Page 6 of Puck Your Bunny

I grip my phone tighter. I need her to understand the reality of my situation. I need her to see a fairytale ending is not on the table for someone like me.

I pull the collar of my sweater away from my skin, trying to let the cool breeze hit my sweating neck. Kristy holds her ground on the sidewalk, expecting me to agree with her.

"And then what?" My voice is flat, stripped of any leftover panic. "I bring them into my life? I just invite three millionaire athletes into my house?"

Kristy opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off.

"Look at what I have to offer, Kristy." I gesture to myself, to the oversized clothes hiding a body wasting away from sickness. "No new pack is going to accept Brendan. It's too much to ask of anyone. Abandoning him just to save myself is never going to happen."

Kristy drops her hands to her sides. The fight drains out of her posture. She knows I'm right.

Alphas are territorial by nature. They want an Omega to focus on them. Asking three dominant Alphas to accept a severely disabled Alpha from a previous pack is an impossible request. They would see Brendan as a burden or a threat to their dynamic. Putting Brendan in a situation where he is resented or pushed aside is out of the question. He's already lost enough.

"It doesn't have to be like that." Kristy offers a weak defense, but her tone lacks conviction.

I look at my friend with tired eyes. The streetlights cast harsh shadows across her face. We've been friends for a long time, long enough for her to watch me fall apart after the accident.

"Besides, loving like that again feels impossible." I look away from her, staring out at the passing traffic. "Those men back there deserve an Omega who can fall head over heels for them. Just like I did for Emmett, Hale, and Brendan. They deserve afull life. They don't deserve the shell of a woman I've become. It wouldn't be fair to them."

A sleek black sedan pulls up to the curb next to us. The hazard lights blink twice. I check the license plate against the numbers on my phone screen. It's my ride.

I reach out and squeeze Kristy's arm. It's a silent apology for ending the night like this. I step around her and pull the car door open, sliding into the backseat. The air conditioning from the car vents hits my overheated skin.

I shut the door and give the driver a quick nod. The car pulls away from the curb.

The ride home is quiet. The driver keeps the radio turned off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I lean my forehead against the cold glass of the window and watch the city pass by.

The glittering high-rises and expensive restaurants of the downtown arena district give way to strip malls and older apartment buildings. The streets get darker, the streetlights spaced further apart. It takes thirty minutes to reach my neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The houses here are small and close together, with chain-link fences and cars parked out on the street.

The car stops in front of my house. I thank the driver and step out into the quiet night.

The spring air hits me, smelling like damp earth and budding pine needles instead of exhaust fumes. I walk up the cracked concrete driveway toward the front porch. The porch light is burnt out, leaving the front steps bathed in shadows.

I stop on the bottom step and take a long, deep breath.

My body still aches. The rejection sickness hums right under my skin, a constant reminder of the pack I lost. The nausea has settled into a dull, gnawing cramp in my stomach. I dig my keys out of my pocket, the metal clinking in the quiet neighborhood.

I walk up onto the porch and look toward the front window.

Cali is waiting for me. My calico cat loafs the back of the sofa in front of the window, her green eyes glowing in the reflection of the streetlights. She presses her nose against the glass and lets out a meow.

A small, genuine smile breaks through my exhaustion. Cali always waits up for me; she needs her cuddles at bedtime.

I stand on the porch for another minute, listening to the wind rustle the budding branches of the oak tree in the front yard. I need to leave the hockey players and the panic on the doormat. I can't bring that chaotic energy inside. Brendan picks up on my moods. If I walk in there shaking, it will only upset him.

I roll my shoulders back and force my muscles to relax. I put my key in the lock and turn the knob, stepping inside my home.

The familiar smells of the house wrap around me the second I step through the door. It smells like laundry detergent, Cali's wet food, and Brendan's lingering Alpha scent. Brendan still smells like fresh rain and driftwood. It hits me just how close his scent is to the sea breeze I smelled on the guys at the arena.

I drop my keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and toe off my boots.

Brendan sits in his customized wheelchair in the center of the living room. He faces the television, but his attention snaps to the entryway the moment the door clicks shut.

His face lights up with a massive, unfiltered smile. The left side of his face droops slightly, a lingering result of the traumatic brain injury, but the joy in his brown eyes is intact.

A happy hum vibrates deep in his chest. He reaches his right arm out toward me, his fingers curling in a clumsy grasping motion.

"Hey, Bren." I walk over and take his hand, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. I smooth down the messy blonde hair sticking up at the crown of his head. "Did you have a good night?"