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I think of my dad's broken wrist. And the debt collectors. Straightening my shoulders, I walk gracefully to the counter where my purse sits. The tears that threatened to spill when Iggy confronted me have disappeared, and I slip my mask back on. My mother has said terrible things to me while I smiled and said thank you. If I can handle that, I can handle this. "Thank you for caring for me and ensuring I was safe."
My hand clutches the doorknob when I hear a growl from behind. I turn, finding Iggy watching me with the most intense expression, black eyes searing into mine. He's back, halfway down the stairs, like he's going to stop me from leaving. But that makes no sense, considering they're essentially kicking me out.
"Good luck with your future omegas," I spit out, already on this train to self-sabotage. I might as well blow up the bridge while I’m at it.
It takes every ounce of effort in my body, heart, and mind to walk away. Tears burn in my eyes, my throat feels like it's going to close, like there's something stuck in my esophagus, and I can't swallow through the pain, but I keep it buried. Perfection feels like a million miles away, but I'm so trained in the cloak of perfection it takes no effort to smile and fold my hands in front of me, downcast my eyes as I slip away.
Even if I made them listen, made them understand my family was in danger and I had to help, it changes nothing. I've already decided I'm not marrying the Stevens Pack, but I can't break off the engagement just yet, not until I've found a solution.
I knew I could never be intimate with anyone else, especially after the last few days, and I’m not even close to ready to unpack what that could mean for my future, but until I figure out how to help my family out of this mess, I can’t string along Dante.
Only when I step out into the street, somehow shocked by the sunlight after spending the last three days hidden in the depths of sheets, do I realize I have no shoes and I’m bra- and panty-less beneath Cass’s T-shirt and boxers.
Chapter 16
Imogen
"Was it a Hallmark movie? Those make me cry, too, it’s nothing to be ashamed of."
Ophelia rubs my back while I hyperventilate in her embrace, drenching her shoulders in tears.
She called me an hour ago, and I didn’t answer the phone. I allowed myself one day of wallowing before making some hard decisions and that included making my parents see reason. Sell some cars, downgrade their house. They didn’t need all that space, all of those things, a full staff.
The plan came together while I sat in the truck beside Cass, a vastly different experience from a few nights previous, while he drove me to the apartment on C-Street. Apparently, my stiff spine and chin held high wasn’t enough to deter the guys from following me out the door. Despite everything, they wanted to make sure I got home okay. Fortunately, Cass didn’t make me feel stupid when I realized I was shoeless, and he insisted on driving me.
I held firm that he would not be carrying me inside the apartment, which I’m proud of because I’d been tempted. I could tell my walking away was hard for them, even if it may have seemed when our argument began that they were the ones pushing me away.
No, I had some decisions to make, and I had to make them alone.
The first thing I did was call Roxy, thanking her for the opportunity, but I couldn’t dance at the club anymore. I think she assumed, correctly, it had something to do with Dante, since she knew I shared my heat with them. I couldn't be around them so casually without giving in and abandoning my family for my own happiness. It was too selfish.
I didn’t want to stop dancing, and I think she could hear it in my voice when she told me to call her anytime if I wanted to pick up a shift, even if it was last minute. I appreciated that more than she could possibly know.
After that, I curled up into a ball and cried. And when crying became visceral, an ache deep in my bones, the pain growing stronger by the hour, I had to really think.
I needed to tell the guys about our scent-match, no matter what. It wasn’t fair to them, and it wasn’t fair to me. I couldn’t imagine going through a heat without them, but worse, I couldn’t imagine going through life without them. If they rejected me, I’d deal with it. But until that happened, I had to hold out hope.
But I couldn't do any of that with my family in trouble. So, while I brainstormed ways to gain a large sum of money fast, including confronting my family and, worst-case scenario, forcing them to sell their things, I had to pretend to go along with the engagement.
I felt sticky and sick to my stomach when Jonathan texted me and asked me to be available for dinner on Friday. It was a perfectly friendly message, non-threatening, nothing particularly egregious about his words, and yet, my skin crawled as I typed back, "I’ll be there."
Perfect Imogen might have responded more enthusiastically and said something demure like, I’d be just delighted, but I didn't have the energy.
I pull away from Ophelia and slump on the couch's soft cushions, tucking my feet under my legs, pressing play on the movie. Not a Hallmark movie, but I could play a nasty horror movie and still cry with the same emotional gusto as a sappy romantic, where the lovers can never quite work things out.
I sniff, and Ophelia plops down next to me, shoving a tissue in my face.
"Thanks," I laugh, though it's hollow. "I'm fine. I swear."
"Clearly. I wanted to talk to you about something. You weren't answering your phone…"
"Oh, yeah, that. I told myself I got one day to suffer, then I'd get right on figuring my life out."
"How's that going so far?"
I laugh again. "Well, the first part of my mission is going superbly. I'm doing a great job of suffering."
She smiles but doesn't laugh, leaning back on the couch opposite me. "Is it your parents?"
