Page 31 of Puck Your Bunny

He turns back to the men waiting near the flatbed truck and gives the foreman a thumbs up.

The massive wood chipper roars to life. The crew springs into action, dragging the first load of dead branches toward the machine.

I retreat up the porch steps. I pull my cell phone from the back pocket of my jeans and dial Kristy's number. She answers on the second ring.

"Hey, Vay." Kristy sounds out of breath, the background noise of the pediatric ward echoing behind her. "Everything okay? Do you need me to come over?"

"Tell me you’re innocent." I pace across the concrete porch. I watch a landscaper feed a giant pile of dead brush into the chipper. "Tell me you had nothing to do with the property management here right now."

Kristy snorts through the speaker. "I'm a pediatric nurse. I lack the cash to repave a driveway. That sounds like a rich Alpha problem."

"You are working with them." I grip the phone tight. Anger and anxiety war in my chest. "Why are they sending construction crews to my house?"

"Buying you a driveway was their idea." Kristy shifts into a serious tone. "Wally called me yesterday. He asked for a list of Brendan's safe foods. He asked for your favorite coffee. He needed the nursing schedule to ensure they avoid interrupting Brendan's rest. He wanted to know the safest time to send contractors over without causing a panic."

"They are trying to buy their way in." I stop pacing and lean against the wooden porch railing. "They think they can throw their NAHL money at my life and force me to forget everything I said."

"Get your head out of your ass, Vayda." Kristy lets out a frustrated huff. "These men can save your life. You need to decide right now. You can let bond rejection kill you, when you have an option out, and leave Brendan alone. Or, you can fight and live so you can be with him until his last days."

My throat tightens. The sheer weight of that reality crushes the anger out of my chest.

"See if Brendan likes them." Kristy softens her tone. "He loves you. He would want you happy and cared for since he can't do it himself. Let them help, Vayda. I have to get back to my shift. Call me later."

She hangs up. I lower the phone from my ear. My pulse races. The anxiety twisting my stomach fights a losing battle against a massive wave of relief. Having the hazard of the driveway fixed takes a giant worry off my plate.

I walk down the porch steps. I need to clear my head. The noise of the chipper is deafening in the front yard, so I walk around the side of the faded yellow house toward the backyard. I want to check the perimeter and ensure the landscapers stay away from the shed.

A loud, violent cracking sound echoes from the alley behind my property line.

I stop dead in my tracks on the patio grass. The noise sounds like splitting timber.

I look toward the back edge of my yard. A matte black truck sits parked in the dirt alleyway right behind my property line. The tailgate is down. The bed holds a massive stack of brand-new, pressure-treated lumber.

Kel stands in the alley. He holds a long metal crowbar in his hands. He wears faded jeans and a tight black t-shirt soaked with sweat in the early spring chill. Kel's black hair is pulled back tight, a few strands escaping the manbun to cling to his face.

He jams the flat end of the crowbar under a rotting wooden fence panel. He flexes his arms. His biceps bulge against the sleeves of his shirt. He throws his weight backward, ripping the entire rotten panel away from the support post. He tosses the broken panel into a pile in the dirt alley.

I march across the dead grass. I plan to yell at him for invading my space. The angry words lodge in my throat as I get closer.

I watch him work. He looks focused and meticulous, a far cry from an entitled athlete trying to show off. He swaps the crowbar for a hammer and pries the leftover rusted nails out of the exposed wooden post. He clears the rotting debris out of the way to prep the boundary line.

The intricate, dark cedar branch tattooed on the side of his neck leads down his collarbone, connecting to a sprawling pine forest scene across his broad chest. A towering evergreen sits on his bicep, fading into a network of deep, knotted roots down his forearm where a carved woodsman's axe rests. The rugged scent of sea breeze and leather drifts over the property line. He smells so good.

I clear my throat.

Kel pauses. He lowers the hammer and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. His dark eyes lock onto mine. He waits for me to speak first.

"I told you to leave." I cross my arms over my chest. "A landscaping crew is tearing up my front yard right now. I know you Alphas paid for them. It crosses a massive boundary. The work is underway, so I accept the concrete and the brush removal. I draw the line here."

"The brush was a hazard. Your fence was rotted and falling down." Kel gestures to the pile of broken wood. "We have the resources. Let us help."

I point at his truck. "Take your tools and leave."

Kel sets his hammer down. He takes a step toward the property line. He leans against the wooden post, pushing into my space. "How do you pay for the nursing care? You are a single Omega caring for a disabled Alpha. Where does the cash come from?"

I dig my fingernails into the sleeves of my sweater. "Hale left a large insurance payout from his career. Emmett worked as a day trader. He built a massive portfolio. Brendan ran a successful personal training business before the accident. He also knew people in the state government. We receive assistance stipends."

Kel tilts his head. He studies my face. "You have savings."