Page 28 of Fragile Heart

Faedra’s smile grows wider.

“I’ll get things finalized with Carter and Jude,” Logan says before kissing Faedra’s temple. “Once we have the permits figured out, we’ll send you the reservation information. It’ll probably be for the end of the month if that works for you. Since we’re hiking our route over July Fourth.”

“That sounds good,” I say.

Melissa offers a quick agreement. Logan stands from the couch and disappears from the frame. Faedra’s gaze follows him, her teeth biting into her lip, before she focuses on the call again.

“We’ll probably have room for a few more tents, too, if there’s anyone else you’d like to invite,” Faedra says. “We’d love to meet everyone out there.”

An odd mixture of anxiety and cautious contentment wells up in me, stealing my breath for a long moment. How long did I move through Brett’s circles, trying to fit in, trying to find a footing somewhere in the groups of fiancees and wives? And yet here were two groups that seemed to truly want me, moved plans around and adjusted their own lives to make sure I have a place within it. Tears well, but I blink them away. Faedra’s eyes sharpen even as Melissa squeezes my hand.

Before I can offer a response that isn’t just a blubbering mess of words, a baby’s cries fill the quiet. Faedra glances over her shoulder, frowning.

“You need to go?” I ask.

She sighs, and it’s answer enough.

“You go take care of Dahlia. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

I tuck my phone under my leg again as soon as the call ends. Melissa’s quiet beside me, content with the stillness of the clearing. It’s one of the reasons we bonded so quickly freshman year. At least that one was nicer than us both having alcoholic parents. Or both feeling like we never belonged anywhere we ended up, floating from place to place without being able to build out the roots everyone says are so important for building a happy life.

Would it be possible to have roots here when I hadn’t managed after seven years in Denver? I’d thought I’d had roots. Strong, stable roots that would weather any storm. And yet, they snapped under the pressure and the winds when they came.

I blow out a breath, trying to shake off the whole line of thinking.

“Bad thoughts?” she asks, dropping her head to my shoulder in silent support.

I offer a half smile. “You know me too well.”

She smirks, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “It’s easy when we’re two sides of the same coin, Bri.”

“Think I’ll ever actually fit in here?” I ask. I don’t really mean to ask it. I don’t want her to worry over my own concerns. But we’ve been best friends for over a decade. Some things just slip out.

She stills, forcing the bench to stop swinging.

Her words are cautious when she says, “I think that trying to blend in is very difficult for Omegas. And probably impossible in small towns where the Karens and Mollys are more interested in the latest gossip than doing something productive and helpful.”

I snort, and she chuckles. “That’s a politician’s answer if I’ve ever heard one, Mel.”

“Well…” she says, her voice rising like she has a surprise.

I laugh harder. There’s no way she’d ever decide to be a politician. The few Omegas that try end up on suppressors to control their reactions to the Alphas around them—and the timing of their heats. Melissa’s never once even wanted to consider going on them.

“What I mean is that I think it’s easy to feel like you never belong no matter where you are,” she says. “You have to decide to carve out a space for yourself, a place you love and that satisfies you. If people talk, then people talk. And in small towns, there’s always someone talking. You just hope that you’re at least in the next room over when they start.”

Some of my worry fades. I rest my head against hers.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Any time, Bri.”

“I was thinking of going to the rodeo tonight,” I mention, trying to keep just how much I want to go out of my voice. Melissa freezes. “I’ve never been to one.”

I was too busy being wrapped up with Ethan that summer to go see Brandon compete.

Melissa relaxes. “Then let’s go.”

We sit there for a long time, just watching the prairie around us. The bird with the yellow belly is back, hopping along the porch’s banister to get to the feeder, taking a few pieces before flying off. A small herd of deer cross toward the mountains, the mothers watchful as the smaller fawns walk between them. It’s not until they disappear that I break the quiet around us.

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