comfortable.” I play the gracious host and gesture to the sofa.
The basement has transformed since this morning. What was once a sparse entertainment area is now a nest of comfort, pillows arranged strategically along the sectional, thick blankets draped over armrests, bowls of popcorn, nuts, and chocolate within easy reach. I’ve dimmed the overhead lights and turned on the amber floor lamps instead.
Ash pauses at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes widening slightly at the setup. “Wow. You went all out.”
Fuck. I spent all day building her a nest without even realizing it.
“Beckett’s game days are sacred around here,” I say with a practiced casualness, though this display has nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with the alpha instinct screaming inside me.
She settles into the corner of the sectional that’s set up to perfectly cradle her criss-cross-applesauce. The posture makes her look smaller, more vulnerable. I want to wrap her in a billion blankets. Bubble wrap. Bullet proof armor.
