Page 8 of Queen Of Clubs

Something inside me told me I better not dare walk by her without helping, so I did. I bent down and helped her pick everything up.

She was so grateful and started to talk to me. I didn’t have the heart to be rude and excuse myself, so I sat and listened.

Her name was Margret, and she was eighty-nine. The sweetest little thing, but, man, could she talk your ear off. She told me all about her life’s story, and something about it stuck with me.

She had best friends she hoped would become her pack one day. They all went off to war. She wrote to them all the time, and they wrote back. For years, she was told that when they got back, they would give her the world.

Then the letters stopped. She contacted the proper people, making sure they didn’t lose their lives on the front lines. When she was told that all of them were alive and well, she held out hope for a little bit longer.

But after some time, she realized that all the plans they made weren't going to become a reality.

Even though it hurt her for a long time, she knew she had to move on. That you’re only given one life to live and shouldn’t waste it on things you have no control over. She wouldn’t let those things ruin your life.

She moved on, found a loving pack, and lived a happy life.

Five years after she bonded with her pack, she found out through friends that her ex-friends, the pack she thought would be hers, ended up meeting their scent match overseas and started a life there.

She was happy she didn’t sit and wait. She would have lost out on an amazing life with a pack who loved her dearly to this day.

So because she told me her story, I told her mine. By the time I was done, she told me to grow a pair and not to let my life be dragged down by stupid boys.

I went home that night and thought for hours. The idea that maybe they ended up finding their omega crossed my mind, and it fucking hurt like hell.

But then I remembered what Margret said, that I owed it to myself to at least try and move on.

I’m young, and people evolve. Life changes. People grow apart, and that’s just life.

They cut me out of their lives, and I shouldn't have to sit around and waste mine over it.

So the plan is still to leave, to get out of this house and start my life. I have no idea where I’m going to go or what I’m going to do, but I know I have to try.

“Jade!” Karen’s crude voice has me inwardly wincing. I hate that woman's voice. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s five, and I don’t see dinner on the table.”

This woman will be the death of me.

“Jade! Where the fuck is my beer?!” Charles shouts.

Unless her husband beats her to it.

He’s most likely screaming from all the way in the living room where he’s sitting in his worn down recliner.

Sighing heavily, I put the bookmark in my book and place it on my bedside table before throwing my feet over the side of the bed. Grabbing my hoodie—it’s really Zane’s hoodie, but I refuse to acknowledge that fact—I throw it on and head down to the kitchen.

“It’s rude to make us wait when we’re expecting to eat at a certain time,” Karen huffs when she steps into the room, arms crossed as she glares at me like I’ve committed some grave offense.

“It was cooking,” I tell her, slipping on the oven mitts. I grab the lasagna from the oven and place it on the stove top. “If I turned the temperature up to cook it faster, it would have burned.”

“Then you should have started sooner!”

With my back turned, I grab the spatula and start dishing out the food into bowls.

“I would have, but by the time I got home from school, it was already four. Then I needed to prep and cook everything before putting it in the oven for the cheese to melt.”

“If you didn’t walk home, you would be here faster.” She snatches a bowl from my hand, shooting me another glare. “Bring your father his food.”

I almost gag at the use of that word. That man is no father of mine. I don’t even know why she started referring to him as such. I’ve been living with this family for ten years, and never once did they call themselves my mom or dad. If anything, they made sure I knew damn well that they didn’t want me as their child. I was here for the money only. And the free child labor.

Shuddering, I grab a fork and one of the bowls. Just as I thought, Charles is sitting in his chair, the TV on with some hockey game playing. “Where’s my beer?” he grunts as I hand him the bowl of food.

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