Page 12 of The Gamma's Second Chance

“I’m taking your truck to the city,” I repeat.

He sighs and tosses his pen on top of the lined yellow paper, leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing his forehead. “Why?”

“Because the sound system in your truck is better than the one in mine. And I’m still annoyed with you about this whole Cassandra thing.”

“Did she explain to you why she’s here?” he asks, dropping his hand.

I grunt and cross my arms, leaning against the doorway and avoiding his eyes, staring out the large windows that overlook the pack grounds. It’s the best view in the packhouse, but I can’t appreciate it right now. “She did.”

“Then you understand why it’s important. We can’t have any more issues. King Malachi did us a favor by reaching out to the high oracle to ask if anyone could help us. And she’s the only one they could send, and your house is the only place she can stay right now.”

He crosses his arms, too, and once again, his tone leaves no room for me to argue. He doesn’t alpha command me—he won’t unless he absolutely needs to—but it’s implied, nonetheless.

She’s staying with me, end of discussion.

My entire body tenses as her bright-as-the-sun smile flashes through my mind, and her tinkling piano laugh rings in my ears. I breathe out through my nose and clench my teeth.

“Why is this so upsetting for you?” Wesley asks, brow furrowing.

“She’s so… happy. All the time.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours.”

“Exactly,” I say, fully aware of how ridiculous and childish I must sound right now.

He’s right. It’s barely been a day. I should give her a chance; sit back and see how this plays out. I should let it go and stop pestering him. He has enough on his plate—worrying about hisluna, getting ready for their pup to arrive in a few months, and Goddess only knows what else he deals with as our alpha.

Wesley’s lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “There’s something else, though. And I’m guessing it has to do with the request Rachel submitted for an official pack transfer to the Lynn Woods Pack in Massachusetts?”

His chair rocks side to side, and he watches me, waiting to see if I’ll respond.

I don’t.

My silence is answer enough. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know my blow-up yesterday had almost nothing to do with Cassandra and almost everything to do with Rachel leaving.

For good this time.

And now I have to deal with little miss sunshine and daisies while also grappling with my reignited feelings of rejection and inadequacy as I replay every single memory of my years with Rachel, searching for a key moment, a specific choice I made that altered the course of our relationship, making it end with her walking out of my life forever instead of ending in a happily ever after with her remaining at my side.

Joy.

“So Cassandra’s going to be around me all the time?” I ask, moving the subject away from Rachel. “At Haven’s rehearsals, I mean?”

“She is,” Wesley says, following my change of subject with obvious, understandable reluctance. But I don’t care. I’ll talk about it with him later. Maybe. When I’m ready.

If I’m ever ready.

“And anywhere else Haven needs to go for luna duties,” Wesley adds. “Meetings with other packs, the Northern California mating ball in a few weeks…”

I sigh and rub my hand over my short hair. The mating ball. No one in our pack has attended one since I was rejected, andthe only reason I’m going is because Haven is going. Otherwise, I’d be staying here with Reid and Sebastian in protest.

I definitely don’t want to talk or even think about that event right now. I won’t touch that issue until I absolutely have to. Instead, I circle the conversation back to Cassandra’s role here at Crescent Lake. “And has anyone thought of the questions people will ask? About who she is or why she’s at Haven’s ballet rehearsals with me?”

“We gave her a tablet and a laptop. Just tell everyone she’s your intern or personal assistant or something,” Wesley says, shrugging and picking his pen back up.

“Fine,” I say, crossing the last few steps to his desk and holding my hand out to him. “But I’m still taking your truck.”

Wes sighs and tosses his pen down again, opening his drawer to grab the keys to his truck. He dangles them in the space between us while giving me a warning glare. “Just be careful with it. The last time I let one of you borrow it, the tailgate ended up dented.”

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