Page 83 of The Butcher

There is way too much at risk if I give in to fate, and if avoiding it means I’m miserable and reckless until something terrible happens, so be it.

It’s for the best, and one day, everyone will see it.

Chapter Nineteen

ALL BUTCHERY AND SHIT

Bramley

This is so much fucking harder than I thought it would be.

Scent matches? That shit is no joke, nothing to be taken lightly, and the longer I drive around our little ghost town, the more I can’t figure out why the fuck I’m still fighting this. I don’t even know if I want to anymore.

I really put my foot in it this time.

For a good reason, no one can convince me it’s not.

I think living through two separate incidents that wiped out the omegas in Obsidian Falls, and watching how they completely destroyed my family both times is pretty fucking valid.

It’s hard not to worry about it happening again, not when Bryce Harden is still around, doing what that fucking family does.

Five sons.

Five dumbasses to carry on the family business. It’s a damn good thing Charles—the bastard who started it all—didn’t make it out of that bloodbath all those years ago. Had grandpa dickhead survived, I’m sure things would have been worse for everyone.

He didn’t, though, didn’t even have the chance, and I guess since good old Alan is hanging around in my shop, and Walker hasn’t defected back to his bloodline yet, it means there’s only three Hardens we have to worry about outside of daddy dearest.

But there is still worry.

If they knew Indy was here, if they got wind of two omegas hiding in Obsidian, especially one I took from the ranch, we’d have another war on our hands. Hell, they’d probably snatch them both up and then bomb us once and for all.

I can’t let that happen to Indy.

White knuckling the steering wheel, I scowl at that thought.

Everything has been coming back to her. Every thought, feeling, plan, and concern.

Every. Goddamn. Thing.

It’s maddening, and I don’t know how anyone can handle having a fucking scent match if this is what it’s like.

How the fuck did Rex do this?

My dad didn’t get with Carlisle for two years, knowing they were scent matches the entire time, he did exactly what I’m doing—trying in vain to ignore it—until my mom called him out. Rex was smarter than I am, though, because his mate told him what was up and he listened. Mine have done so, repeatedly, and they’ve had help from my family to drive the point home, and I still refuse to accept it. I can’t talk to Rex about this, though, not if he and Ezekiel can’t even have an omega in their house fifteen years after Mom died. That’s some intense grief, and it means heart to hearts with either of my dads is out of the question.

But it’s driving me nuts.

It’s really starting to feel like I’m going to simultaneously have an aneurysm and an orgasm whenever I focus on it for too long, Which is always.

With an annoyed sigh, I realize too late that I’ve driven to Nan’s house, coasting into the driveway on nothing but musclememory, and I’m sure I’ve already been seen so I can’t exactly get out of going in for a few minutes.

Not that I’m really liking the idea of having my grandmother very literally beat some sense into me, again.

Maybe I should just talk to her about all of this shit.

Tell her how I’m feeling, and explain my concerns. If I could really level with someone, be totally honest with them, they might understand without being directly involved with my pack. Maybe then I can start coming to terms with shit so we can all move on.

I throw my truck into park and blink.

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