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“You can’t drive,” River adds. “We won’t allow it.”
I struggle out of Landon’s hold and sidestep both Devyn and Ben. I pull open the front door and step out into the driveway, desperate to get away from them.
Why do they care so much? It makes tears spring to my eyes.
They act like they care, but they’re just going to leave.
Just like April left. Just like Jason left.
Everyone leaves.
I sit in my driveway and wipe at my face. I can’t get sucked into the spiral. If I do, I may drown in sorrow and never resurface.
“Skylar?”
I hear my front door shut, then turn to see Landon slowly walking over to me. His perfect features are pulled into a frown, and I look away to stare out into my neighborhood.
I’ve always loved this place. It’s small, but still charming.
And now it’ll be stained with the scent of Alphas that I’ll never see again.
He sits down next to me, stretching his long legs out on the driveway as he sighs.
I won’t look at him.
I want him too much.
“Just leave before you make this worse,” I whisper. “I don’t have it in me, Landon.”
I can feel him staring at me, but I refuse to glance his way.
His scent caresses me, making me want to collapse in his arms.
“I’m just so tired,” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes. A car slowly drives by, and I focus my attention on the vehicle instead of the Alpha sitting next to me.
Everything hurts. My head, my joints, my heart, my soul.
The wind blows softly, and Landon lets out a soft sigh.
His hand reaches out, and I watch, stunned, as he takes mine.
My inner Omega weeps at the contact, and I shame myself for being so needy.
“Don’t—” I say, but he simply interlaces our fingers. I gasp at the intimate contact and turn to meet his expression.
His dark eyes are determined, and I find myself gazing at his full lips.
“We’re going to help you,” he says solemnly. “River and I.”
I shake my head, confused. “But—you can’t—”
“We can make time,” he says, squeezing my hand. “It won’t be a lot, and it can’t be all the time, but we want to help.”
I stay frozen, my eyes locked on his.
“I think the concussion is making me imagine things,” I whisper.
He cracks a tiny smile, and his scent intensifies, notes of cedarwood complementing the earthy pine. “No,” he chuckles. “This is very real.”
