Page 59 of Who We Were

We don't even deserve to ask her to listen to our side of the story because we should have been reading hers.How could I have been so blind to the chapters leading up to our devastating ending?

"She trusted you to save her," Vincent continues, pain for Amaya lacing his words. "And over four years of abuse and loneliness, that trust frayed. Now? After how that sorry excuse for an alpha showed her nothing but disrespect and hatred? Learning that you've been just down the road for weeks and didn't come to see yourscent match? That frail link of trust holding you to her snapped."

"We didn't kno?—"

Vincent waves Oliver off and shakes his head. "Your word means shit to me. I follow my omega, and if she doesn't want you here, then neither do I."

"Can we see her?Please," Oli pleads, his voice wavering enough I know he's crying without having to look at him.

I'm shaking, and I swear my tongue is swelling, making me feel like my body is trying to strangle me. All the alpha rage I've harbored not only for Sam but for myself morphs into utter disappointment. My alpha retreats in my mind and soul, making me deal with the fallout of my actions on my own.

Vincent glances over his shoulder, but I shouldn't be surprised that he knew Amaya was there. Turning back to us after having a silent conversation with my mate, he shakes his head. "I'm not the boss of her, or this home. If Amaya wants to talk to you, then that's up to her."

He grips the door and I can't help but step forward, freaking the fuck out that I'll never get to see my omega again. "Please?"

"It's time for you to leave," Vincent growls, his hackles rising at my persistence.

Gripping Oliver's wrist, I take a step back, but pause when I see something in Vincent's gaze that tells me to shut up and listen.

"Do yourselves a favor," he says in a hushed voice, "stop trying to get onmygood side." With that piece of advice, he closes the door, leaving us on Amaya's porch once again.

"What did he mean?" Oliver mutters.

Squaring my shoulders and yanking on my unruly alpha, I reply, "We need to grovel."

And grovel we will.

39

AMAYA

“What's your favorite flavor?" I ask Vincent while he rinses out a dirty bowl.

"Lavender," he replies without missing a beat.

I scoff. "No, seriously, what syrup do you like in your coffee?"

It turns out my alpha likes his coffee sweet, just like I do. Orfancy,as he likes to call it. He's fucking adorable. I never knew someone with neck tats could be adorable.

"No seriously," he teases with a panty dropping grin. With the faucet turned off, he ambles over to me and licks his lips. "Lavender is my favorite flavor."

I narrow my eyes and lean back a little so I can argue properly. "Is that a real thing?"

Darting forward, his tongue takes a long swipe up my throat, making me squeal and bat him away. His dark chuckle heats my core while the wetness left behind sends shivers down my arms.

"Caramel macchiato," he rumbles, his thumb tugging on the collar of my shirt a little. I frown, not understanding, a littletoo entranced by his mouth now. "My favorite fancy coffee is an iced caramel macchiato. But I amdefinitelygonna enjoy some lavender in the morning with my coffee someday."

Ding dong.

Motherfuckers!

I'm starting to get used to the sound of my doorbell. It no longer makes me jump or gives me anxiety, but right now it's the most infuriating cock-block. We haven't done anything sexually, but I hate that they've interrupted our moment. At this point, nothing really gets a reaction out of me except for Vincent.

I could be starving or on my deathbed and I don't think I would really notice. But my alpha? He's hurting. Vincent's emotions and scent swirl around me constantly every day—he's the main thing I'm aware of—especially when he's being all yummy.

I know it's my fault he's struggling. We only met like three weeks ago and now he's stuck dealing with all my bullshit. Two of said bullshits are on the other side of the door I refuse to open, making my alpha have to handle my issues once again.

I've stopped running away from Emmett and Oliver when they show up, which has been at least six times in the last four days since their first visit. Instead of going upstairs, I twist in my spot on the kitchen counter to see Vincent open the door.

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