Page 21 of Puck Your Charity

"I know Victor ruined the first impression." Finn stares at me, his jaw clenching. "He acted like a coward. But we want to earn your trust. Please, Olive. Your body needs a pack. The suppressants will destroy you."

My core throbs in agreement. The ozone scent wrapping around my body makes my mouth water. I want to close the distance and bury my face in his chest. I want to feel his large hands gripping my hips.

I force the terrifying desire down.

"I prefer the suppressants over submitting to you." I force my voice to stay cold and hard. "Get in your car and leave. I have to go. I need to get to the storage unit at the same time as the movers so they aren't standing around waiting for me. I pay them by the hour. Don't contact me again. Tell Lawrence to call his investigator off. If any of you show up near me again, I will file a police report for harassment."

Finn stares at me. His chest heaves. His hands flex and clench into tight fists at his sides, like he battles an invisible force to stay in place. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Okay." Finn takes a slow step backward. "I hear you. I'm stepping back."

He turns around and walks toward a sleek black Jeep parked across the lot. He doesn't look back.

I pull my car door open and slide into the driver's seat. Ripping the blue mask off my face, I lock the doors. My hands shake on the steering wheel. I survived the encounter, but the agonizing throb between my legs proves the battle is far from over.

I spend the next hour at a sprawling self-storage facility on the edge of the city. The moving crew unloads my bed, my sofa, and every piece of furniture I own into a ten-by-ten aluminum unit. I pay them for their time and watch their truck rumble out of the gated lot.

Pulling down the corrugated metal door, I snap a padlock into place. The finality of the click echoes in the empty concrete hallway. I only kept a single duffel bag of clothes for myself. I refuse to overwhelm Chloe's crowded house with the remnants of my ruined life.

Getting back onto the interstate, the trafficcrawls at a miserable pace. The drive to the suburbs takes over an hour. By the time I pull my car into my sister's cracked concrete driveway, the nausea from the suppressants makes my head spin.

I kill the engine and stare through the windshield.

The two-story suburban house looks like every other house on the block. Faded beige siding covers the exterior. A small patch of overgrown grass borders a concrete walkway. A plastic tricycle sits abandoned on the front porch. The property represents everything I avoided by living in my apartment.

I step out of the car. The humid air lacks the crisp ozone and citrus scent from the parking lot. The absence of Finn's pheromones leaves a void in my chest.

Walking up to the front door, I don't even have to knock.

Chloe swings the door open. She wears a stained t-shirt and yoga pants. Her thick dark hair, the exact same shade as my own blunt bob, sits piled in a messy bun on top of her head. A smear of something sticky streaks across her warm golden skin. She looks at me with the same deep brown eyes I see in the mirror every morning, though hers look a lot more exhausted today.

Rose, her youngest, balances on her left hip, grasping a sticky juice box. The television blares a chaotic cartoon from the living room. Two older kids shriek and chase each other around the worn sofa.

Chloe offers a tired, frazzled smile. "Hey, Ollie. Come on in. Sorry about the mess. The kids are feral today."

I step over a pile of plastic building blocks in the narrow entryway. "Thanks for letting me crash here, Chloe."

"You're family." She shifts the toddler to her other hip. "The spare room is at the end of the hall. Rick moved his weight bench out to the garage this morning. It smells a little like a locker room, but we cracked the window open."

I walk down the hallway. The walls feel too close together.

I push the door to the spare bedroom open.

A twin-sized bed sits pushed against the far wall. A thin, cheap mattress offers the only comfort in the space. The carpet boasts a few questionable stains near the closet. The air in the room smells like stale sweat, a lingering reminder of my brother-in-law's gym sessions.

I drop my duffel bag onto the flimsy mattress. I stare at the cramped, depressing box. This is my new reality. I fell from a respected hospital career and a beautiful apartment to a smelly spare room in a matter of two days.

Chloe walks into the room, setting the toddler on the floor. The kid chews on the edge of the juice box.

Chloe sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. "We'll get some air fresheners in here. And you can clear out the closet. Rick keeps his old hunting gear in there, but I'll tell him to move it."

"It's fine." I sit on the edge of the bed. The springs creak under my weight.

Chloe sits down next to me. She bumps her shoulder against mine. "You look exhausted. Those suppressants are no joke. A friend of mine took them for a month before she found her mates. She threw up every day."

I wince at the mention of the drugs. My stomach churns in agreement.

"I have to take them." I stare at the stained carpet. "I refuse to let a pack of arrogant athletes claim me just because my new designation. I hate this Omega status. I lost my entire identity."

Chloe pats my knee. She offers a well-meaning but clueless smile. "You didn't lose your identity, Ollie. You just got an upgrade. Being an Omega isn't a death sentence. You'll find a nice pack. Someone steady and reliable. Then you can quit working and just relax."