Page 52 of The Butcher

Especially if Nash is going to say it for me. “You’re fucking cracked.”

“And for someone with hobbies like yours, you’re a shitty goddamn liar.”

Clenching my jaw, I keep feeding the filler into the mixer, then turn my head to use my shoulder to push my mask up.

I can’t lie to him.

I’ve never been able to lie to Nash or Clay, and it was one of the ways I knew in my gut that they were mine.

The only people who can see through my bullshit are the people I genuinely care about, the ones who care back, and know me just as well as I know myself. Which is a huge part of why the last few months have been so fucking hard.

Putting up this front, keeping myself in line, it’s taxing, and it’s starting to take a toll.

I thought she’d be gone by now.

I assumed that if I put enough space between us, if I stayed busy and out of the house while she recovered, everyone would get over the stupid conclusions they’ve drawn, and we could go back to the way it was before I lost my goddamn mind and brought a frozen omega home.

That isn’t how this has played out at all.

If anything, the longer she’s here, the more everyone wants her to stay, and that can’t fucking happen. Not if I want to hang onto the last threads of my sanity.

“You’re such a fucking baby.”

My head swings in Nash’s direction, eyes narrowed on his scowling face. “What the fuck did you say?”

He postures up to me, bracing himself for the fight he knows is coming. “I know how you are but this is bad, even for you. Treating me and Clay like this, going from raging lunatic to the fucking iceman of Obsidian Falls, yeah, it’s worse than I’ve seenyou in almost twenty fucking years, but we’re used to a version of that. We could fucking deal after some silent treatment and a lot of yelling, but this is different and you know exactly why.”

Refusing to acknowledge anything he just said, I dump in the rest of the minced mix then add the eggs and rice, not really giving a shit that he’s completely thrown off my process and could ultimately compromise this batch of sausage.

“She saw your text message, asshole.”

My chest goes tight at his words, and I have to use every ounce of my willpower not to show him what that sentence does to me.

And that’s without knowing which text he’s referencing because none of the ones I’ve sent since she’s been here have been very pleasant.

“Here’s the thing, dickhead.” I clench my jaw as I briefly glance at Nash, who obviously doesn’t give a shit about what he can feel through our bond right now. “And you better listen because I don’t plan on saying this again. If I have to…” he shakes his head. “Clay and I, we’re trying real goddamn hard to keep things even, to find the balance between how we feel about you, and how we feel about Indy—which comes from how you feel whether you want to acknowledge that or not. But this isn’t how shit is supposed to go, it’s not how things are supposed to be, and you fucking know it. Lucky for you, wherever she came from has her leery as hell about strangers, and it’s slowed things down, but it’s a matter of time before that all changes.”

Nash stares at the side of my face, something I can feel right along with the conflict he’s describing while it pulses through the very same bond he’s talking about. It’s the worst I’ve experienced with him, the turmoil eating away my alpha and how it really is taking a toll. I can feel the severity, the weight of this situation baring down on him, and the anxiety chaser isn’t helping, either.

But my stubborn ass isn’t going to cave.

Not now, and not ever if I can help it.

“She doesn’t know why, not entirely, but Indy is drawn to us. She’s coming around, she actually wants to see us, and we can’t help the way we’re running with it because of you.” He sighs, his anger subsiding briefly as my alpha rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You and her, you’re fucking scent matches, Bramley, and?—“

“You don’t fucking know that,” I snap, spinning to the grab the rest of the spices before dumping the entire thing into the mixer and hoping the machine fixes the problem I’m about to have. “No one fucking knows that?—“

“Except you!” Nash snaps back. “You know, you’re just too goddamn stubborn, too fucking scared to handle it, and while I understand why, it doesn’t justify treating our omega like some kind of leper. She doesn’t deserve that, Clayton and I don’t deserve to be put in this bullshit situation, and even though you’re acting like a baby, neither do you.”

Growling like an asshole, I shut the machine off because the fucking batch of sausage I was trying to make from the bastard who’s hanging in my freezer is a lost cause. “You’re talking out of your ass.”

He laughs, the sound hollow and angry. “Give me a fucking break. You aren’t even in denial, you’re just being a dick, and I’m beginning to think you might be getting some sick enjoyment out of the way it’s fucking with everyone.”

“Right.” I pull my gloves off with a snap, toss them in the trash then aggressively take off my apron. “I get a real fucking thrill from upending our relationship over some worthless female none of us need.”

“Say that again.”

I pause, the bite in his tone, the genuine rage I can hear in Nash’s words, it has me hesitating.

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