Page 67 of Knot Your Rebel

She sniffles and nods, but then shakes her head. “What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she blames me?”

“She’s not going to.”

“But how do you know?” Her eyes are puffy as she looks up at me.

“I just do. Now go.” I turn her and give her a soft smack on the ass. Her feet drag as she walks away from me.

I wait until she’s left the room to hit speed dial on my phone. Coach picks up on the second ring. “Tate.”

I sigh. “Coach. I won’t be at morning skate today.”

“This still about your omega, Geekies? Thought I told you to get it worked out and get your head out of your ass?”

“Her roommate was attacked last night, and I’m not leaving her alone right now. She’s not okay.”

He sighs. “I get it. You know this means I’m scratching you from the game tonight, right?”

“Yeah, Coach. I understand.”

“I expect you to be at the next practice. Am I to assume that Gunnar will be with you all as well?” He isn’t supposed to ask these questions, but I’m guessing he’s already talked to him today.

“Yeah, Coach.”

“Take care of them, Tate. Focus on your omega.”

I hit the end button on the call and sigh. I hate this so fucking much. I hate that Rebel is blaming herself. I knew she would. Although she has the heart of a fucking warrior, I know deep down she’s sensitive. More than most people would ever know, but I’ve seen it in the way she cares about Nova. Their bond is special.

I’m worried this will break her. Not wanting to leave her alone with her thoughts for a second longer, I go in search of my omega.

twenty eight - rebel

. . .

Memories assault my mind. The same phrase keeps running through my head. Nova was almost assaulted, and it's my fault. I should’ve been there. I should’ve taken her place. The thought of being in that position without being given a choice again has me wanting to revert to old habits. Ones that numb the pain.

I haven’t picked up a razor in years. Not since I left that foster home behind, but now I can’t make them go away. The reminders haunt me.

I go through the motions turning on the shower and getting undressed. The water is hot against my skin as I stick my hand under it, scalding almost, but I don’t care. I feel it. His hands. I promised myself I’d never think about him again, but now I can’t stop.

Who did it? Who broke into our home?

The one place I’d finally found safety.

My mind races. I’m broken, helpless again, like that scared teenager with no way out, wondering if this is what life has become.

A sob rips from my throat, and my breath catches in my chest as I gasp, my lungs seizing inside me.

The weight of knowing what she went through last night. The pain is more than just mental. My legs feel weak as I shake standing there in the middle of Tate’s bathroom. I rip open the doors under the sink, searching, sending things flying, looking for anything, something to take it away. There has to be one here.

I feel his hands on me. His warm breath against my skin as he crawls on top of me. A tear slips out, trailing down my cheek.

My lungs fill with pressure as if they’ll explode any minute if I let them. Maybe even if I don’t. I find what I’m looking for tucked into the back of one of the bins under the sink.

The familiar weight in my hands gives me a modicum of comfort, knowing this will help, but also hating myself for letting him get to me after all these years again.

I want to be free of this pain, this anguish.

I just want to breathe again.

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