There are three cars behind me while I drive down the road: a truck that is clearly a work truck that Knox drives, an SUV with Eli at the wheel that has slightly tinted windows that looks as if it’s seen better days, and a convertible with the top down and Walker’s scowl leading the charge behind the wheel.
So different, these Alphas.
I swipe my keycard so that the wrought iron gate of my apartment community opens, but there’s a swarm of trucks and cars with lights. Police cars. Firetrucks. Ambulances. Multiple of each. My stomach sinks into my toes and I feel the sweat kicking back up again. It drips down the nape of my neck and makes me frustrated.
I hate dripping sweat.
As I weave around the orange cones and police officers waving me forward, I expect the chaos to break at any moment. I live toward the back of the community, where the trees shade the complexes a bit more. The top-level balconies in these buildings get the most shade, and they’re perfect for letting my baking creations cool quickly.
But the throng of trucks with sirens and whirring lights only gets thicker.
“Oh. My. God.”
The three words fall from my lips just as I hear barking. I recognize it instantly—Pickles, my German shepherd. He sounds like he’s outside. Why is he outside?
Suddenly, I’m slamming on the brake pedal, trying to process what’s in front of me as I park cockeyed in a parking space and scramble out of my car.
“Pickles!” I call out. “Pickles, are you all right?”
“Ma’am, is this your dog?” a police officer says as he walks up with my dog on a leash.
Pickles yanks at it, breaking away and sprinting toward me. I drop to my knees on the concrete sidewalk, my arms outstretched as he barrels into them. He rises up, his paws on my shoulders as he licks at my face, lapping up the tears that fall from my eyes.
“Is this your place?” Walker says behind me.
“Good God,” Eli murmurs over my shoulder.
“I’ll go find some information,” Knox says.
All I can do is bury my face into Pickles’ fur.
Anything to keep from looking at the tree limb that has fallen right through the roof of my apartment.
Lia
“Hey there, big guy.”
I breathe into Pickles’ fur as I try to block out the overwhelming sounds. Sirens whoop, making me twitch before my German shepherd lets out a growl. A hand comes down onto my shoulder before a roguish voice speaks.
“Just me, little one,” Walker says. “Knox is headed back with someone in tow. We’ll get you some answers.”
I lift my head and, sure enough, Knox has a determined step to his walk as he drags one of the maintenance men that I recognize toward us. Bob, I believe. I stand to my feet, wiping at my eyes and trying to give off any other impression except “omega that lives alone is about to melt down.”
“Hey, Bob,” I say as the two men approach.
“Miss Parrish,” he says with a nod of his head. “So, here’s the deal: your apartment is basically the house form of totaled. It’ll take some time to fix the roof and redo the inside of your place, so until further notice, we’ve got you set up in a vacant apartment over there,” he says, pointing to the building across the street. “First floor, so it’s easy to move your stuff. You got renter’s insurance, right?”
First floor. Vulnerable to anyone who simply wishes to walk off the street. I look up at my four-story apartment that has a tree limb slammed down onto it. Will I even be able to get in and get my stuff?
“Lia,” Eli says in a calming voice. “Did you hear him?”
I clear my throat and pull myself back into the conversation. “Yes, sorry. I do, Bob.”
He nods. “Good. They’ll help you with rental furniture and replacing what you’ve lost. Me and the guys can carve out a safe path in your place so that you can get to your things.”
“I’ll help,” Knox says.
“And we’ll help you get your things to your new place.”
