I’d expected an instantly exploding atom bomb inside. Instead, I’d simply found a copy of my contract, along with another, smaller envelope marked ‘client letter’. My eyes roved over the contract, reading it more carefully this time. There weren’t any surprises now. Everything I’d willfully ignored that first day at The Institute had jarringly come to life after I’d scent-matched.
Curiously, I turned the client letter over, slipping my index finger beneath the flap to tear it open.
Swooping, sharp script ran in neat, regimented lines. There wasn’t a greeting, no polite ‘dear’ or ‘hello’. The message was only a paragraph. They hoped I wasn’t too nervous. They looked forward to meeting me. They...they?The client wasn’t one Alpha. I locked onto the bottom of the narrow page where four signatures ended the message. That first name, if I was reading it correctly, was such a coincidence. But Tray Rivers probably wasn’t such an uncommon moniker. My pulse quickened as I read the next. Then the third.
Yet it was the final, and fourth, name, with the sharp R and the too large H which somehow swooped into the adjacent e. Messy and deliberate. A signature I’d seen a million times. He’d written this letter himself. Ryder. Hendrix.
It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t possible.
This plane wasn’t heading just towards Los Angeles. It was headed towards my worst memory.
Who were now my mates.
27
RYDER
LOS ANGELES, DURING TESSA’S FIGHT TO KEEP JOSIE…
It was after midnight.
I should be sleeping, but my damn mind was so tangled up with hope and worry. I just couldn’t settle down, and I wasn’t the only one. Mac and Tray were in the kitchen doing fuck knows what at this hour. Dixon was the only one who’d finally succumbed to exhaustion, though he was tossing and turning on the sectional. He’d saidhername in his sleep a little while ago. That one-word, sleepy utterance had sounded so broken. I didn’t blame Dix for collapsing in the living room. None of us wanted to be very far from where Tessa’s scent was strongest. Hell, it was why I’d taken up station at the courtyard doors directly behind the damn sofa.
Hanging my head, I rubbed roughly at my exhausted eyes. When I lifted to stare through the glass outside again, everything was still blurry beneath the soft glow of the golden courtyard lights. The pool waters were dark and foreboding. The flowers dull, muted hues instead of bright and cheery like they were beneath proper sunlight. Blinking, I tried to clear the haze. It didn’t help. Maybe the damn world was just foggy after the rain. No. It was me. I hadn’t been able to focus since walking back into the mansion after beautification. I just kept dissociating, staring at nothing and thinking abouteverything.
The others had found their own ways to cope. Pretty sure when Dixon disappeared right after the Betas left, it was to follow Cat’s post-battle, pre-beautifying suggestion:Relieve the pressure. Drop a load.Mac had paced for a while, going to the half-bathroom up front more than once to examine his face. Tray had mindlessly drummed on any surface he could touch until Dixon returned half an hour later, chasing our manic-energy brother into the kitchen with empty threats of beginning yet another brawl. Mac had already retreated there by that point. From the sound of things earlier, he’d decided to scrub every dish and rearrange every cabinet. I figured he’d roped Tray into the job, because that’s where they’d both stayed ever since. The sounds of pots clanging and doors shutting stopped around eleven though, so now I had zero idea what was keeping them there.
None of us felt normal, but at least welookednormal again. If my insides didn’t still feel like shit, I could almost pretend that the guys and I hadn’t fought. Unfortunately, Beauty Mark Beta’s ‘magic’ treatments could only erase things on the surface. The internal damage still existed. We’d all just have to move a little carefully over the next couple of days. Baby our bodies until the invisible wounds also healed. I kept forgetting I was hurt and moving like I wasn’t. Maybe that’s why bruises existed—to remind a person they’re damaged. Hard to forget you’ve been punched viciously in the face when you’ve got a big ass black and blue mark as evidence.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply. Tessa’s scent was permeating the mansion, clinging to every surface. But, goddamn, it was amazing to stand here so close to the source of that smell. Even while filling my lungs with her Omega perfume, part of me still couldn’t believe it was real. No matter what anyone said, I was going to keep doubting until she walked through our door. Despite the picture, the scent proof, and the fact that I’d read Cat’s Eros emails over and over, I still had a hard time believing it couldreallybe her. It was too much of a coincidence, and fate wasn’t that kind.
Yet, all it took was one walk through this living room to decimate my doubts.
For a while, Mac and Dixon had kept telling me to stop worrying. I just... fuckingcouldn’t.And now that they weren’t actively comforting me, it was easier to become consumed. Every single part of me—my brain, my heart, my soul, my body—was focused on the fact thatifTessa was real, then she’d be here soon.
Here, andin the flesh.
Here, andtouchable.
Here, andkissable.
Here, andfuckable.
When we’d first signed the Eros contract, I’d written an impersonal letter to our, as-of-then, nonexistent Omega. Now that I knew it was the woman of my dreams, I was kicking myself for not taking more time writing the note. Tessa’s first impression of me—well the second impression, but the concert was so long ago—was a vague, halfhearted note filled with canned sentiment. Mac had commented on it back then, saying we should write something more poetic. I’d told him to just sign the damn thing.
“Fuck!” I shouted, slamming my palm against my right bicep as pain shot through it. “What the...” I turned quickly, finding Tray passing rapidly behind me. He’d pinched the ever loving crap out of me. I hadn’t even heard him coming. “What the hell, man?”
“You had that lost ‘this can’t be real’ look again,” Tray teased. He was slowly walking backwards, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“So, you fucking pinched me?” I raised my eyebrows.
“To prove it’s not a dream. Obviously.” He moved into the bedroom hallway, pausing just long enough to turn his body slightly and wink in my direction. “Let me know if you need more than a pinch.” Tray took the corner and disappeared, knowing full well he was pushing me too far.
“You want a piece of me, asshole!” I shouted after him. It was a belated, empty threat.
“Didn’t think you were into that, but I’m always game!” he yelled back, voice muffled by walls and distance. Patented Tray—turning it into something sexual.
