Page 45 of A Nest of Maple & Mist

Not to mention the whole scent-matched pack thing I was stupendously messing up.

How had I ended up here? A failure in my professional, personal, and aspirational life.

Did that mean I’d won the gold medal?

Things with Ty and Jason had been good… great, even. But one giant complication loomed in the shadows. One delicious alpha-shaped complication named Shane Hemlock.

He continued to avoid me. The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit.

I supposed it was my fault. I had thrown a plate at him. My face fell into my hands. Shit. Had I become the asshole in this situation? When I threw, I aimed high. I didn’t want to hit him.

That didn’t make it okay. My fingers rubbed my eyes.

I released a pitiful whine. My skin itched to the point of making me want to crawl out of it. I had never warred with my omega like I did now.

The constant need to be with my alpha—with Shane—and the desire to punch him in the face, made me dizzy and confused and inexplicably lonely. My hormones were all over the place.

Maybe I needed to make an appointment with a doctor.

I fumbled for my coat, about to make the trek to the sandwich shop around the corner when my body tensed. The air in the bookstore shifted, laced with a toasted caramel note that made me slick between my thighs.

Every nerve in my body burned, my stomach swooping while my heart raced.

Shane stood by the entrance, his massive frame filling the doorway. Umbra followed behind him. The rust-colored fox weaved between his feet, brushing his calves with her bushy tail before trotting toward a secluded sunspot at the back of the shop.

My vision tunneled on him. Those mossy eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. Dark, dirt-dusted denims hugged his thick thighs, with an oversized hoodie tossed over his wide-set shoulders.

His mother would have thrown a fit if she’d ever seen him in a hoodie, even just lounging around his room.

To the Hemlocks, appearances were everything.

The Hemlock name carried with it a laundry list of expectations. Hemlock Whisky was a brand. One of status. To be a Hemlock meant one had to forgo their own needs.

My face scrunched in disgust. Mrs. Hemlock—she never graced me with her given name—had shared that piece of wisdom with me after my second date with Shane.

I had loved Shane—gods, had I loved him—I’d barely tolerated his parents. In return, they never hid their disdain for me, even if they tried to cover it up with practiced smiles and feigned politeness.

My parents were betas—a butcher and a teacher. In the eyes of the Hemlocks, my family was less than. I was less than. A commoner, not good enough to consort with their son.

Shane’s parents were the picture of perfection. At least that was what they’d have everyone believe. A bonded omega and alpha who produced exactly one heir—because they were the pretentious sort to call their child their heir instead of their son.

The Hawthorne family next door couldn’t have been more different. They were a chaotic, beautiful mess. Jason’s parents were a bonded pack – three alpha fathers, an omega mother, and his beta mother.

Their home had been filled with mud, love, and five children—alphas, betas, and omegas piled together.

For the Hemlocks, I was never enough.

But Shane had been different.

He was the boy who adored my father’s stories and helped my mother in the kitchen. He was sweet. Thoughtful.

Until one day he wasn’t. Until the day he left my world in ashes.

I had been a fool.

I believed he was different.

But he wasn’t.