Page 7 of Bitter Truths

But I let it stand, swallowing the hurt.

2

BIANCA

The pavement burns through my sandals as I walk through downtown Emerald Hills. Heat ripples from every surface, making the air shimmer and dance. It’s not even summer yet, and sweat is already sliding between my shoulder blades, causing my sundress to cling.

It’s been six days since the waterhole—six days without their mouths on mine, without breathing them in, without feeling like I can fill my lungs properly. I touch the bee charm, pressing the metal into my skin until it bites.

I stand by the fountain where Mom insists on taking our photos every year.

A pack walks by—three alphas wrapped around their pregnant omega as if she might float away without their tether. One grabs her hand at the crosswalk, another carries her bags, while the third’s eyes never stop moving, scanning for threats.

God, I want that so badly it makes my teeth ache. To be surrounded, claimed, their scents marking me so everyone knows I’m theirs. Proof that I belong somewhere. That I belong to four men who have owned my heart since long before their biology even sparked to life.

The omega’s sweet scent drifts over, and every cell in my body screams with jealousy. She smells like everything I should be, everything I’m not.

It pisses me off.

Dr. Montgomery keeps saying to give it time, but how much time?

Only four days until graduation… until I risk everything and see if this fire raging inside me is mutual or just wishful thinking.

“Bianca, come back inside and pick out your boots.”

Mom’s voice cuts through my spiral. She’s holding the door, that look on her face indicating I’m being difficult.

“Sorry. I just needed some air. The ones you picked are fine.”

“You’ve said maybe ten words all day. A little enthusiasm would be nice.”

Shit. Now I feel bad because she’s been over the moon about this trip for weeks. Three weeks of hiking and mother-daughter bonding in the wilderness, which she believes is the perfect graduation gift.

I’m not convinced.

I grab the boots she pointed out. “These are perfect.”

She studies my face, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “What’s troubling you? You’ve been off all week.”

Off. As if that tiny word could possibly cover the storm raging inside, as if it explains how my future hangs by a thread and their response will either breathe life into me or wreck me.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Graduation nerves? Or the trip? Because we can⁠—”

“Mom, I’m good.” The words come out sharper than I intended, so I force a smile. “Just tired from finals and everything.”

She doesn’t buy it but backs off.

“Let’s look at thermal shirts next. Nights get brutal up there.”

I check my phone while she browses. The group chat has been dead since yesterday when Tristan sent some stupid video… absolutely nothing about kisses that changed everything, nothing about wanting me forever.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“We should check out before the storm hits,” Mom says, eyeing the darkening sky. “I need to get to one more store before they close.”

My phone buzzes against my palm, and my heart jumps as it always does until I see Whitney’s name instead of theirs.