Page 44 of Broken Bonds

The beta that led us in here leaves us almost immediately, shutting the door behind him with a muttered, “Have fun.”

Forde extends his arm in my direction and invites me to pick what I want to use first. After stepping up to the first table, I take a few moments to look it over before spinning around to survey the room to determine what I should use to work my frustrations out on first. My gaze is immediately drawn to the stove; however, I quickly decide it would be best to leave it for last and instead shift my attention to the heavy box television.

Decision made, I grab one of the golf clubs and head towards it, feeling the weight and texture of the club in my hands as I prepare to swing. I lift the club and grip it tightly with both hands, almost as if it were a baseball bat, then I take a few steps forward, preparing to lash out at the television with all the anger that I’ve been harboring inside of me.

Deep breath.

In.

Out.

Swing.

The reverberating sound of the glass shattering is like a symphony to my ears as the club crashes into the screen and the tight feeling in my chest that’s been smothering me since this all started loosens just a fraction. I wrench the club free with a loud crunch of glass and then heft it back, ready to swing again.

Again and again, I slam the club into the television until it’s reduced to a pile of broken glass and fragmented plastic. You can hardly tell what it was before I began taking anger out on it, effectively demolishing it.

I throw the club to the ground and rush back to the table that has all the glasses on it. Extending my arm into one of the plastic tubs, I grab some wine glasses and begin violently throwing them against the wall and floor. Once those are all gone, I move on to the crystal, then the vases, plates, bowls, quickly working my way through the entirety of the glassware.

If it’s made of glass, it’s grabbed and shattered on the surrounding floor, nothing escaping my turmoil and anger.

Shards rain down all around me, crunching under my feet when I step on them. I don’t stop until there’s nothing left on the table and the floor is covered in glittering pieces of different colored glass, that tightness loosening just a tiny bit more with each broken item.

After that, I double back to get another tool to use. Taking a crowbar, I make my way around the room, feeling the sharp vibrations rattling up my arm from the handle as I shatter lamps, computers, giant framed windows, and full-sized mirrors.

I demolish everything in my path, time slipping away from me as I lose myself. The more I break, the more I feel like I can breathe without pain consuming my every breath.

It’s freeing, in a way, to destroy when you’re being smothered by your own feelings.

I’m so out of control that I don’t notice the tears streaming down my face, or the sweat from my mask, or even my own screams until I feel Forde’s arms wrap around me, halting me from swinging the baseball bat against the stove anymore. I give in to his embrace, feeling my breaths coming in deep, shuddering gasps, my emotions pouring out of me until I’m left feeling empty yet free. He carefully removes my mask, throwing it to the side, and then gently wipes away the sweat-soaked strands of hair that cling to my forehead, pretty, deep violet eyes scanning my tear and sweat-streaked face.

Forde directs me over to the door, locating an area that appears to be free of any broken glass or debris, and slowly helps me down to the ground. He tenderly lifts me into his lap, and I curl up into a tight ball, feeling ashamed as my tears and snot stain his shirt while my face is buried in his chest. Brawny arms embrace me in a protective hold, and he says nothing, just lends me his strength and support. His chin rests against the top of my head. I can feel when his nose presses against my hair and he subtly inhales, but I don’t say anything about it.

Eventually my sobs quiet to the occasional sniffle and hiccup, but I stay still, my ear pressed against the alpha’s chest, listening to the steadythump-thumpof his heart.

It’s been more than a month since someone other than Jilly has held me. Weeks since I’ve even let Jilly hold me, if I’m telling the truth.

He’s also the first man to touch me since I found my alphas, although it’s platonic. Just an alpha offering comfort to a completely broken omega.

The guilt I feel for seeking comfort in another alpha’s arms is almost too much to bear, yet I find a solace I haven’t known in weeks, enabled by Forde’s whiskey scent that helps to smother the few anxieties that still try to enter. I’m so exhausted, struggling to keep my eyes open, and in his embrace, I feel completely immobilized by the rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his body. My eyelids droop as they become heavier and heavier, and my body goes slack.

The next thing I know, I’m waking up in Forde’s truck, laid out across the backseat with a giant, heavy jacket laid over me. Music pours softly from the speakers and Forde softly sings along under his breath; eyes focused intently on the road. I use this time to examine and study him carefully. The way the fading sunlight glints against his white hair. His strong jawline and powerful arms. The way he sits in his seat, completely comfortable as he croons along to an old Conway Twitty song. I find that his voice is actually quite lovely. What little of it I can hear, anyway.

His actions today have left me feeling so thankful and appreciative of him. It’s like he could sense I was drowning, and he found something I could do to ease some of the powerful emotions that have been attacking me. I feel a sense of lightness that I haven’t experienced in weeks, like I can finally take a deep breath with ease since my alphas took their last.

The boulder that’s been slowly crushing and suffocating me has gotten smaller, it seems. Like some of it has been chipped away. I can finally breathe a little easier and it’s nice.

The radio turns down as I’m lost in my thoughts, and Forde’s voice startles me. We’ve stopped at a stop sign and he’s turned around, looking at me with those pretty eyes of his.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, the deep timbre of his voice nearly making me shiver.

I nod my head, not moving from where I lie.

“Thank you,” I tell him, my voice coming out slightly raspy with sleep.

“No thanks necessary, Ramsey. I’m just glad it helped.”

“No, not just for that. For letting me cry all over you and for just comforting me without saying anything. I… didn’t realize how badly I needed a cuddle until you picked me up,” I tell him sheepishly, feeling my cheeks heat at the confession.

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