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And when I do, who will care? No one in this house. Can’t say I blame them there.
The shower doesn’t help.
My anxiety follows me into my bed, gripping my lungs in a vice. I roll from one side to the other, pummeling my pillows every few minutes.
It’s useless. I’m wired.
Maybe I’ll feel calmer if I can get my shoulder unlocked.
With a pained grunt, I hoist myself up and throw on the first pair of sweats I touch, deciding to go down to the gym and stretch for a while.
Ironically, I’m too tired to even look at the stairs. I take the elevator tucked in the back corner of our pack wing, holding my breath while I walk past Meg’s double doors.
I don’t need to fuck her mattress the way I almost humped our couch cushion.
I’m half-hard from the memory of her slick. And the way it tasted second-hand when I licked her off my fingers that night in the car…
No.
I ruthlessly tamp all my feelings down and march out of the elevator.
We built the house from the ground, up. Literally—Ronan had a special environmental report conducted to get permission to dig a two-story basement under the three-story house.
One basement floor is just full of bullshit. Storage, security monitors, a movie theater we’ve literally never used. An in-law suite, which is sort of ridiculous considering we don’t have any in-laws.
Aside from Theo’s folks, none of us have anyone else. Archer’s parents are gone, Ronan’s disowned him, and mine… For all intents and purposes, I’m an orphan.
I know what it’s like not to have a real home. Nowhere to go if everything falls apart. Nowhere to return to if the world defeats you.
It creates a special sort of pressure. Whatever stakes you thought were high? Double them. Because failure is literally not an option.
That’s why I had my favorite motivational slogan spray-painted on the wall of our home gym. No Days Off.
Because I don’t have any other choice.
It looks good, though. Ronan may be equipped to purchase the best of the best, but his taste doesn’t extend far beyond all-black-everything. The wall of multicolored neon spray paint and block tag-lettering adds a lot to the otherwise-dark space.
We spared no expense on the whole floor, filling it with every piece of equipment on the market and all the extras, too. There’s a sauna. A shower big enough for ten. Special padded mats for stretching and floor-work. A small boxing ring. An ice-bath. Not to mention the Olympic-sized pool we have upstairs.
Right now… all I see is shit I stand to lose.
None of this is mine. It’s ours. We all built it together. If I’m the one defecting, I won’t keep any of it.
And I don’t deserve to.
Sorrow—the bitter, bone-deep kind—floods through me. I swallow it, bracing against the cold prickle in my gut. Waiting for the forced fury to chase it all away.
The second the rage hits my blood, I feel better. Warmer.
Perfect. Now I can work.
I barrel into the gym, not questioning the bright lights until it’s too late.
Because there’s one very sexy omega ass bent up in the air.
The mirrors along the back wall offer every possible view of the gorgeous woman doubled-over, reaching to touch her toes. I see the crown of her head—all messy blonde, slapped into a floppy bun. The high flush on her higher cheekbones. The sweat soaking into her orange sports bra. And that ass in tiny black Spandex shorts.
She arches her arms in a graceful swan, fluid in her stretches. Her legs are toned and lithe, hamstrings flexing while she parts her feet and bends toward each of her sneakers.
