Page 31 of Pack Down Bad

I know who I am.

Not in some deep sense of understanding myself, but in amy memory is backkind of way. Minus the fact that I still can’t seem to summon up the memory of how I wound up so far out of town. What was I doing right before I got in my car during a snowstorm? My brain seems to be hitting a brick wall.

I guess not all of my memory is back, but there’s enough to stir butterflies in my belly and electric waves across my skin. A lump builds in my throat as the picture of who I am starts to fill in.

There’s something I’m desperate to do. Something that can’t wait for the sun to finish its ascent or the guys to wake up.

I free myself from Knox’s bed and pad silently across the floor. He may have won the battle of whose bed I would sleep in again, but I slept in Rhys’s clothes this time. A cotton, flannel button-down and compression shorts usually meant for working out. They’re a little big on me with no drawstring, so I yank them higher past my waist a few times as I shuffle out of the room and down the stairs.

My coffee pot might still be on at home.

I’m notoriously bad at turning it off, sometimes forgetting until the air is tinged with the smell of burnt plastic from the cheap device that I got at a yard sale. I can afford to buy a nicer one, one that would shut off automatically, but I’m a little superstitious. I bought that coffee pot while I was writing my first book, and I’ve been loyal to it ever since.

A choice I’m rethinking now that I’ve tasted the magic Percy serves up in a mug.

My whole body stills halfway down the hall on the main floor. I forget to turn the coffee pot off... and no one else is there to help me remember.

Hallelujah, I live alone!

There’s no alpha or pack waiting back in my apartment, worried that I didn’t return home. I seem to recall a recent relationship going south, but I’m too fuzzy on the details to be sure of anything except that the relationship is over.

My memory is back, and there’s nothing stopping me from being with Rhys, Knox, and Percy. Relieved tears start to slip down my cheeks as my feet spur onward again, carrying me to Percy’s office. I step inside and quietly shut the door behind me so I don’t risk waking anyone else.

I want to spend time with myself before everyone else is awake, now that I’mback. I’m sure the guys will be peppering me with questions all day once they realize I’m fully me again.

Not that I’ve been anything but myself all along here, just without a few core memories to help round out the complete picture. Otherwise, what they’ve seen is what they get. I’m curious and bookish. A good listener. As happy indoors as outdoors, so long as there’s something to read nearby.

In other words, I’m easily their perfect match of an omega. Especially consideringthis.

I flick the light on and beeline for a section of Percy’s bookshelves that caught my eye yesterday.Paige O’Hara.The romance author he edits for.

I’m her.

She’s me.

I’m the mysterious, deadline-missing author whose work he made an exception for. How silly that just yesterday I was jealous of myself and didn’t even know it?

The deadline thing troubles me. I know I’m a habitual procrastinator, but I remember finally nailing the epilogue on the book I was cutting it close on. All I should have had to do was re-read the epilogue before emailing the book to Percy. I couldn’t do it right away because I needed to get ready for...something.

There my memory goes completely fuzzy.

Didn’t Rhys find me that same evening? Or did I somehow lose an entire day in between? Either I’ve lost track of my days, or Percy got the date wrong, otherwise, Rhys would have been checking Percy’s email for my book yesterday, not two days ago.

I take a deep breath and rub at my aching temples. My brain is trying to process too much too fast, and I can feel a headache developing. I need to relax and let my brain catch up with everything that has happened.

And I know just the way to do that.

I pick up Percy’s copy of my first book and carry it to the armchair I love near the window. The blanket I used yesterday has been folded neatly over the back of the chair. I pull the soft material around my shoulders and settle in.

How better to re-familiarize me with myself than by reading the first romance I ever wrote, the one where I put all of my fantasies about love on the page? Fantasies that are starting to seem an awful lot likerealitynow.

ChapterEighteen

Knox

A good night’s sleep is impossible with Belle under the same roof, knowing we’re not sharing a bed. Plus, the couch might be comfortable enough for a movie marathon, but the cushions don’t cut it for a full night of sleep.

After falling into another restless bout of sleep, I’m irritated to find myself suddenly stirred completely awake by a silent house. I sit up and listen tensely for any sign of movement, something that would justify my sudden increase in heart rate.

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