Page 31 of The Gamma's Second Chance

He shrugs and nods, chuckling at himself. “I realize how idiotic it sounds now that I’m telling you this. But it’s the truth. And I’m not a big fan of change. I like routine and predictability.”

My lips twitch. “I’ve noticed.”

He swallows and returns to his position with his elbows on his knees, watching me all the while, eyes scanning me with an earnestness that awakens fluttering moths in my stomach. I readjust so I’m reclining on the couch more, pulling the blanketshigher and snuggling further into the plush pillow, biting back a sigh as the tension begins leaving my body.

“Tell me. Honestly. Is everything all right?” he asks.

He’s switched back to bossy, grumpy Nolan, his voice leaving no room for argument or lying, but there is an undertone of worry in him. It lingers in his voice, swirls in his eyes, and settles into his posture. He won’t relax until I reassure him.

Something else I don’t quite know what to make of.

This must all be in my head. I’ve stepped into some sort of alternate dimension. Or the use of my ability drained me more than I realized, and I’ve started to hallucinate. Or I fell asleep on our way back to Crescent Lake, and this is all just a fever dream I’ve conjured up because of my unrequited feelings for Nolan, because of the pent-up lust that has found no outlet.

I push those notions away and nod. “I’m fine. Now.”

“What happened? Is that normal? For you to be this exhausted? For your ability to drain you this much?”

He leans forward more with each question, his frown lines etching deeper into his face. I squirm and fidget with the blanket, confused and uncertain about the shift in his attitude towards me. I want to believe it’s real and not in my head, but between my exhaustion and the mixed signals and so many unknown factors, so many unanswered questions—like the yellow diamond ring left on his table the day I arrived—there is no way for me to know what to believe. All I can do is hope, which is also dangerous.

“I absorbed her aura too quickly,” I say, dropping the blanket from my hands and propping myself up with my elbow. “I wasn’t prepared for how much of it she was giving off or for how strong it is.”

“Isn’t that something you would have practiced in your training? Making sure you pace yourself?”

“Yes, but remember, Haven’s aura is unique. One of a kind. Just like her. No one with my ability has ever encountered anything quite like it. I assumed it would feel similar to an alpha aura. I was wrong. Very wrong.”

He nods, and his jaw works as his mind processes my words. “Is it too much for you?”

“No!” I shake my head and run my hand through my ponytail before propping myself up again. “It’s not too much for me. It was just the first time I absorbed it, and I took too much of it in too quickly, like I said. That’s all. Now that I know, I’m better prepared for next time. I’ll pace myself properly so I don’t wear myself out. I’ll probably ask her to help me practice a bit, too.”

“Good,” he says, sitting up straight and rubbing his hand over his short hair as he relaxes back into his seat. “Because I don’t want this to happen again.”

I swallow and drop my hand to the pillow, blinking, a tiny worm of doubt wriggling into my heart. “What?”

“You wearing yourself out like this while doing your job. It can’t happen again. We can’t allow that risk,” he says, the words leaving him with no hesitation or emotion. Just straight facts, pure honesty.

I flinch back, his statement a slap in the face and a stark reminder of all I am to him and the only things I ever will be—a coworker. An inconvenience. The unexpected speed bump in his daily routine.

I shouldn’t have let hope bloom. But I did it anyway. I let the shirt mean more than it did, and I read too much into all our interactions, thinking his concern for me was because he desired me, because he thought of me as something more.

Because I yearn for more.

Silly me. I know better. But hope is dangerous and addictive.

Just like Nolan.

“Well, like I said, it won’t be a problem,” I say, rolling over to face the back of the couch, finally feeling the weight of it all—the exhaustion from earlier, his unintentional rejection, and my reality that I keep forgetting.

“Cassandra—”

“I’m going to sleep,” I say, cutting him off as I burrow further into the pillows and under the blankets. “I’ll let you know if I need something.”

It’s a lie. I won’t let him know. I wouldn’t even stay here on the couch, except my bones are lead and my brain is spaghetti, and all I want to do is fall asleep and forget this conversation, forget the last hour, forget how I thought there could be something deeper between us. Something real. Something special.

His scent from the shirt I wear wraps around me, trapped inside by the weight and warmth of the blankets, and I bite my lip against the pang of pain in my heart, squeezing my eyes shut against the itching of swelling emotions. He lingers on the loveseat for longer than he should, longer than needed, longer than should be legal.

And only when his footsteps fade as he climbs the stairs do I let my tears fall.

Chapter 11

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