Page 26 of Secret Heart
“Next Saturday at our place. Late afternoon. Scott and Dad are going to grill steaks and hot dogs.” Before he can even attempt to ask, I say, “You’re more than welcome to be part of however much of it you want. Come early, stay late. Come over on Friday, too, if you want.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then messes with his ball cap.
“Does she have any favorites?” he asks. “Or is she too young still?”
“She has a favorite stuffed animal. This horribly ugly pug monstrosity Melissa gave her at Christmas. It came with a book, but she only cares about the dog.”
His lips flip at the corner in a flash of amusement.
“And she loves any soft, cozy thing, especially blankets. Though she doesn’t really have a specific favorite, more a preference for the way they all need to feel. Brielle is the best at finding ones she likes. Emily never manages to pick out just the right balance between soft and warm.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure that just drives her up the wall.”
“It does.”
He finally looks at me, and the sadness in his gaze makes me want to break something and then hug him until he knows we don’t hold any of what he’s missed against him.
“You want to see photos?” I ask, pulling my phone from my back pocket.
Without waiting for an answer, I swipe open the app and select the folder and then hold it out to him. His hands tremble as he slowly swipes through them. Tears line his lashes and then slowly fall. He absently wipes them away, never looking away from the phone. I focus on the calf as it finally stands and attempts to nurse. When the cow doesn’t block access, I let go a sigh of relief.
They’re going to be fine. Probably.
Triston breathes deeply, a silent sob hitching in his throat for a moment. I can’t resist palming his thigh in response, wanting to soothe him. His leg tenses under me, and I mutter an apology, ripping my gaze from the cows as I pull my hand away.
“Shit, that’s the leg she kicked. Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”
I cautiously rest my hand just above his knee, letting my thumb trace circles on his jeans, ignoring the blood and muck that’s covering them. He tenses again, his leg nearly vibrating. After a minute, he relaxes a bit. The desire to kiss him, to taste him again after so long, hits me like a freight train. His eyes flick from the phone to me, dropping to my lips before his cheeks flush.
Should I move my hand? Abso-fucking-lutely. And yet I don’t.
“You’re sure?” My voice is lower than it should be, rougher and darker.
His flush continues down his neck and disappears under the collar of his t-shirt. “Y-yeah.”
Slowly, he returns to looking through the photos on my phone. He’s up to Christmas. I don’t say anything else, terrified of pushing him too hard and him bolting and yet also equally scared I’m gong to end up hanging us both out over a cliff to fall if Emily doesn’t want to build into a trio.
“Th-thank you,” he whispers when he gets to the ones from last weekend. “It… it feels like I haven’t quite missed so much, getting to see the snippets.”
TRISTON
My skin is tight on my bones, a thousand times worse than the fiasco last month. I can’t help but scratch at my chest, desperate to alleviate the horrid sensation. My clove scent fills the room, entirely soured by the condition that’s rooted so deep I’m not sure it’ll ever truly leave at this point. Having Beau touch my thigh just about wrecked me this morning. Beau, who’s a Beta. Who didn’t do more than lightly trace shapes on my leg while I looked at the photos he has of my daughter. Who doesn’t have a scent. Who couldn’t tell I was a half-minute away from breaking down in desperation and begging for him to fuck me like he did that summer.
I finally admit to myself exactly what it is: touch-starvation.
Just like the Haven doctors warned, it’s crept up and overtaken in the matter of a week since I’ve fully come off the suppressors. The need to be knotted, to have an Alpha’s scent wrap around me and seep into my skin, is so strong it’s fogging my logical mind. Similar to a heat but… but not quite. At leastnot yet. Much longer, and I’ll be just as desperate and mindless as a heat.
I strip out of my clothing still soiled from the calf and the rest of the ranch chores with little fanfare as the bathroom slowly fills with steam from the shower. Then I reach for the bottle of synthetic pheromone stashed under the sink.
I shouldn’t use it. I should figure out how to wean myself off of it the same way I’ve dropped the suppressors. Especially now, being back here, knowing she’s with Beau and they have Penny.
I’ve not even seen her since my entire world shook on its axis Thursday night. Two full days. It would be less impressive if we weren’t literally on the same ranch, one service road away from each other. It’s clear she’s avoiding me, and I can’t even blame her. She went through an entire pregnancy without me here. She tried to reach out, had attempted multiple times, and I hadn’t responded. It doesn’t matter if it was unintentional. The hurt and abandonment are still there. Of course she’d not want to be anywhere near me now, a year and a half later.
So I need to be able to survive without the synthetic replacement of her scent. I pull up the appointment request for the Haven in Jackson and submit the form. Much longer, and I’ll be in serious trouble.
My stomach cramps, and I shudder out a groan.
