Page 7 of A Beta Protects

I give it two minutes, just to be sure, then I pull the drape open. A wolf. Shit. I nearly fall in my scramble away from the window when my gaze clashes with a pair of golden eyes at the edge of the forest.

“It’s okay, you’re inside. It can’t get to you, so quit shaking,” I order myself as my heart pounds in my chest.

I’m safe.

But it was staring right at me, like it knew I was hiding behind the drapes, and was waiting for me to open them.

Then my heart pounds for another reason.

Dom.

He was out there, heading into the forest. Should I warn him about the wolf?

I briefly consider it. Then I shake my head at my stupidity. This is Dom’s home. He knows all about all the wild things that live in the forest. He can look after himself just fine. The guy was a Marine. A wolf is nothing to a guy who fought countless wars and came home a hero.

I’m walking to the door to get cleaned up in the bathroom when a howl rings out and I nearly have a heart attack. I freeze, waiting for it to come again, and when it doesn’t, I continue to the bathroom.

Just like Dom said, there’s a clean towel hanging behind the door and a spare toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink. No hairbrush though, so I’ll have to stick with running a hand through my hair, and braiding it to keep the waves under control.

A shower can wait.

Quickly stripping out of my clothes, I spend the next several minutes hand washing my T-shirt, panties, and bra with a bar of unscented soap.

Would I prefer a washing machine? Yes.

Do I miss my tumble dryer so I never have to experience wearing damp panties as I drive for hours? Of course.

But home comes with something I will never miss.

Bryce.

I wring my clothes out as best I can, and spend far too long in the shower, washing my hair with coconut shampoo, and my body with soap.

The last few days have involved using hand wipes in places no one should use them, and brushing my teeth with a tube of toothbrush and my finger.

I had fifteen dollars and a handful of change in my purse on the day I’d left Bryce. When my gas got low, I spent every cent I had to get more. Nothing else mattered than to get even further away from Bryce. Not food. Not a motel. Nothing. Just get far, far away from Missouri.

I’d pawned my watch in Chicago to pay for more gas, some food, and, most importantly, an attorney. I’d bought a toothbrush and more wipes as well, but someone banging on the restroom door made me drop my toothbrush. I’d seen the state of the floor. There was no way that toothbrush was going back in my mouth. No way.

I’m yawning as I dry my body, brush my teeth, and gather my wet clothes before returning to my room. I lock the door behind me. Dom seemed vague about the other people who live here and I have no desire to have someone surprise me in the night.

I ignore my stomach rumbling as I hang my clothes on a cold radiator and climb naked into bed, flicking the lamp off before I settle down for the night.

Food is a luxury right now. Uninterrupted sleep where I don’t have to worry about someone banging on my car window or a security guard shouting at me to park elsewhere is all my body is crying out for. One night of proper sleep and maybe tomorrow, I’ll be able to figure out what to do next.

Dom’s bed is so comfy, I’m drifting off within seconds.

Bryce would have received the letter I sent the day before yesterday. I paid extra to send it by using their registered delivery service. He’d have had to sign to accept the letter, which the attorney told me I should keep the receipt so I’d have a record he received it.

I envision him dressing in his uniform, getting a knock on the door, and frowning as he tells Doug, our postman that he hadn’t been expecting any mail.

He’d tear into the envelope, drag out the letters and my wedding ring would fall out, along with the divorce papers I’d already signed.

I try to imagine what he would do next. Go to work like usual? Immediately try to track me down? Sign the papers?

No. Bryce wouldn’t just sign them. That would be too easy. His mom left his dad when he was in middle school, and Bryce liked to tell me that she hadn’t been serious with her vows. That he was serious about his. In sickness and health, he liked to remind me. Till death us do part. That last part is what terrifies me the most.

Bryce won’t sign those papers. He’ll try to convince me that this isn’t something I want. That I want to stay with him.

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