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Smith scowls, sighing. “Cassian, it’s after midnight, and I haven’t even eaten?—”
“But you will,” I cut in. “Because Remi left you a plate. Made you a special meal, actually, since D and I ate with the team and she had dinner with her friends.”
I turn, pointing at the stove. “So, she stood there and prepared a whole-ass meal for you. The ungrateful asshole who won’t even talk to her.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “You forced her to move in here!” I shout. “You barked her out of her home and put her in a dusty spare bedroom with no nest. Last week, I found her in my closet, Smith. Hiding. Because of you.”
He swallows but doesn’t move to speak again. Instead, he drops his briefcase and slips his hands into his pockets, nodding at me to continue. My next statement hits him like a bullet.
“She was harassed tonight. By a reporter. It happened in the tunnels, after the game. She was waiting there for us. Alone. Because you weren’t there.”
Charred coffee swells to fill the room. He speaks through his teeth, barely moving his lips. “Is she all right?”
I checked her over myself, twice. Even after seeing that the guy didn’t leave so much as trace of his scent on her, I still had to talk my Alpha down in order to leave her upstairs.
“She’s fine,” I mutter, trying to convince myself as much as him. “Damon drew her a bath.”
His glower deepens. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be up there? Is Damon capable of controlling himself?”
The question infuriates me, because anyone who had observed Remi with Damon would find it ludicrous. But he actually seems concerned. Which shows just how out of touch he is.
“Have you even seen her with Damon?” I ask, spewing all of the vitriol I’ve been storing up over the last week. “He’s been taking care of her every damn day. Cuddling with her, watching her shows, listening to audiobooks so he can follow along with whatever she’s reading. He’s a good fucking alpha to her. It’s bullshit that you don’t know that. You should be here, watching and finding a way to be a part of this, too.”
He ducks his head like he’s dodging a physical blow. I see it, then—the tension in every line of his entire body. His jaw, clenched so hard I can hear his teeth grit.
“She’s perfect, Smith. So goddamn beautiful and sweet and just—fuck, what is wrong with you? Don’t you want her? How are you avoiding her like this?” I demand. “It’s Damon’s turn to sleep in that shitty-ass bed you threw her in, and I’m climbing the walls because I can’t be with her. Don’t you feel it?”
He’s going to mutter something about his rut blockers, and I’m going to have to kick his ass into next year. Or he’ll make excuses.
The room isn’t ready. He has too much going on at work to come home for dinner. She isn’t complaining, so why am I?
Because she never will. She’s too scared that he’ll reject her. Send her away. Take yet another home away from her.
Because he’s hurting her. And I am her protector.
He opens his mouth. And, I swear to God, I’m ready. Ready to pummel him. Or challenge his leadership.
But then he says the two words I never thought he would.
“You’re right.”
My entire face crumples. “What?”
“You’re right,” he repeats. “I’ve been out all day, thinking about this. Her.” He raises his dark eyes to mine, pained. “Did you know she’s been sneaking out of here every morning to work at the coffee shop?”
She’s been doing what?
“She goes for walks,” I correct, repeating what she told me.
His smirk is humorless. “Smart girl,” he mutters. “She is technically walking. To the bus stop. Then she works an eight hour shift and comes back here in time to make it seem like she’s been home all day.”
Oh. Holy. Shit.
How did I not notice that?
He’s right. She’s smart. She told us she likes to go for early-morning walks. Which isn’t even really a lie… it just isn’t the truth either.
I collapse onto a barstool, jamming both hands through my hair. “Fuck.”
