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Weeks turn into months, and now the hotel is nearly unrecognizable. It was just four rogue women with three babies in tow doing what, I thought, was impossible when we started. At times, it seemed there was no end in sight and all of us wanted to give up. Fix one thing, find another issue; yet we managed it.
Now, here we are, four days before the health and safety inspector comes out to check our progress again. The first time he came out, he gave us a list of issues and snorted in laughter when we told him it was only us fixing it up. He shook his head and said it was impossible and that the place should just be bulldozed.
Nearly a year has passed since then. In that time, we've fixed all the hotel rooms into immaculate suites that match or even surpass the other hotels in the city. Macey and I went 'hotel shopping', as we called it, and sussed out the other nearby accommodations. At each of them, we booked a room for a night to test the services and check out the rooms and decor to develop our own ideas. The function room was one thing most of the other hotels didn’t even have, whereas ours is big enough to hold weddings and formal functions.
We've done it up as a winter wonderland inside, elegant yet also sophisticated if needed, depending on the function. Every time I walk into the function room, I marvel at it. It looks like something out of a fairy tale wedding. Twinkling fairy lights hang from the ceiling, coming together in the center of a crystal chandelier—one of the most expensive things Valarie paid for, but the glittering centerpiece of the room.
Besides all the hotel rooms being transformed, the pool area is restored and the property's gardens have been trimmed and well maintained. In the rear gardens, we found four water fountains that still worked, and after a good tidy up, it has a tropical oasis feel.
The restaurant in the main building is fully functional—all appliances have been removed and replaced with better stainless steel and energy-efficient ones. Solar panels have been placed on every building to save money on energy costs when it opens. We also have a children’s play area that's fully enclosed and will eventually offer childcare services for employees and guests.
On top of all the renovations, three nights a week, I go to the community college on the street behind us. Valarie paid for my business courses, so on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I attend classes.
I only have one month left and I will have finished my studies in accounting, business management, and administration. I just hope I live up to Valarie’s expectations. Since meeting Valarie and her taking us in, I'm hopeful for the future and excited for what it will bring.
Our most challenging tasks now are passing the health and safety inspection and finding people to help run the place. We've done all this by ourselves, with a little help from Zoe’s child’s father and Macey’s brother, but we still need more workers to run this place. Four women can’t be everywhere and doing everything at once.
All that's left of the big stuff is the front gardens and painting the exterior, which is nearly done, but we've just run out of paint. Macey’s brother is currently trimming the front hedges, and Macey is mowing the lawn with the ride-on mower she borrowed from her neighbor.
“You ready, Everly? I want to get back quickly. Hopefully, we'll have enough daylight to finish that last side,” Zoe calls out to me. We're feeling particularly dedicated today.
“Yeah, I'm ready when you are,” I call back to her while climbing in Valarie’s truck. Zoe climbs in the passenger side and I start the old beast up. Valarie waves from the top balcony with Valarian and Casey in her arms, both smiling and babbling happily as we turn onto the road heading for the hardware store.
“I'm beginning to worry about Valarie,” Zoe says, and I hum in agreement. “She's been so ill lately.”
“Yeah, me too. I tried to convince her to go see the doctor last week, but she refused, as always,” I tell her. Zoe shakes her head and sighs. Last week I walked in on Valarie during one of her coughing fits, only this time it was much different; as she wiped her mouth, her tissue was covered in blood. When I confronted her about it and urged her to seek medical help, she said it had been happening for over a year now and not to worry.
I still worried, and it was all made worse each time her mate stopped in to see her. I've been here nearly a year, but he's like a ghost. I see his car come and go, but I have yet to see the man’s face even after this much time. Zoe and I call him 'the faceless Alpha'. That's the only thing we've figured out about him, and that's only by the apparent Alpha vibes he gives off.
“Do you worry that he's slowly killing her? That all this time coming and going is tearing her apart inside?” Zoe asks. I say nothing because I know her mate is the reason she's so sick; I've already noticed it in myself. Going decades without your mate must be pure agony because I feel it with Valen already, and it's been months, not years.
I feel every time he's with a woman, and each time it kills me a little more. Every time I shift, my wolf form is weaker and a little smaller. The longer I remain rogue and without my mate, the worse my wolf side deteriorates. My health has also deteriorated; I'm always sick with the flu or stomach issues, and no matter how much I eat, I can never put on weight. My hair falls out in clumps sometimes, especially when he's been busy fooling around with women. Other times I feel drunk, making me question if he's an alcoholic. So, I can only imagine how badly Valarie suffers after decades of this torture.
The more time goes on, the more I feel him, and it's horrible. It's like the mate bond is pulling me toward him and resisting its taking its toll on me. He has no idea; those times I tried to reach out to him, fear of him taking Valarian stopped me each time. Valarian is mine; I'm raising him, I'm looking after him, and I'll be damned if I let his father take him from me as Valarie’s mate did to her.
Pulling into the parking lot of the hardware store, Zoe and I hop out of the car, paint code and cash in hand.
“We need a new paint tray too; I cracked the other one accidentally,” Zoe says as we step into the store.
“You grab the paint; I'll grab the tray,” I tell her, and we split off down different aisles. Walking down the painting section, I look for the correct paint tray. It needs to be big enough for the roller brushes. Once I find it, I grab a spare just in case. Heading back to the front of the store, I see Zoe waiting in line; she smiles at me, and I step over next to her.
“Four gallons should be enough?” she asks.
“Yes, plenty—and we should have some left over; not much left to do now,” I tell her, turning to the front.
My heart skips a beat when a scent wafts to me. I would recognize that scent anywhere. Heart thumping erratically, I swallow as I stare at the man’s frame in front of me. He is as tall and intimidating as ever. Emotion chokes me as I observe him. Zoe continues talking away, completely oblivious to me trying to keep myself together.
I watch as he steps up to the counter to be served. He talks casually to the man behind the counter as he pays for his things before turning around and noticing me. He stops dead, looking me up and down.
I gulp, looking up to meet the eyes of my father. We kind of stand there for a second and I wait for him to say something. My mouth is suddenly so dry I can’t say a word.
I haven’t seen him since the night I found out the blood Alpha is my mate—since the night my own father made me sit out in the rain before kicking me off his territory and telling me to never come back. Despite all that, I miss him, but the look of indifference on his face is enough to say he doesn’t miss me.
He snarls, his top lip lifting over his teeth as he looks me over before looking at Zoe, who has finally noticed Alpha John, the second most intimidating man in the city—my father. I open my mouth to try to say something, to ask how mom is, but before I can say anything, he turns and walks out the door.
Not one word. Nothing. The look of disgust on his face is the same as when he found out I was pregnant. I thought it wouldn’t hurt me as badly as it did back then. But it does. I blink back tears and gather myself as I step up to the counter with Zoe. She doesn’t bother saying anything. What could she say? It would change nothing.
It's one thing when any of us go out and get the inevitable stares for being 'rogue-whores' from everyone else. But my own father—my own flesh and blood—it hurts exponentially more. I just want him to care, maybe ask how his grandson is or how his daughter is. Instead, I get nothing but a look of disgust, like I'm a piece of gum that got stuck to his shoe, and that stings. I'm nobody to him.
