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It makes sense. Why would any of them want to touch me? I must look like crap, and now they all know I’m a pathetic liar, too.
In a flash, the image of Declan glaring at me through the glass door to his practice room sails through my head. God, he hates me. It was clear from that one look. The memory alone has me gagging on another whine, barely managing to keep the pitiful sound down.
This is a mess. The most famous football player in the world hates me for reasons I don’t even want to understand. His pack acts like they want to eat me and/or commit me. And to top it all off, I still don’t have a job, income, or insurance.
Then, there’s Dr. Archer Monroe. Sitting next to me, kind and steady. Waiting for me to tell him how to help.
I want to. And I’m ashamed of that.
I should be able to handle all of this stuff on my own. I don’t want to need any help or comfort or protection. I don’t want to be like this.
I don’t want to be an omega.
So how could I ever be their omega?
After cresting high over my head for the entire interaction, a tsunami of complete overwhelm finally engulfs me. The urge to hide hits hard.
It’s the only omega impulse I routinely give in to when I’m home alone—burying myself under blankets and pretending no one would ever find me there.
That’s all I really want to do, now. But I have hours of driving ahead of me before I can get in my bed. Hours spent sitting in wet panties and a torn blouse.
Remember when I said the universe hated me?
Feeling defeated, overwhelmed, and embarrassed, I sniffle. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I—This has never happened to me before. Well, aside from the other day, in the interview.”
My face flames while I drop my gaze to my lap. “That’s why I ran out. I didn’t want to put any of you in an uncomfortable situation, but I could feel a spike coming on…”
Archer’s fingers are long and cool against my jaw. He lifts my chin slowly, bending closer to put us eye-to-eye.
There’s a bright gleam in his chocolate irises. Some excitement I don’t understand. “You’ve never had a spike like this for any other alphas?”
I shake my head, trembling. “N-no. And I—Archer, what’s happening to me? What is this?”
His handsome smile kicks up again. Completely at odds with the wistful look in his eyes. “I think it may be fate.”
chapter
sixteen
I’ve always liked fighting.
Well. Needed it.
Theo calls me “a fighter.” Like it’s a hobby. Or some sort of choice. He doesn’t get that I have to push the poison out somewhere.
That’s how I started playing football.
Every sports network asks me how I got into the game. I tell them my grandfather played. I tell them my mother bought me a ball for my fifth birthday. I tell them I joined a pee-wee team and discovered a lifelong love of throwing spiral passes.
Basically, I lie my fucking ass off.
Because the truth? It would depress the hell out of everyone.
Nobody wants a weak quarterback. Women won’t salivate over the World’s Sexiest Man if they know just how fucked up his head is.
Problem is, one can only hide that shit for so long. And I have the sinking feeling my pack is slowly realizing they fucked up when they chose to hitch their wagon to mine.
I see it in the way Theo is staring at me with his mouth hanging open. Like I just suggested we skin a litter of puppies to make a coat.
