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“It wasn’t about you and whatever bullshit you two got up to. This was earlier. On the ride home. She asked if she could get involved in the foundation. She wanted to donate more money to your project—the children’s home.”
His face falls slack for a moment before he remembers to snap it into a sneer. “Why the hell would she want to do that?”
I grit my teeth and glance around, making sure we’re totally alone before I lean in. “Because she lived in one, Dec. Her mom died when she was fourteen. No one ever adopted or fostered her. She lived in a group home just like the one you built.”
He rears back like I just hit him. Some dark desolate thing sinks into his expression. He swallows it… and then this asshole gnashes his teeth at me.
“Stop telling me this shit. I don’t want to hear it! Especially not before a fucking game.”
I slap his shoulder back again. “I don’t give a fuck what you want anymore. You snapped into rut and knotted her without ever even smiling at her. You’re acting like a piece of shit. You’re acting like your dad?—”
Ah fuck.
I told you, I have no impulse control.
We stare at each other. And I can see the second he knows that I know.
We never talked about that night he got wasted and spilled all his shit. Now I realize he didn’t really remember it and hoped I didn’t, either.
But enough is fucking enough.
Our girl, our pack, our lives are on the line. I’m not blowing this.
So, I swallow my anger down and try to meet him where he’s at. “Do you want to talk about that shit? I figured that what happened last night would be hard on you. Considering everything.”
I might be ready to put my personal feelings aside for the greater good, but this shithead is not. He shoves me with both hands, the motion knocking me back as much as the vicious look on his face.
“Fuck off,” he growls. “It’s done. She decided last night. She’s done. So whatever stupid fucking fantasies you had for our pack? Forget them.” His lip curls up. “Should be easy for you to do since you’re such a dumbass.”
I’ve known him our whole lives. I know his fear is like a bear trap around his ankle, and he’s really not much more than a desperate animal right now. Taking strips out of me to protect himself.
Weeks ago, I would have let it go. Walked it off. Gone out onto the field and taken his hits. Let him be the hero.
But I keep hearing Meg’s voice in my head. Telling me I’m smart. Telling me I’m sweet and fun and kick-ass and strong.
Telling me how proud she is.
Reminding me what I’m worth. Every damn day.
So, fuck this.
I snort. “You know what, Dec? Since I’m such a dumbass, who knows?” I shove him back one more time before turning away. “I might forget to cover you.”
chapter
fifty-three
Something is wrong.
It’s wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
But I’m new at this, and I suck at it, so I have no idea what’s wrong.
I look down at the outfit Mrs. Fleming left out, searching for any clues as to why I feel like I’m about to hurl all over the Bentley. It’s another edgy, cute-but-sexy, cool-but-don’t-touch-me sort of vibe. I have to admit, after seeing the woman in nothing but capri pants and aprons, I never would have expected this sort of style from her.
But it looks good on me, I guess. The leather-like leggings feel sleek and durable. With the stretchy bottoms tucked into thick-soled black booties, I feel like I could go on a spy mission if I had to. The Ospreys shirt half-tucked into the pants clearly belongs to one of the guys. I can’t tell who because it’s been washed—but my Omega isn’t having a shit fit about it because I currently have Theo, Ronan, and Archer’s scent markings on my throat.
Even though it doesn’t smell like one of my alphas, the black cotton tee is soft, with faded orange letters and cut-outs where the crew neck and sleeves used to be. It would look weird with a regular bra, but whatever black, lacy bralette magic I have on works. Plus, the leather jacket I grabbed to cover my bruises also masks most of my exposed skin.
