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“Take your time, Madison. There’s hot water, and soap, and if you would prefer to shower, you can do that. And just call if you need anything. More strawberries, whatever.”
“Thanks,” I said, but he was already gone, the door closing behind him with a softsnick.
I stayed in the water a moment longer, but the temperature was growing uncomfortably cool against my skin, no longer flushed with heat, and it only came up to my hips without Lucas’s solid body displacing it. I did want a shower–I pulled the plug and stood, not bothering to dry myself off before I shuffled on wet feet over to the shower and turned on the water, hot enough to fill the oversized stall with steam.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: I was thin, and looked tired, my hair lank around my shoulders and–
A mark on my neck. My heartbeat stilled, my stomach twisting, before I recognized it for what it was: not a mating mark; it was just a normal bruise, a hickey. I felt it with my fingers. The skin was tender.
My heart, too, felt raw and red. How long had it been–how many days–since I had stood in front of this mirror, Rian telling me I was beautiful, pulling me into the shower with him, then into bed, where I had fallen asleep wrapped in his arms, and woken up to–to another man, feeding me strawberries, and only the vaguest memories between the two moments.
I stepped into the shower, feeling the water wash over me, nearly scalding, and reached for the conditioner in a tiled niche along one wall. It was silky in my hands, and I worked it through my knotted hair, letting it sit for a minute as I scrubbed myself off. I had bruises on my thighs and hips, small, round marks just the size and spread of a man’s fingertips. Whose? I was sore all over, and tender between my legs, and my nipples were swollen and puffy, and my ass hurt. I rinsed off, then shampooed my hair before conditioning it again. I was tired, but clean, when I stepped out of the steamy shower stall and into the cold bathroom–they must have turned the thermostat down for me–wrapping myself in the warm, fluffy towel. I helped myself to a comb from Rian’s drawer, unearthing a hair elastic in the process. An ex-girlfriend? A one-night stand? It took a long time to detangle my hair, despite the conditioning, and when I was done, I pulled it back into a ballerina bun, not wanting to let it air dry.
I didn’t have any clothes. Tears sprang to my eyes, a sudden upswelling of emotion.
I had thought–
I had thought that I could be happy with them. Like this.
Why was it that now, I could barely stand to face them?
I stuck my head into the bedroom, to see that the sheets had been stripped from the bed, the case-less pillows neatly stacked at the foot. The closet door was open, and I tiptoed inside, looking for something to wear, finding a dresser with a pair of worn-in sweatpants and a white tee shirt. The material was soft against my skin as I pulled the items on, and the neutral scent–Rian’s beta scent, with just a hint of coffee, of rain, lodged so deeply in the fabric that it would never wash out, just as I could never rid myself of vanilla, now–comforted me.
“Hey.”
I turned to see Rian himself, leaning in the doorway to his closet. His eyes flicked from my face, down my body.
“Is this–I mean, I didn’t have anything to wear, sorry,” I said.
“No, no, that’s–that’s fine,” he said. His hands were in his pockets. “If you want to come down, Gray’s making some breakfast.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eight p.m.” he said, smiling. “But we’re on Madison time, now, so… no worries.” Then he paused. “Eight p.m., Tuesday. In case you were wondering.”
“Oh.”
“You slept most of today.”
“Sorry.”
“No, Madison–please, don’t apologize.” His gaze landed on the hickey on my neck, and I watched his expression shift, his eyes close. When he opened them again, he was smiling, a tight smile I hadn’t seen on his handsome face before. “I had fun.”
“Oh,” I said.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s just… let’s go eat some waffles.”
I followed him from the room. My stomach felt empty, but I didn’t think waffles would fill the cavity in my chest.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
Gray
Luc was sittingat the kitchen island, staring into his coffee, but I couldn’t sit. The stack of waffles on the serving platter grew higher as I busied my hands with the waffle iron: pour, flip, pour, flip,don’t think about the omega,don’t think about Rian, in there with her. I didn’t hear her giggles and sounds of pleasure this time. I didn’t hear anything at all, after the shower shut off.
Don’t forget,Lucas had said,it’s her choice.As if I could forget.
Rian’s face, when he emerged from his suite of rooms, was drawn and tight, the dark circles pronounced. Lucas looked up, and I could read his face, too, when he saw Rian’s miniscule shake of the head, the widened eyes signallingno, no.
