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Maybe I should stop drinking.
High school was my escape. I joined the track team and found peace in the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. Running was my freedom, my way to outrun the chaos at home. I wasn’t the best student, but I got by, more interested in the next party than the next test. Quinn was always on my case about it, but I shrugged him off. I didn’t want to think about the future when the present was so uncertain.
I thought I might as well embrace my youth and revel in the chaos.
After graduation, I drifted for a bit, taking odd jobs and crashing on friends’ couches. Quinn went to college on a scholarship, and I envied him for having a plan. He tried to get me to join him, but academia wasn’t my thing. I wanted to live in the moment and soak up every bit of fun I could find.
It wasn’t until I hit rock bottom that I realized I needed to change. I’d been partying hard, and one night, it all caught up to me. I woke up in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm and Quinn sitting beside me, his face a mask of worry. “You can’t keep doing this, Dash,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
Seeing the fear in his eyes was a wake-up call. I didn’t want to be the cause of his pain, so I cleaned up my act and got a job as a bartender, a role that let me stay close to the party scene without being consumed by it. It was a compromise, but it worked for me.
Unfortunately, I fell right back into old habits, and I’m a disappointment again.
Now, I balance my nights between the bar and Malachi’s Puritan detail. I’m still the life of the party, but I know my limits. I’ve learned that fun doesn’t have to come at the expense of my health or my relationships. Quinn and I are closer than ever, and I owe him my life for pulling me back from the edge.
I pushed myself to the edge and then lit a match, watching as my limits went up in flames. Another sip of my drink helps me ignore the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The night is young, and so am I. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored, and I’m just getting started.
I’m in the club to drown my sorrows, allowing myself to enjoy the alcohol as I think back to what Zane said.
“I’m pulling our name from Scent Synergy,” Zane rumbled when he stomped into our home and threw the paperwork on the table. “Five years, and not a single match.”
Of course there were arguments. I’m the baby of the group, with Malachi and Zane being the oldest. Technically, Malachi is in charge, but no one dares to tell Zane that. We’ve been registered with Scent Synergy for five years now. It’s a non-profit where alphas and omegas sign up to find scent matches.
As alphas, all we get to do is smile for a camera and milk some of our scent onto a little two-inch square card. The omegas have the hard work of smelling the cards and deciding if they like our scent. If they do, then they can look at our profile and request a meet and greet.
Not once have we gotten a call. I know I’m young, and some alphas wait their whole lives to find a match. All I ever wanted was an omega to live for, love, cherish, and spoil rotten.
Sadness tries to wash over me, knowing we will never have an omega—I mean, unless we get that call. We also don’t fuck each other, like some packs. Quinn is my bona fide brother. I do not want to touch his dick.
I chug my drink to chase away my sadness, the cool liquid sliding down my throat and momentarily numbing the ache in my chest.
I glance around the crowded dance floor, spotting my latest dance partner—a girl with wild curls and a smile that could light up the entire room. We lock eyes, and she waves me over. I saunter back to her, my steps light and carefree, the beat guiding my movements.
“You having fun?” I shout over the music, leaning in close. The scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something floral, envelops me, drawing me closer to her, like a moth to a flame.
She laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “You could say that!”
“Good, because the night’s just getting started!” I twirl her around, and she giggles, her laughter mingling with the infectious energy of the club. Her touch is electric, sending sparks of excitement through me.
A sharp tap on my shoulder interrupts our dance. I turn to see a guy glaring at me, his jaw clenched and fists balled. Uh-oh. Looks like someone’s not too happy with my presence.
He looks like an MMA fighter, and a part of me wants to push all his buttons just to see what he’d do.
Probably hurt me.
“Hey, buddy, what’s the problem?” I ask, keeping my tone light and nonchalant. The scents of aggression and alcohol waft off him, prickling my senses. I inhale slowly, surprised to find he’s an alpha.
“She’s with me,” he snarls, stepping closer, his breath reeking of alcohol.
“Whoa, easy there.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. No harm, no foul, right?”
Before he can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, seeing Quinn’s name flashing on the screen. Perfect timing, big bro.
“Excuse me for a sec,” I say to the angry guy, stepping away to answer the call, which only pisses him off even more. “Q! What’s up?”
“Dash, are you drunk?” Quinn’s voice is laced with frustration, and I can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. The background noise on his end suggests he’s in a much quieter place, maybe at home or the library.
