Page 6 of Desire Him

CHAPTER THREE

Through a blurry bit of tears, Val turns on the washing machine and shuts its lid at the alpha’s house. She had already cleaned Wayne’s house and moved on to Eme and Logan’s an hour ago. Eme and Logan are clean people, however, so there isn’t much to do besides laundry and cleaning the kitchen. She knows the kitchen is a mess; she had seen it when she walked into the house. Either Logan or Eme had tried to cook breakfast this morning. She is honestly surprised that they didn’t go to Spears' cafe. Maybe they wanted to give Viola space since her mate had left forever today.

Wiping away at a stray tear, she stands in the laundry room, staring at the space above the dryer for a moment, and composes herself. She still seethes. How could Wayne not remember a thing about last night? She’s heard of blackouts, but she’s never experienced one herself. Does it truly rip away all your memories?

Squaring her shoulders, she picks up the laundry basket full of clean and folded clothes, exits the laundry room, and walks down the main floor hallway. By the stairs, she sets the basket down. She’ll get to it later. Right now . . . right now, she needs to take her mind off of all things Wayne and scrub something until her muscles hurt.

She heads into the empty kitchen and stares at the mess for a moment. Pans and pots are sitting everywhere. The counter is full of crumbs and wrappers, and the floor has splotches of . . . something on it. Uncooked egg, perhaps?

Sighing, she approaches the sink with pure determination, turns on the warm water, and fills the sink with water and soap. Bubbles start to grow in size, so she pulls a washcloth from a drawer and submerges it in the soapy water. She begins wiping down the counters, brushing everything to the floor to later be swept and mopped. She knows this isn’t the right way to clean, but at the moment, she doesn’t care.

On the empty side of the sink, she places the pots and pans. She then scrubs the stove, removing grease splatter and egg yoke. When that’s finished, she grabs the granite cleaner from under the sink and uses paper towels to shine up the counter.

Nodding her approval, she heads to the sink and begins washing the dishes, a mind-numbing task.

“Hey, Val,” someone says behind her. Val nearly jumps out of her skin.

She whips around, bubbles all over her hands, the soaking cloth gripped in her palm. “You scared the shit out of me, Eme.”

Eme grins and slides onto a stool. “Sorry. Didn’t you hear me come down the stairs?”

“No.” Val shakes her head and plops the cloth back into the sink. “I was lost in thought.”

Eme cocks her head to the side. “What were you thinking so hard about?”

Val wipes her hands dry on a hand towel next to the sink. “Actually, I was doing my best not to think.”

“Why?”

Val glances warily at her alpha, her friend, and considers what she should tell her. She doesn’t want to get Wayne into trouble. That’s not her intention. She may be pissed at the guy, but in the end, it was her fault for telling him all of that when he wasn’t at his best. Or, that’s what she’s telling herself.

Rubbing a hand down her face, she decides to open up. “What do you know about last night?”

Eme’s eyebrows knit together. “You mean after you left my side?” Val nods. “Well, you went to Wayne, made out with him, and then left.” A wide grin spreads across Eme’s face. “And I can only assume what happened next.”

“Yeah,” Val sighs, frustrated as hell.

“Was there something wrong with it?” Eme asks after a moment’s pause.

Val leans her backside against the counter. “I did what you asked. I told him how I felt. I even told him that I love him, and he . . .”

Eme’s face pales. “Oh my God, he took advantage of it, didn’t he? I’m going to kill him.”

“No, no.” Val waves a hand in the air. “I don’t think he meant to. He was drunk, and we were both willing.”

Eme steeples her fingers, resting her elbows on the counter. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is he doesn’t remember it. Not the sex, not the confession, not any of it.”

Eme only blinks at her. “Did you have to remind him?”

“No!” Val crosses her arms. “I didn’t remind him of anything.”

“Well, why not?”

“I–” Val frowns. “I confessed myself to him. I opened up about my feelings, knowing I could get hurt. It feels like, by having done so and having him not remember, those feelings are a burden he shouldn’t have to be subjected to. Not on the spot. It makes me feel like I’m begging him to return the same affection. I don’t want to beg. I want him to remember.”

In a quiet voice, Eme says, “He’s not going to remember, Val. Either you tell him, or you live with the what-ifs.”