Page 23 of Who We Were

How dare she leave me, leave Oli and Emmet for a life of material things?!We would have given her everything in time. She had us, all of us, before we even knew our designations.

Amaya's tears didn't stop as she signed all the dotted lines, receiving what I'm guessing wasanotherhouse in a long line of gifts from her daddy. And they sure as shit don't stop now. Walking her skinny ass out of my office, my backstabbing, sorry excuse for a mate lets loose a sob that yanks on my alpha instincts to soothe her.

Clutching the doorframe, Amaya peers over her bony shoulder at me. I'm taken aback by the complete devastation and torment in her golden gaze, but grit my teeth to show her my demons she left in her wake the first fucking time she walked away from me.

"The door, Ms. Rose," I say, my voice devoid of emotion, just as it has been since she walked into my office.

My words make her flinch, and I wonder just what the hell she has to be hurt from. She ruined me, ruinedus.

Amaya made her fancy ass bed, and now she gets to lie in it, silk sheets the only thing to keep her warm at night.

It just really fucking sucks that her bed now rests a few houses down. I have a decision to make, but it's not that hard to settle. Oliver and Emmett willneverfind out who our new neighbor is if I have anything to do with it.

A tendril of soothing lavender tickles my nose and settles deep in my canines. I stomp it out, killing the allure of the mate who stole all sense of beauty from my life.

Dead to me.

Just like everything else in my life.

"This is un-fucking-believable."

"I know,” Emmett agrees with my brother. “I can hardly stand to watch the updates, let aloneliveit like all those kids."

"And plenty of them are our age! Fuck, I can't imagine..." Oli trails off.

The murmurings of my pack brothers tumble through the house and beyond their exasperated comments, the news filters through.

In need of a distraction from my fucked up day, I fill a glass with bourbon, release my neck from my white dress shirt, and collapse into my favorite leather armchair. Beside me, Oliver and Emmett cuddle on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on their laps.

"You're home late," Oliver drawls, not taking his eyes off the TV screen showcasing the latest news on the Premium Designation Academy take-down.

I sip my drink, not looking at my little brother either. My voice is even when I reply, "And you're up late."

My eyes narrow on the old footage being played over the news anchor’s voice. Hundreds of omegas, betas and alphas were escorted out of OPS vehicles, each individual looking completely lost and confused. The torment wasn't only exclusiveto the rescued omegas; reality was ripped out from beneathallthe students.

Voiced over the sad images is an update on a few of the trials that have been going on for the past year. More professors and scientists being prosecuted and thrown into high security prisons, thank fuck. It's good news, but not all I was hoping for. They really need to work out what the fuck is going on with the traffickers and send them straight to hell.

"Sam," Emmett calls.

"Hmm?" I hum, now zoning out on the chaos from a year ago.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Em lean forward and dislodge his beta. "What's wrong?"

"Why would anything be wrong?" I've completely shut them out in our pack bond. There's no fucking way they will ever find out what happened today.

Oliver snorts. "Samuel is in a perpetual state of something being wrong, Em."

I ignore the jab. I've always been the broody one of our little group, even as a child, but that's obviously a far cry from my shittiness these days. At least then I still laughed, chased after my friends, smiled.

"And nothing is ever wrong in little Oli's world, is it?" I taunt, finally looking over at them and raising a brow.Guess ignoring him isn't possible.

If all I radiate is bad energy and suffocate the good, then Oliver is the opposite. The damn beta is awful at facing the hard shit. Pushing everyone’s buttons and cracking jokes constantly, but never does he show any fucking depth.

I know it's there, though. My little brother still hasn't healed since our mate left us, and the longer he doesn't acknowledge the loss, the harder it's going to be to keep plastering that goddamn smile on his face.

Curly chestnut hair, thin lips always curved into a silly smirk, bright green eyes, with a lean but buff physique, Oliver radiates joy and is easy to be around. But beneath the white scar through his lips and clean jaw, he's sad. Maybe even a little broken too.

What do I know? It's not like we talk these days.

---