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Vee hasn’t spoken to us. She hasn’t responded to any of our texts. As far as I know, she hasn’t left her grandmother’s house. I can’t even blame her.
The backlash from the announcement, and the article reporting on it, is harsh. The things they’re saying about her make me want to burn down the whole fucking world, rip apart everyone who would say a single bad thing about her.
Maxim and Yasmin have done an excellent job of painting Vee as the villain in this story, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s nothing but an innocent bystander, a casualty in a war she knew nothing about.
Jackson has been trying to get the story retracted. He’s reached out to lawyers to have them send cease and desist letters to every media outlet running with the story, but he’s limited in what he can do at the moment. It’s another two years before he’ll have access to his trust fund. Any money we have now is what we’ve earned, what we’re still earning, but it isn’t enough to battle the defamation of our girl.
Two years.
That’s how long we need to play this game, to pretend like Yasmin is pack.
That’s how long we need to have Sylvie wait for us. It won’t be all that bad.
She has one more year of high school to finish, anyway. We always talked about how important it is for her to graduate. Then she can go to college, get a degree and by the time she’s done with that, we’ll be ready to support her as a pack. She just has to fucking wait and understand.
That’s what I’m here for. To make sure she understands.
I stare up at her dark bedroom window. It’s always dark these days, and it makes my heart hurt to think of her there, curled up in the dark, thinking we don’t want her. But if she’s read any of our texts, listened to any of our voicemails, she’ll know we do. So damn much.
That she hasn’t responded makes me think she hasn’t looked at her phone. That she’s still hurt, still thinking we replaced her.
I can’t live with that any longer.
Turning my back on the house, I run at the huge oak tree, running up the trunk and leaping toward the first branch. I’ve done this so many times since meeting Vee that it’s almost second nature now. I haul myself up onto the branch with a low grunt, and then reach for the next one up.
When I’m on the next branch, I get my feet under me and walk toward the house, stepping onto the roof of the wrap-around porch. It groans under my weight, and I pause, just in case this is the time the rotting wood gives. It holds, but I quickly make my way to the dark window, not wanting to risk it.
It’s unlocked.
I let out a breath. She can’t be too mad at us if she left it that way. She hasn’t locked it since the first time I knocked on the glass and asked her to let me in. If she really didn’t want to talk to us, she would have flipped that tiny piece of metal. It wouldn’t have kept me out.
There’s no noise as I lift the window and slide my first leg in, bracing it against the chair Vee put here for this very purpose. Well, that and to make it easier for her to sneak out.
There’s a lump on the bed that I assume is our girl. My heart burns as I move closer to her. But I stall out midway between the window and the bed, taking a deep inhale. No. My heart plummets, hits the floor and then smashes through to flop onto the hardwood in the living room on the floor below.
Vee’s scent is stale, old, fading. My pipsqueak hasn’t been in her bedroom in days. There’s a pile on her bed, a bundle of cloth that I move toward, feeling numb. My fingers curl around a familiar hoodie. It belonged to me, but Sylvie stole it. I filter through the other items. Davis’s t-shirt. A flannel button up of Jackson’s. A cardigan of Asher’s. Pair of Topher’s sweats. All pieces of clothing she’s borrowed from us for any number of reasons.
Under the clothing is a crumpled pile of paper. No, not paper, pictures. I snag one up and try to flatten it. It doesn’t work, but I can make out the image. It’s one of Jackson and her. Her lips pressed to his cheek while he grins into the camera. Me giving her a piggyback as we hike through the forest toward the lake. She and Asher with their heads bent together, obviously having a quiet conversation. She and Davis leaping off a dock together, fingers tangled. Topher’s head in her lap, her fingers in his hair, expressions of so much affection on both of their faces. Memory after memory, crumpled up and discarded. And under all of them is a slim platinum gold band with a heart-shaped knot on the top.
The promise ring we gave her on her last birthday. Not an engagement ring, because she can’t marry all of us and a pack bond is stronger than that. But a promise that we would always love her. That we are tied together. That she belongs with us.
She never takes that ring off.
Ever.
A roar builds and builds in my chest until I can’t contain it. Until it rips free and I fall to my knees, screaming at the ceiling. I’m not sure I’ll survive this.
I know I won’t survive this.
The door of the bedroom slams open, and Gladys strides in.
I’m on her before I realize it. My hand clamping around her neck, shoving her back into the wall. My alpha is snarling in my chest, demanding that I do something, that I make someone hurt how I am at this moment.
The woman that spent years emotionally and physically abusing Sylvie seems like a good place to start. She gasps and chokes, one frail hand coming up to claw at my wrist. “Where the fuck is she?” I snarl into her face as her beta scent turns rancid with her fear flooding the space.
Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. Somewhere in all the rage and pain I’m feeling, I recognize she can’t talk because my fist is wrapped around her neck. I’m torn between squeezing harder and finding out what she knows.
The need to find out where Vee is wins out, and I drop her. She falls to her knees, choking and gasping, one hand pressed to the floor, the other to her chest as she sucks in lungfuls of air.
