Page 102 of Traded

I’m still here.

But I could really use a reminder.

I let the rhythm soak into my bones, my head bobbing to the music. One song passes, then another. When the third hits, I scramble to my feet and grab the de-scenter spray.

My hips sway as I make my way out of my nest and down the hall. Liam’s bedroom door is open, and I stare through it for several long minutes. His bed is neatly made, his chest of drawers obsessively tidy. Everything in its place, exactly how he likes it.

Including me.

But not today. Darting inside, I push his comforter out of place just to annoy him and slam his door loud enough to hear over the blasting of the music. Aiming my de-scenter at it like a weapon, I let loose.

When I’m done, there’s no scent hovering in the hall at all.

Dancing forward, I reach Jonas’s room next. It’s a mess. I spot clothes everywhere, his aftershave collection out of its boxes and haphazardly piled together on the dresser.

There are so many fucking mirrors I can see at least four versions of myself, standing in the doorway.

There’s no sign of me in this room at all. But there’s no sign of Lauren either, which surprises me. Stepping back out, I tug the door closed and give it the same treatment I gave Liam’s.

Lauren’s door is closed. I stand in front of it, my lips pursed.

She gets a few half-hearted sprays. She’s barely fucking present anyway, and if I wasn’t so fucked up myself, maybe I’d care more about that.

But she’s one symptom. I’m starting to think that my pack has a terminal illness, and she barely even registers.

The living room gets the next batch of treatment. Every inch is scrubbed, the couch cushions yanked off and cleaned. I stand back with my hands on my hips, inhaling the scent of bleach.

And then Idance.

Through every part of my spotless, scent-free apartment, my feet sliding against the floor in thick socks and with a bottle of de-scenter in my hand that makes a freaking fantastic microphone.

I dance until the thoughts are pushed down far enough that I can smile. Until I feel like the smallest amount of me again and less likehim.

And when I’m done, I dial Katie. She picks up immediately. “I’ve been trying to call you—”

“Shopping.” I grin into the phone at her drawn-in breath. “Lotsof shopping.”

“You’re serious?” It sounds like she’s choking. “I thought you were sick.”

“Yeah, well. I’m prescribing myself a visit to NestRest. And lunch.”

Screw you, Kessler. I’m eating every single carb in Blackwater.

She squeals. “Pick me up in an hour!”

In the absence of real therapy, retail will have to do.

Chapter thirty

Carter

“This is the highest strength.” Mina observes me over her black-rimmed glasses.

She doesn’t look too impressed by me right now. Nobody in this room does.

Curling my fingers around the bottle, I yank it away like she might change her mind. “I appreciate it, Doc.”

“Yes, well.” She pushes her glasses up. “I wasstronglyagainst this course of action. I may have been overruled, but my limitations stand. Maximum four-week dose and only when urgently needed. Any longer and you’re risking serious issues. Tramadol isn’t to be played around with.”