Page 3 of Fragile Heart

Breathing deeply, I follow the curve, my anxiety easing away. The turn off might have changed—dramatically—but the view when I crest the hill and the valley opens below me is the same. The mountains tower in the distance, the peaks still snow-capped. The valley sprawls away from the road, reaching so far into the distance that the details blur into a singular sage green. It’s perfect today, the wind nonexistent for once, and the sky clear of any smoke from the wildfires I know are burning farther north in Idaho and Montana. It makes the scene something outof a magazine. Or maybe a postcard, something that can be sent to beckon someone home.

Wyoming was never my home except for the summer I spent with Melissa after freshman year when Mom ended up back in rehab and I had no home to return to during the break. But I’ve always felt that, maybe, this would have been the perfect place for me.

At least back then. And, with any luck, now, too.

Something boils in my chest, something I haven’t felt in far longer than I care to admit, and certainly not since handinghimthe divorce papers on Christmas nearly five months ago. It feels suspiciously like happiness, but I refuse to name it.

My smile is wide as I navigate the road down into the sprawling prairie and ease the car to the right when confronted with the fork that splits it maybe half a mile from the turn off, following Melissa’s directions. I can’t help but glance toward the left, though, curious how much her family home has changed since I was here last.

There are more buildings than last time, three barns instead of one and a series of cabins painted a bland middle brown that somehow manages to blend well with the light green and yellows of the prairie grasses as well as the dark forest that sprawls along the mountains rising in the distance. I love the high-rises of the city, but there’s something special about these mountains. Can I put a name to it? Not really. It’s not like Denver has a shortage of mountains. It has the most fourteeners of any state—and by a landslide. But seeing this stretch of the Rocky Mountains lightens my chest until it doesn’t quite hurt to breathe.

It has nothing to do with the mountains. That voice nudges me, but I try to tune it out. I’ve done really damn well not thinking about what moving out here might mean for running intohim. It’s been ten damn years. It won’t mean anything.

The road widens, and I pull off, heading toward the largest of the buildings, following the brown and white signs that label it as the Main Lodge. It’s painted that same sepia tone as the cabins I’d seen from the road, though the roof is more complicated, a series of black clay shingles rather than the simple metal sheets that reflect the light back. The open space that functions as the front lawn is landscaped with a beautiful set of wildflowers that are planted just close enough it exudes carefree intentionality. The pinks and blues and whites complement the warm feel of the building. Large flagstones carve out a pathway leading to the railed-in porch that wraps around the far side, groups of chairs clumped together.

As soon as I ease the car to a stop in the unpaved parking lot beside the house and turn off the engine, I lean my head back and let my eyes close, breathing carefully through my nose. Another well of emotion chokes me, but I manage to breathe through it without dissolving into a second round of tears.

Made it.

Chapter Two

BRIELLE

The front door opens as I stand from the car, my legs unhappy about the long hours I’ve spent behind the wheel. I shake them out, trying to get feeling into them both, as I duck back into the car and grab my phone from the passenger seat. I slide it into the back pocket of my shorts and then sling the small purse across my body.

There’s a bright, happy squeal as I’m turning back toward the building. I manage to catch a flash of blonde hair tucked under a simple brown cowboy hat before Melissa’s slight weight slams into me, knocking me back against the car. Her happiness is like a drug, and I wrap my arms around her, laughing despite all the mixed up emotions rolling through me. Her coffee scent surrounds us just as quickly as her laugh.

“You made it!” she says, her chin tucked against my shoulder and her grip still tight where she holds her wrists against the small of my back. “I got worried when you didn’t text after lunch.”

I take a moment to soak in her touch. It soothes that bone deep ache that’s been building since last fall—though I don’t dare name it now. With any luck, being with Melissa will be enough for it to stop digging its thorns into me.

I gently push her away from me, taking her in. Her glasses are larger than last time, the rims thinner and a happy rose gold that accents the cool pink undertone of her skin. She’s dressed in a practical pair of light wash jeans that flare at the bottom and a pink shirt with the words “Omegas Do It Better” written in a frilly black script across her chest. Though I can’t see it, I know I’ll find the symbol of our Omegas exclusive sorority scrawled along the back.

We joined together freshman year, over a decade ago. Seeing it makes my heart lurch. We were so young, practically untouched by the world. In comparison to now, at least.

“You still have it?” I ask, running my hands down her arms.

She shrugs and twists our fingers together, like she can tell I need the touch. “You know how attached I get,” she says.

I did. It’s a trait we share. Just like most Omegas, really. We’re creatures of comfort and stability. We attach to objects significantly more often than others. The small box tucked under my passenger seat flashes through my mind, but I ignore it. Should I have gotten rid of every last item my cheating bastard of a husband owned? Yes. Was I actually able to? No. Not yet, at least.

“By the time I was willing to think about decluttering, everything happened with Brandon and then again with Kayla.” Her blue eyes are bright but haunted, and her smile doesn’t quite make them light up the way it used to. I change the subject, steering us away from the absolute mess those six months had been.

“It took me three tries to figure out where to go,” I say after a minute. “Why the hell isn’t there some kind of sign? I thought I was just disappearing into the freaking mountains, girl.”

She flushes. “It’s been a bit of a problem this year,” she says. She sounds… ashamed?

Before I can ask why missing a sign is cause for her own shame, the door opens again, not as violently, and Melissa takes another step away from me, turning toward the person stepping onto the porch. The woman’s honey brown hair is long and stick-straight, reaching nearly to her hips. Her brown eyes are light enough they could pass as hazel—or amber if we were in a romance novel. She wears a simple gold chain around her neck, a star pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. She looks like she belongs here.

She’s stunning. She’d look just as much at home on the runway during fashion week. I force a swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. I’d expect nothing less of Emily Monroe, though. She’d been studying abroad when I stayed here that summer. Thank goodness, too, since it meant that the only people who knew about my fling with her brother were Melissa and Olivia—and I’d sworn both to secrecy when the thing went up in flames.

“Hi, Brielle,” she says, offering a wide smile. Her eyes crinkle around the edges as she does. She holds out her hand. I take a step toward her, taking her hand in a light grip. That gnawing ache settles nearly at once—practically all evidence of my becoming touch-starved fading away.

I don’t realize I’m taking another step toward her until her vanilla scent weaves around us both.

Oh.

Melissa never mentioned Emily had designated as an Alpha. And I hadn’t really interacted with her when I’d come for Brandon’s funeral.

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