Page 20 of Rescue Me

“After Hailey’s heat, we’re going to have a serious fucking conversation about your behavior,” he snarls, standing in the doorway like some kind of judge, jury, and executioner. “Until then, stay in here. Don’t come out unless we call for you. Got it?”

“Yes,” I mutter, my voice low.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes,sir,” I grit out, the words like acid on my tongue.

He slams the door shut and locks it, the sound of the bolt sliding into place like a nail in my coffin. I stare at the door for a long moment, the silence pressing down on me like a weight.

“What are we, children?” I mutter under my breath, too quiet for anyone to hear. The bitterness in my voice surprises even me, but I’m too tired to care. “He’s going to unlock this door anyway when Hailey needs something and he has no idea how to do it.”

I collapse onto the bed, the lumpy mattress creaking beneath me. The pain is unbearable and my eye is starting to swell shut, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it. Instead, I grab my phone from the back pocket, the screen lighting up as I wake the screen.

Scrolling through Instagram is automatic, mindless. I barely register the news articles, memes, and random posts untilhisface appears on the screen.

The Omega from the diner.

My chest tightens, and for a second, it’s like I can’t breathe. His smile is wide and genuine, his eyes warm and bright, and it’s like everything I don’t have but wish I did.

I let myself stare, my thumb hovering over the first picture. Then I slam the phone down on the bed and bury my face in my hands.

“What the hell are you doing, Reid?” I whisper to myself. But I already know the answer.

Dreaming. Always dreaming.

Because his profile is like stepping into a parallel universe. I grab the phone again, unable to help myself. Bright, shiny, and full of life. His name is Ethan and every photo feels like it belongs in a life I wouldn’t even be allowed to window-shop. Smiling selfies, candids with friends on campus, and artsy coffee cups. It’s got that effortlesslook how happy I amvibe that makes my chest feel tight.

I tell myself I’ll stop scrolling. Just one more photo. Then another. It’s like picking at a scab. There’s one where he’s laughing, head thrown back, sunlight catching in his dark curls. His smile is so open it’s almost painful to look at, like staring directly at the sun. Another has him perched on a picnic blanket with the Blockstone University logo surrounded by friends and enough food to feed a small country. He’s holding up a slice of watermelon, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk mid-bite. I should stop. Ishould.

But I don’t.

And then I see it. The photo that makes my stomach flip. Two months ago. Ethan’s looking up at a tall, gorgeous black woman in an orange crème suit, his expression screaming pure adoration. She’s got this air of elegance, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her other arm loose at her side like she owns the world. The caption reads,“My Alpha. My everything.”

Ouch.

Jealousy hits me like a sucker punch, twisting in my chest. It’s a ridiculous feeling. Ethan isn’t mine. Hell, I’ve spoken exactly zero words to him unless I count that frantic“I’m sorry”before I bolted out of the diner. But knowing he already has an Alpha, someone who looks like they belong in his world? It hurts in a way I don’t have the words for.

My thumb hesitates over the screen and I just hover there, staring at that damn caption.My Alpha. My everything.

And then it happens. My stupid, twitchy thumb betrays me.

Double tap.

The heart icon flashes red, glaring at me like a neon sign that screams,You’ve fucked up!

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, my heart lurching. “No, no, no.”

I hitunlikeso fast I nearly drop my phone. Did he get a notification? Is he staring at his phone right now, wondering why some random Beta with a profile picture ofliterally nothingliked a two-month-old photo? God, I’m an idiot.

I toss my phone onto the bed. “You’re such a fucking moron,” I mutter, dragging my hands over my face. My cheeks feel hot and I don’t know if it’s embarrassment or frustration or both. Probably both. Definitely both.

The ache in my side is worse now, spreading out like a dull, insistent throb. I press a hand against my ribs, wincing. The bruises from Jackson’s “lesson” are a nice shade of purple, probably bordering on black by now. Closing my eyes, I lean back on the mattress and try to block out everything—Ethan, his Alpha, this house, my whole damn life. But it’s impossible. His face is burned into my mind. That smile, that laugh, the way he looked like he belonged somewhere warm and safe. Likehewas warm and safe.

And then there’s me. Bruised, exhausted, and stuck in a house that reeks of Hailey’s heat and her Alphas’ ego. It’s not a fair comparison and I hate myself for making it. But I can’t stop.

I let out a long breath, the sound shaky in the quiet room. Ethan is so far out of reach, not just physically but in every way that matters. Even if I somehow found the courage to speak to him—to explain who I am, what I am—what would it change? He’s got his Alpha, his life, his sunlight and smiles.

What do I have? A contract, a pile of bruises, and the looming threat of being dragged back into the Wilhelms’ orbit every time I step out of line.

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