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I ignore the pang of relief that strikes my gullet, shoving to my feet. “You gonna give me a ride home, then?”
He almost smirks. “Maybe I should make you walk.”
“Fuck you,” I chirp, tossing my shit into my duffle and strapping it across my back. My gaze catches on the Octagon, and I roll my eyes.
“Hold on.”
Tristan watches while I jog over and kick the guy lightly until he groans, lolling his head to try to look at me. “Sorry, man,” I shrug. “Better luck next time, eh?”
By the time I’m back by his side, Tris looks like he just witnessed the parting of the Red Sea. I trudge past him, shrugging. “Serena would have wanted me to.”
chapter
thirty-three
I’m Tristan Thorne.
But that doesn’t mean shit right now.
Right now, I’m just a man who wants to tear the world in two but can’t fit my hands around it.
Serena asked if she could talk to all of us. I never expected this, though.
I’ve been keeping an eye on her all week, making sure she seems as settled and happy as she feels through the bond. Until I walk into a room, that is. Then her panic and shame lash at my insides.
It’s been easier for me to watch from a distance. Absorbing her quick smiles and intelligent eyes. Seeing how she relaxes into Jonah’s nurturing and rises to meet Avery’s attitude.
I’ve even seen glimpses that I know Spencer would love—her thirst for knowledge, the careful way she reasons through situations, hovering at their edges before acting. Which is why I suspect she’s been thinking about this carefully since she arrived.
What to tell us, how to tell us.
She chooses the living room. That feels obvious, since the only other place we’d all fit and have a place to sit is the nest she hasn’t even opened yet. I was hoping Spencer’s shopping trip may encourage her. Not because I want to go in there—although—but more because she needs that safe space.
I’m starting to think she’s never had one.
As we all shuffle into the living room, I can’t help but run my eyes over her outfit. It’s one of the new ones—tight pants that hug her hips and a silky low-cut blouse. I might appreciate the ensemble more if it wasn’t soaked in the scent of her stress.
Sweet baby.
It really isn’t fair to her, the way she smells aroused when she’s scared. If I didn’t have her distress churning a pit in my stomach, I might never have figured out the difference between her perfume and this darker sweetness.
The rest of my pack has figured it out, too. I can tell they’re all on edge.
Avery sits on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees, shifting restlessly. Jonah drags his palms over his jean-clad thighs. And Spencer stands in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed, motionless.
It’s telling that Serena chooses one of the individual reading chairs instead of wedging herself between Jonah and Ave. Until tonight, she’s seemed content to take every opportunity they’ve given her for affection.
Now, the small omega-sized space between them remains vacant.
I’m the last one in the room, coming to the only chair left open, across the coffee table from Serena. She bites her lip while I sink into it, chagrin and apprehension clanging through our frayed tether.
Her right hand curls protectively around her hummingbird necklace and she starts to talk, her words slow and halting.
“Those alphas today. They know me from the club I used to… work at.” She swallows, her stomach flipping as she winces. “Wally’s Boom Boom Room.
“It’s a—” Her voice cracks. “It’s a strip club. Downtown. They have dancers and private rooms and… other things.”
She lets those words land in the middle of the room and suck half the air out of it.
