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"Just Brooke. You want to get ready for dinner?" Her eyes bug out when she realizes the time and jumps out of bed.
"I just need to take a quick shower then I'm ready, I swear," she mumbles, racing around the apartment, gathering a towel and change of clothes.
Chuckling, I say, "Take your time. We can be a little late to dinner if we have to."
Happy to have you to myself a little while longer.I want to say, but don't. She's not just my mate, so I'll pull on my big boy pants and share without bitching.
"No, it's okay. I want to see everyone." She's rushing around so much she must not realize how sappy she sounds. In the best way, though. She just saw Hudson and Maverick this morning and still includes them when she talks about missing everyone. She's got to be close to recognizing us. If not, we need to tell her soon. Any later, and she may get mad at us for keeping it from her for so long. It's better to have the truth out there in the open, even if it causes problems. We can't work through our problems if we avoid them. The sooner she knows, the sooner we can move forward. As a pack.
I wonder how soon we can convince her to move in with us. I'd love to get her out of this apartment.
Forty minutes later, I'm parking my car in the garage at the house and jogging around to open Summer's door for her. I grab her hand and walk with her inside. Almost as soon as we're through the garage door that leads to the house, they're upon us. Hudson rips her out of my hand and into his arms for a bone-crushing hug. Followed by Maverick and then Brooke. Watching them with her, as Brooke leads her to the kitchen where I can smell Mav's chicken piccata, big smiles on everyone's faces, I can't help but think how lucky I got when I stumbled into this pack's arms not too long ago. Heartbroken and alone. Now, I'm surrounded by laughter, friends, good food, and my fated mate. It doesn't get much better than this.
Twenty-Eight
Summer
It's beena week since I had dinner at the pack house, and I feel like a tornado could roll through and still not dampen my high spirits. Almost every night has been spent with them at the pack house. They've all been amazing. Mason has made a nightly thing about rubbing down my body, kneading all my knots into submission, and then I'd return the favor. Some nights I spent with Maverick and Hudson going through samples for their newest project. Tiles, paint, countertop, and flooring we picked out together, and then they did the rest when I spent time with Brooke. She let me get sneak peeks at some of her clients' manuscripts that haven't been sent to publishing houses yet, so I've done a lot of buddy reading with her. Though, even when I spent time with each of them, it was in common areas, and I found myself surrounded by the whole pack. It's been nice, being around all of them.
Brooke in particular. She's a completely different person in her house than she is to the rest of the world. At work and outside the pack house, she's composed, poised, powerful, and so sexy. When she's around her pack, she's relaxed and sweet and oddly goofy. Her and Mason get along like they were split from the same atom sometimes. Though Hudson definitely has his goofy side, too. Each night, I slept in someone's bed. One night for each of them, and since today's Friday, I've decided to spend a night at home by myself to recoup. Not from anything physical. In fact, since my heat, I haven't had sex with any of them. They're content to just hold me through the night, which I was honestly pretty grateful for, since my body was still feeling like it got ran over by a truck, despite Mason's ministrations.
It's been bliss in my personal life, and I think that has bleed into my professional life somehow, too. Though, maybe my good mood has just carried over to that other side of my life, making it seem so much more enjoyable. I decided to go back to work Thursday, even though I was given permission to take the week. At Pen2Paper Press, people have seemed more welcoming and helpful. Jerrick introduced me to the man who is working on the structural editing of Dillan's novel. I've discovered that it's going to go through three phases of edits: structural, content, and technical. With structural, he's going to be focusing on the way it's organized and determining whether it makes sense. Along with reaching out to Dillan to suggest any big changes he thinks it needs, and Dillan can accept or reject them. Brandon, the structural editor, offered to let me observe his conversations with Dillan and ask any questions I have about his process. It's an amazing learning opportunity, which Jerrick has promised I can do for the content and technical editing as well. I'll start sitting in on those strategy meetings next week.
For now, I'm shutting my computer down for the night and already thinking about what show I'm going to watch. A night in with a serial killer documentary and some of the sweets Hudson bought me sounds like just what the doctor ordered.
"Bye, Jerrick. See you Monday," I say, peeking my head in his office and waving. He said he'd be staying late, and it's five o'clock, so I'm getting out of here. Barely sparing me a glance and goodbye, he gets back to work, and I head out.
Walking back home, the weather is sunny and seventy degrees, the perfect end to a perfect week. Everyone I walk past gets a friendly smile and nod, which most of them return. One omega I pass has a fruity scent that reminds me of Ava. I wonder what she's doing tonight. I stuff my hand in my purse and feel around for my phone and then pull it out and shoot her a text to see if she wants to watch any documentaries with me tonight.
While I wait for her to respond, I pass a small grocery store and decide to pop in to grab a bottle of wine for us to share tonight. The store is littered with people, probably coming in for weekend drinks and food right after work like I am. I stop at the wine and liquor section and peruse the white and rosé bottles before plucking a sweet cherry moscato off the shelves.
I'm walking up to the check out line when my phone pings.
Ava
Sorry, can't tonight. Rain check? Xoxo
My good mood deflates just a little. I haven't seen or talked to her since last Friday before my heat hit. Well, I'm scheduled to work tomorrow so at least I'll see her then. Since I don't really feel like drinking alone, I turn around and put the moscato back on the shelf before walking out the door. Just as I'm leaving, I pass the cashier counter when the condom section catches my eyes.
No.
No no.
No no no no no.
I'm no longer on birth control. My old pack asked me to stop using it when we decided to try for a baby, and when I ran, I didn't have a use for them anymore. I'm not on birth control anymore, and I just went through a heat with two men who did not use protection. How could I have been so careless?
Oh, I know.
My omega doesn't think about protection when a heat is biologically designed to make sure you get pregnant. The chances of conception during a heat increase exponentially. Now is definitely not the right time. Would I love to have children? Yes. Ever since that first test came back positive, I've wanted it. But not right now, when I'm in a weird limbo between two different packs; the one I'm mated to and the one I want. I'd keep it, there is no question about it, but Goddess do I want more time.
I check the time on my phone, and it's about fifteen minutes until six—when Doctor Tanner's office closes. I dial her number and put the phone to my ear, my heart beating fast as I wait for someone to pick up. The nerves make me feel a little nauseous.
"Doctor Elizabeth Tanner's office, how can I help you?" a sweet sounding voice chirps down the line.
"Yes, uh–hi. My name is Summer, I need to get in to see Doctor Tanner as soon as possible," my voice is unsteady, breaking with nerves.
"Summer...hmm, date of birth?" she asks. Doctor Tanner is the only doctor in the city I was able to find that would take me without insurance or giving my last name. The only thing she asked was for a date of birth to differentiate my name from other patients who could be named Summer. I still gave a false date of birth though, in case Pack Monroe looked for me based on any combination of my name and date of birth in hospital or doctors records. They've certainly got the money to hire someone to look that hard, if they wanted to. So I answer the nurse with my fake date of birth.
