Though losing isn’t the right word. Not by a long shot.
With a weary sigh he pushes off the wall. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to my studio.”
My brow wrinkles as I look at him, the way he sways on his feet. Inching closer I take a deep inhale, expecting the scentof stale booze, but finding only his spiced cranberry scent tinged with bitter regret and grief. He’s not drunk or hungover… he’s just heartbroken. Like me.
Like all of us.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive Forsythe for doing this to us. To her.
“You need to eat something before you go.”
He’s shaking his head before I finish my suggestion. “No, I’m fine.”
I frown. “You’re not.”
His fingers brush my cheek. “I am, Piers. I ate this morning before going to bed.” I snort. I can just imagine what that would have been. Chocolate covered pretzels and peanut butter, most likely. Maybe a chunk of cheese. But I suppose it’s better than nothing.
So I nod. “Okay. Can you try to eat a fruit or a veg today?”
The smile he gives me is soft and a little heartbroken. “No promises, baby. But I love how you’re still taking care of us.” His brow wrinkles. “We really don’t deserve you, do we?”
Words flood up my throat, reassurances that I would have rushed to say in the past. But I choke them back.
Court blows out a breath and shakes his head. “We never have. Pixie was right about that.”
We both flinch. Court shakes himself, recovering before I can. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and then the corner of my mouth. “I’m off. I’m almost done with my most recent series.”
The one he won’t let any of us see. He’s never kept me locked out of his studio before.
Everything about this is different, aboutusis different.
That is the Florence effect.
“Don’t wait up,” he murmurs against my temple, before he stumbles away from me. If his studio wasn’t just two floors down, I might be worried about whether or not he’d reach itsafely. I certainly wouldn’t let him get behind the wheel of a car, as drunk with exhaustion as he seems.
But I know he’ll be safe, even if he can’t walk straight.
The door clicks behind him and loneliness slips in again. Who am I kidding, it never really left, even in the presence of one of my alphas.
Before I’m even conscious of it, my fingers pull my phone from my pocket again. Florence’s phone number is still pulled up, still ready for me to call. I glance around the quiet apartment and then give in to the urge as I have countless times before.
I just want to hear her voice. To know she’s out there. That she’s okay after what we did to her.
The call connects for the first time in weeks, and a hard female voice snarls, “Haven’t you hurt her enough?”
Shaken, I rock back on my heels, sliding my hand over my eyes to try to keep the tears from falling. “Is this Haven?”
“Who I am is none of your goddamn business, other than if you call here again, I have the means and the ways to hunt you down and cut off your dick and shove it down your goddamn throat. You get me?”
Maybe the threat should disturb me, but all I feel is relief.
“Ren talked about you all the time,” I say, pressing into my eyes at the thought of my omega. “Said you’re the sweetest person ever until someone threatens someone you care about. I’m so glad-” I choke and start again. “I’m so glad she has someone like you looking out for her.”
“That’s right she does!” Haven shouts.
There’s the low murmur of a male voice on the other end, and then the sound of the phone jostling. “Which one are you?” a clipped male voice says.
I swallow thickly. “Piers… I’m her beta-”
