Greg pulls me up onto his thigh, turning my whole body sideways across his legs so he can kiss me on the forehead and press his face against mine. “Come on, you look more like this is a trip to the gallows than to see your family. If it’s about me, I’ll be fine. But it’s not about me, is it? You know, I can screen your calls for the next two months if you need me to. If it means you don’t have to deal with any bullshit, I’m fine with that.”
He’s bitten his tongue more times than I can count when Mamá has called lately. She likes to check in a few times a week, and that’s fine…but all she wants to do is talk about her grandkids, as if that doesn’t feel like having a knife stabbed in my damned chest every time. Then she always ends the call asking how I’m doing, but has something come up before I can answer. Fuck me, it’s depressingly predictable. Even now, Greg knows that when my phone rings, to bring me a pack of cookies within three minutes. Seriously, my ass is gonna be fucking huge with his constant need to help me feel better.
The bad thing is, I know she does it because she loves me…at least I think that’s the reason. Parents are supposed to, and I don’t know why she would want to talk so much if it was something else. Honestly, sometimes after she calls, I just want to curl up and cry. I didn’t notice as much before Greg was here, because it didn’t seem to matter. But now he’s going to get dragged into it all, and he might see just how broken I am.
Him offering to screen her calls and bring her wrath down on his own head is one of the reasons I love him. Yeah, there, I’ll admit it. It’s been less than a month—he already lives withme, and even his “annoying” habits like brushing his teeth in the shower aren’t that bad. Our lives are almost completely in sync. We both want a family—one day—a place to settle down for ourselves, maybe doing something involving music or maybe animals.
I never really thought about what I wanted to do with my life. My parents just told me I had to go to college and get a degree because none of them did. Well, congratulations. I’ve been at this damned center long enough to have four degrees, not that I ever bothered graduating.
I keep changing my major, looking for something that feels right—and avoiding graduating keeps me from having to move back home and accept a pack my parents set me up with. Omega Studies are boring, though. Whoever said you were supposed to have a plan for your life by the time you hit twenty and decided on a major was nuts. I’ll be thirty in another year and I still have no idea what the hell to do with myself. Too bad I can’t make a career taking care of Shaggbutt and drumming. I’d be set. Hell, working out—I could do that for a living.
But no, my family are traditionalists. Omegas are supposed to join packs, and while getting a degree is important, it’s supposed to be more symbolic than actually useful. Something I can say I did, and then maybe use to help take care of my pack and family. Like Culinary Arts or Finance or Child Development. In other words, service to others. I don’t want to be a bitch or anything, but service isn’t exactly my strong suit. In fact, not telling people to fuck off when they annoy me isn’t exactly my strong suit either.
Greg waits patiently for my answer, continuing to hold me and hum against my hair. Fuck me, I don’t want to do this. “No, no. We can…We’ll go see my family for the holiday. It’s not far, and it means you don’t have to cover for me. Which I really appreciate you offering. Truly. But you’re stuck with me, so by extension,you’re stuck with them. It’s just better if they don’t start off by blamingyouformynot going home for the holiday.”
“Alrighty, Shortcake, you’re the boss.” His body rocks back and forth, lulling me into a half-sleep before I can protest the nickname…again.
Chapter 11
Thank fuck for long holiday breaks. It means I have to make a lot of obnoxious excuses not to visit with my family since there’s actually time to travel, but it also means I can spend time at home with my pack, just relaxing and catching up. All of our schedules have been so busy lately that I miss being around them.
I finish packing my messenger bag with everything I’ll need to take out of my office over the two-week break. Verifying that I haven’t left any dishes around, or snacks that Paul insists on bringing by. There are no old coffee cups sitting about, and no students have left anything that they’ll “desperately need” over the break. Not that they’d be able to get into the building anyway, but better to be safe than sorry.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, as they say. Or, in this case, checking in advance means that I can ignore anyemails over the holiday period. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be able to make a dent in my TBR pile.
Ha, yes, that’ll happen.
Since all Spence and Paul ever give me for Christmas are gift cards to the bookstore, I don’t think I have a chance in hell of making it through my list anytime soon. Not that that’s a bad thing, but it does mean I sometimes forget what I wanted to read after a certain amount of time passes.
It also means that whatever house we eventually settle on will need to have room for a library, or at least massive amounts of bookshelves. Though to be fair, I think all houses should have room for a library. Just my novels alone would fill up several bookcases. I’m starting to believe that’s why I warranted one of the bedrooms over Spencer, despite my smaller size and lateness in joining their pack. No one else wants to deal with all my stacks of books. It currently looks a bit like a hoarding situation, but that’s just because I haven’t found a place to put them yet, so there are several incredibly heavy boxes lining the walls of my bedroom. I still have a pathway to make it to the door, though, at least on one side.
In retrospect, it might become imperative that we look for a house over this break. We’ve saved up a considerable sum for a down payment. Not enough to purchase outright, but it can’t hurt to look.
Despite now living in the south, the cold wind this time of year feels like it cuts right through my winter coat and trousers as I scurry across campus to the faculty parking area. It’s actually a part of the student lots; however, it has different colored lines to denote it being for faculty. That doesn’t stop students from leaving their cars here, but it does mean a ticket from the university’s patrol officers if they see it happen. It’s extremely frustrating, especially considering how much they charge for a parking permit just to work here.
I toss my bag into the car and turn it on, waiting for the ragged beast to warm up enough that the heater will actually work. This contraption is older than most of my students, but I’m uncharacteristically attached to it. It moved me halfway across the country when I decided to leave the suffocating embrace of my family, the painful betrayal of my pack, and the woman who would never be my omega—heading off into parts unknown with nothing but the clothes on my back and the knowledge in my head…or at least whatever I could quickly fit in the frunk. Younger me thought it was very adventurous; current me sees that I was an idiot and things could have gone exponentially worse.
I never expected to end up in Mississippi, but that’s life, I guess. Finding a new pack was also a surprise since I swore I would never join another. Still, if it hadn’t been for the efforts of an overly charismatic student who I first believed to be a complete moron, we wouldn’t be where we are.
It shames me now to think that I was waiting—impatiently—for Spencer to flunk out of my class. He just seemed so ditzy at first. Not that it’s a bad thing, just not something that contributes to a higher learning degree. I was even more shocked when I learned he hoped to be a teacher. Part of me wanted to console the big idiot and tell him that wasn’t an option. It took months of his persistent attempts to get to know me before I realized how smart he actually is.
It’s not that he’s duplicitous in his appearance or behavior; he just seems so naïve. And in some ways, he is—born to and raised by beta parents with four beta sisters, the big man has no idea how to be an alpha. But damnit, he tries. He’s pretty much blown every first impression out of the water since we met. Well, most of them. There are some initial thoughts that have persisted because they were accurate. I still don’t know how he would manage to feed and care for himself if he livedalone. He would probably be hospitalized within a month from several nutritional deficiencies. The man thinks gummy bears and frozen burritos make up the entire food pyramid. Oh, and rice now. Plain white rice, sometimes with sugar on it.
Ugh, that sounds so gross.
My body gives an unbidden shiver at the thought of our youngest pack member’s cooking. If you can call it that. I need to enroll him in some cooking classes, at least online ones. Not that I plan on him ever being without me or Paul, but he should at least know how to boil water without setting himself on fire. I don’t think he’s done that yet, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Actually, cooking classes might make an excellent holiday gift idea. That way he’ll feel obligated to attend, and everyone should know how to cook the basics.
This is an excellent plan, if I do say so myself.
That still leaves Paul that I need to shop for. I don’t actually like waiting until the last minute to get gifts. In fact, it stresses me the hell out, making me worry that I won’t be able to find anything thoughtful, but these men can be difficult to shop for. Add in all of Paul’s stress over the events from earlier this year and the investigation from aforementioned events. I understand why he took responsibility, but I’m also incredibly cross with him for it. I don’t want my pack to be in trouble for the actions of a complete sociopath.
Ok, that’s not fair, Xanprobablyisn’t a sociopath. He just has…flexible morals based around those people he considers important. He also happens to consider the same beta that Spencer has been so enamored with like a younger sister. Which is ironic, really, since the girl doesn’t belong to either of our packs. Still, Spencer would have been devastated had something happened to her, and we didn’t realize his level of obsession until after the fact.
Maybe I could get Paul some vouchers for a nice spa day and massage. Mercy knows that his hands are nothing but calluses. A manicure would do him a world of good and maybe help with some of the stress he’s under. The poor man barely sleeps, and he always seems on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Hopefully, something will be resolved soon so he can finally take a breath.
The radio stations between work and home suck, and my car isn’t new enough to have Bluetooth. Hell, it isn’t new enough to have a CD player. I should have turned on my portable speaker and playlist from my phone before I left work. Between the warmth from the heater and the long day preparing for break, I’m feeling a bit droopy, and my jaw cracks loudly when I yawn—I’m still waiting to just get out of the parking lot. Which is altogether unpleasant.
My dashboard clock is about the only part of this car thatisreliable, and it reminds me that Paul should be getting off work soon. I wonder if I should pick up dinner on the way home from one of the restaurants close to the college. He and Spencer are probably going to be hungry, and I could try to work it as an apology for being such an asshole these last few weeks. I’m always surly around the holidays, but combined with everything else, well, I really should say I’m sorry…somehow.
