Page 90 of Eight Steps to Alpha

Chapter 32

At some pointbetween falling asleep last night and waking up this morning, everything changed. It was obvious the second he rolled over and found Fe missing. There was no trace of her, no clothes, no note, nothing.

He sat on the edge of the bed, forced his hands through his hair and tried to think. But all he could think about was her. Getting to her. Finding her. He snatched his pants from the ground, shoved his legs through the holes, then opened the door to the guest house. From the front porch, he could see the wine bottle they’d left by the swing and her discarded high heel shoes.

He ran toward the path they’d taken the night before, up the stone steps, to the patio where they’d danced. Glasses, empty bottles, and burnt out votive candles were everywhere, all being cleaned up by Maria’s wait staff, but no Fe. He began looking in doors, windows, until he finally found her in the kitchen, sitting in the corner of the room with her brother—hair un-brushed, eyes almost hallow. All he wanted to do was shake her and ask her what she was doing, why she’d left without telling him. But her brother was there, followed by the rest of her family, and soon, they were all gathered around a table eating food he couldn’t taste, because all he could do was think about was what going on in her mind.

All morning, she wouldn’t look at him, and now, strapped into the passenger seat of his truck on the way back home, it was much the same.

He glanced over at her and turned down the radio until it reached only a faint whisper. “You okay?” he asked finally, even though the words felt like pulling a chicken threw a barbwire fence. Awkward. Painful. It was stupid really, because he already knew the answer. She wasn’t okay. If she was okay, she wouldn’t be acting like this, and she wouldn’t have left him this morning.

“I’m just tired,” she said without looking over.

He tapped his thumbs on the stealing wheel and clenched his jaw. “Are you sure? Because you haven’t looked at me all morning.”

She lifted her chin and turned to face him. “There.” She met his eyes. “Happy?”

She was telling him to “drop it,” and he knew that if he continued pressing her, things would get worse, but he couldn’t help it. She was upset, he’d made love to her last night, and the fact the two things happened in such close proximity made his gut roll.

“Fe,” he began, but he wasn’t even sure where to start. Because sorry didn’t seem the right word for it. He wasn’t sorry, but he’d take it all back in a second if it meant she wouldn’t look at him this way ever again.

Before he could come up with the right words to say, she spoke again, stopping him before he could press. “Why did I have to learn about your father from Colton?”

He blinked a couple times, thrown by the sudden change in subject, “Where did that come from?”

She shrugged. “We’ve been friends for five years, yet you’ve never mentioned him until I asked, why?”

“Because it’s not exactly the most pleasant conversations, that’s why.”

“How so?”

“Because I was a bastard, Fe. Because everyone took pity on my father for knowing he raised a child that wasn’t his own. It’s not exactly the first thing you want people knowing about you.”

“How about the tenth? The hundredth? We’ve known each other for five years, you’d think at some point—”

His throat tightened, and he punched the steering wheel. “So what? So you can pity me like everyone else does? Pardon me for wanting a reprieve from that life. For making a place for myself where the first thing people think when they look at me isn’t ‘there’s Elliot, the bastard.’”

Her jaw tightened, and she turned to the window. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t.” She cleared her throat, trying hard not to cry. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“Friends tell each other everything.”

He slammed his fist on the steering wheel again, unable to hide his frustration. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you tell me why you’re acting this way?”

“Like what?”

“Like I just slapped you and didn’t say sorry!” He pulled to the side of the road, knowing he was too angry to drive.

She placed both feet on the floor before facing him. “I should have known you’d react like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That we’d sleep together, and you’d get weird on me.”

His eyes practically bulged from his head. “Me? ME? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”

“No, I’m not kidding. You’ve been walking around like a wounded puppy all morning—”

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