Page 113 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be making this mistake again, certainly not while pregnant. I’ll never admit it, but my body is one giant ache at the moment. From my feet to my back to my neck. And I’m not even carrying anything. No, my alphas are loaded down with things for a picnic, blankets and food and drinks and all I have is myself and the tiny life I’m growing. And I still feel dead on my feet.

“I’m great!” I say with far too much forced enthusiasm. It loses some of its verve when Creed’s fingers find a particularly tender spot on my back and I moan. “Really, really great.”

He chuckles. “Really? Is that why Hale and I are holding you up right now?”

My eyes open and I realize that he’s absolutely right. I’ve melted between them, sagging most of my weight on their much larger bodies.

Ren snorts as she takes a swig from her water bottle. “Admit you’re gassed, babe.”

I scowl at her. “I’m not! I’m totally fine. I can keep going. It can’t be that much farther, can it?”

Tic tilts his head like he’s listening. I do the same. Supposedly at the end of this trail is a super beautiful waterfall. That is our picnic destination. But… I don’t hear the thunderof thousands of gallons of water dropping into a pool. Which means we can’t be all that close.

“You want me to carry you, button?” Jude asks, apparently done with his conversation with our little bean.

“Weren’t you just complaining about how awful this is?” Ren asks.

“Do you think it will get less awful if you’re carrying my big butt up the side of a mountain?”

Jude grins. “I think it’ll make this about a million times better.”

“And you don’t have a big butt,” Hale says gently. “It’s just the right size for an omega who is growing our first baby.”

“You’re beautiful, angel.”

Tears prick my eyes and I didn’t even realize that I’d been hoping for one of them to refute my big butt claim. But as always, they know exactly what I need.

“Oh, baby girl, don’t cry,” Creed murmurs. “You know we hate it when you do that.”

I wave my hand and then swipe at my cheeks. “It’s the hormones! I can’t help it.”

Ren huffs and shakes her head. “You all are so adorable it makes me sick.” She pushes past us and starts marching up the hill. Her knee is completely healed now, and she has most of her mobility back. Most of the time she walks just as gracefully as she did before, her slight limp only coming out when she’s overdone it. The slight unevenness of her gait now tells me she’s on the verge of overdoing it.

She hasn’t danced since the incident. Not on a stage, not in the club, not at home.

My fault.

“Little mouse,” Hale warns. They can all feel the lingering guilt that I can’t seem to get over.

Not while my sunshine girl, my best friend, isn’t fully herself. She’s here, and she’s alive, but she isn’t… thriving. She’s just surviving and I hate that.

“I know,” I mutter before pushing past him and hurrying after Ren, ignoring the way the incline makes my legs ache. I catch up to her and loop my arm through hers, being careful to not take any of her weight on me. She’d hate if I tried, and I don’t think I could manage it, anyway.

Ren looks at me out of the corner of her eye as we trudge higher up the mountain. “I’m okay, you know,” she says. And I want to believe her. I do.

“Haven, I mean it. I’m okay.”

I hum and nod. “I know.” And then after a long pause. “I just think you could be more than just okay, Ren. I want you incandescently happy.”

“I know you do, babe.” She sounds sad as she says it. “I’m working on it. I just… its hard, you know?”

Hugging her arm tighter to my body, I nod. “I know.” I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it more, so I change the subject. “How did the mixer go?”

Ren huffs out half a laugh. “Not great. Really not great. None of the packs smelled even remotely good to me.” I make a disappointed sound. I’d hoped—we’d hoped—that when she felt ready Ren would find a pack that she clicked with. In the last six months, she’s visited the three scent clinics in our area, signed up for countless alpha/omega mixers and still hasn’t found anyone she’s interested in.

I don’t know how much of that is her trauma peeking through and how much is just incompatibility. “Bummer,” is what I say in response.

Ren stops walking and turns to face me, her brow arched. I can’t even blame her. Under normal circumstances, I wouldhave been a bit more effusive in my commiseration. But well, these aren’t normal circumstances.

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