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“It’s what we all want,” I tell her. “What we’ve always wanted. If you’ll have us, we would love to court you until your heat, and take care of you through it.”
Light builds and burns inside her blue eyes. Her teeth capture that lower lip again, betraying her uncertainty. She finally mumbles two words, “But… Declan.”
Declan is currently the one and only thing standing between my pack and everything we’ve always hoped for.
Declan is going to get his ass in line, or I’ll kick it.
Declan won’t stop us from protecting this woman we’re all so obsessed with.
“I don’t want you to worry about it, baby girl,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of everything.”
chapter
twenty-two
I’ve watched all the game tape six times and gone over the play book twelve.
But it’s well past nine, and no one is home yet.
They all rode together to take the omega home. Or to her friend’s house. Whatever. I don’t care as long as she isn’t here.
I lie back on my bed, throwing a football straight overhead. Of all of the bedrooms in our pack house, mine feels the biggest because it’s the emptiest. There’s a king-sized bed—the upscale foam kind the trainers and physical therapists make all of us sleep on—covered in navy bedding and a walk-in closet that’s bigger than any of the guys’.
My Heisman trophy sits on a set of floating glass shelves, illuminated by some magic up-lighting. It automatically adjusts with the light in the room. On nights like this, when I sit in the dark, that damn trophy is the only thing I see. Staring at me. Asking the same question.
Is this the best you’ll ever be?
What if it is?
I lob the football back up at the vaulted ceiling and catch it right before it slams into my face. I’ve been doing that lately, too. Almost like I want it to hit me. Break my nose. Bruise my cheek.
It’s an intrusive thought I can’t shake. Almost the desire to be… ugly? For the outside to match the inside, at least.
And the inside is currently fourteen different types of fucked-up.
I’m here alone while my pack is out with an omega. Their omega, they claim. Which would, in theory, make her mine, too.
Most alphas wait their whole life to find their missing piece. Most want it more than anything. I know I did, before. So what the fuck is wrong with me now?
I don’t know. All I know is that this ball keeps getting closer and closer to my fucking face and I’m pissed as all hell that they’re not home yet.
Maybe it’s her. The omega.
I knew she smelled all wrong in that interview. I’ll be damned if I have that shit in my house, courting my pack.
They’re the only family I have. Which is the problem here. Because, on one hand, I don’t trust this scheming girl. And on the other, well, I better get over it if the rest of them decide she’s ours.
Because after the hell I’ve put them through in the last two years, I won’t be surprised if they choose her over me.
I might not even blame them for it.
There was a time when Ronan knew exactly what this pack needed and did everything in his power to get it. He paid matchmakers. He traveled across the country to meet eligible women. He signed our pack up for every scent-matching service from coast-to-coast and fielded each offer that came through.
Until sometime, about four years ago, he gave up. Couldn’t do it anymore. None of us know why, but he went on one of his omega-scouting trips and came home a different man.
Colder. Darker. And 100 percent done.
Arch and Theo tried to talk him into trying again. I tried to help them. But once Ronan decided he was done, it was over.
