Especially not when their daughter nearly burned down their café three days into her “renovation project.”
I groan, covering my face with one hand.
“Note to self,” I mutter. “Try not to die here.”
Pancake meows in sympathy and headbutts my thigh.
Outside, Fox Hollow blurs by. Soft lamplight, narrow roads, fading blue sky. It’s quieter here than I remembered, but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe everything loud about my life got left behind the minute I walked back into this town.
By the time I finish brushing my teeth, the soreness in my calves is catching up with me. I change into one of Rob’s old band tees and a pair of boxers I found in my overnight bag, tug my hair into a messy bun, and curl up on the right side of the bed, where Pancake has already made himself at home.
His tail thumps once when I climb in beside him, but he doesn’t move. Just lets out a sigh like he, too, is processing the long day.
I switch off the bedside lamp and stare up at the ceiling.
It’s strange how clearly I remember certain things now. When I was little, every few months, my mom would pack me an overnight bag and drop me at Grandma’s with a kiss and a whispered,“Be good for Nana.”
I always thought it was because they needed a break. Or maybe they were going to one of those adult dinner parties that required fancy clothes and no children.
Now I know it wasn’t that at all.
It was her heat. That was why they always kept the house locked. Why the blinds stay shut for days. Why Nana would draw a firm line about me not calling home until I was picked up again.
They’d vanish into their little cocoon and emerge three days later, like nothing had happened. Mom would be a little dazed,and Dad would never leave her side for a second. I didn’t understand then.
But I do now.
I reach for the small bottle the doctor gave me. The supplements are meant to help me ease through the cycle without incident, but they still make my throat tighten when I think about what could happen if I lost control. Again.
The way the heat blooms under my skin is like a fuse already half-lit.
I swallow two tablets dry. The taste is bitter, metallic. I scrunch my nose, slide deeper into the sheets, and wrap one arm around Pancake.
Rob still hasn’t texted.
I recheck my phone—nothing. Not a single “Are you okay?” or even a stupid meme, which was his default form of communication on most days.
You’d think that after texting him about nearly burning down my grandmother’s café, the guy I’d been seeing would at least check in.
Apparently not.
Seems Betas can be just as useless as Alphas when they want to be.
I toss my phone onto the nightstand and press my face into the pillow. I’m not going to cry over a guy who clearly doesn’t give a damn. Tomorrow’s a new day.
And I’m still standing.
The next morning, I dress in a pale blue sundress with tiny white buttons and my cleanest pair of sneakers, pull my curls into aloose puff, and step out into the July sunshine. There’s still a faint, smoky tang in the air in the alley behind the café.
There’s not much I can do but hope it clears soon.
I head toward town, hands in my pockets, letting my steps take me where they want.
I haven’t done this in years—just walked without a purpose. Just wandered. The last time I strolled down this road, I was seventeen and furious at my mom for grounding me for skipping AP chem.
Now I’m twenty-four, fresh off a failed relationship, unemployed, and carrying a scent profile strong enough to set off an entire pack of Alphas if I’m not careful.
