Page 36 of Puck Your Friend

I don’t look back. If I do, I won’t keep walking.

Chapter 8

Istep into the hall, while working my fingers through my curls. They’re already tightening. I need to get them relaxed again soon. My shoulders crack as I roll them out. I slept like shit.

Curiosity pulls at me as I glance down the hall. The soft blue door stands shut. Light from the stairwell window cuts across the floor, catching on the worn paint at the bottom. She’s in the nesting room we always keep, just in case. Now she’s the one sleeping in it. Having her here settles something in my chest, as if she was always meant to be here from day one.

Fuck, last night got so close to making my dreams come true. Getting to kiss her again felt like coming home.

A frown pulls at my lips. Other than the kissing, she didn’t look good last night. Her skin had no color, and her brown eyes wereunfocused. I almost want to go check on her, just to make sure she’s breathing.

If she’s awake or wakes up, she’ll probably think that’s creepy. I shake the thought loose and head downstairs.

The scent of burnt coffee hangs in the air, Ford’s usual. My fault for forgetting to prep it last night.

I step into the kitchen. Wes stands at the stove with a spatula in hand, his arm out of the sling. He keeps it off in the mornings. I’m not his doctor, so I’m not gonna say shit. Maple sausage hits the pan, the sizzle kicking up grease and that sweet aroma I love. We only get the fancy stuff when there’s something to celebrate.

I breathe in deep and grimace. Ford’s burnt coffee ruins it. Logan hunches over a mug at the island, blond head tipped down like he’s halfway back to sleep. Ford braces against the sink with a protein shake, his jaw tense.

I head straight for the coffee. Fill my mug to the top, pour in a generous helping of maple syrup; I learned it from a Canadian friend, and I finish with a splash of cream. The first sip hits sweet and hot, right down the center of my chest.

Wes glances over his shoulder at me. “Is she still asleep?”

I lean against the counter. “The door was shut. I didn’t knock.”

Logan doesn’t look up. “She looked sick last night, and not in a way that made me think it’s just a cold. It felt like something worse. Should we force her to go to the hospital?”

Ford’s eyes flick to the fridge, landing on the photo from our first summer at camp. We’re covered in mud, fresh off the one-mile mid-summer obstacle course challenge, with our arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. Frankie sits in the middle, same as always. After everything, it still feels right having her back in that spot.

He looks away from it. “If she refuses care, there’s nothing they could do. She’s an adult, a Beta, and we’re not her pack so we have no legal say in whether she gets medical care.”

Wes flips the patties. “She looks like she’s in pain.”

Logan lifts his head. “Do you guys remember the last day we saw her? She was off then, too.”

Ford swirls his shake, the ball clunks inside it. “She was off that whole day. Until the dance.” He gulps down more.

Logan sips his coffee and lowers it. “I remember when we gave her that necklace. She looked happy, but also like she was barely keeping it together.”

I shake my head. “She seemed okay at the lake until her scent shifted.” Closing my eyes, even after more than a decade, I can recall the scent as if she’s standing beside me. “Brown sugar, toasted, with a bit of vanilla. It wrapped around us, soft, heavy, and familiar in a way that didn’t make sense then.”

Logan shakes his head. “I still smell it in my dreams.”

Wes sighs as he lowers the heat to let the sausage cook slowly and turns around. “Fuck, we were so close to going all the way that night. We should’ve done something. Followed her out with th-that coun-counselor.” He closes his eyes and slams his fist against his thigh.

His stutter only shows up when his emotions get the better of him.

I stare into the mug. “We should’ve pushed harder to get her full name. God, I still regret not writing down her number. I thought I could do it at the end of the summer. We could’ve found her.”

Wes rubs his eyes. “There’s no point in t-tearing ourselves apart with hindsight. What happened, happened. But she’s back in our lives now, and I don’t give a fuck if she’s Beta. We’re not letting her go again. Last night proves the desire is still there between us.”

Ford growls and slams his protein shake down. “We would hurt her. Last night can’t happen again.”

I clear my throat. Warmth tingles in my cheeks. “Don’t ask me how I know. But there are Betas out there who like taking knots… it’s a kink genre. It takes preparation and time. We can’t dive straight in like we would with an Omega, but it is possible. There are toys we could use that progressively get bigger, lube, massages. I mean, Beta women still have babies after all.”

Ford fixes me with a stare. “And they often tear from it.”

I stare back. “My aunt is an OB/GYN and is far too detailed with information when she talks to my mom about it. They often tear only when they don’t prepare with massages and warm compresses, and even with that it can happen, sure.”

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