Page 69 of Defiant Beta

“I’m not interested in speaking to her, Ever. Shesoldyou. She could beg on her knees for forgiveness, and I still wouldn’t want to speak to her.”

“But—”

“Has she apologized to you?”

Silence.

“She’s not sorry. No. She’s just sorry that things didn’t go the way she wanted. She handed you over without hesitation. Hasn’t apologized even once, and thinks that because she brought me into the world, she gets automatic forgiveness.No. I know you think I’m being hard-headed or?—”

She hugs me, enveloping me in her sweet vanilla omega pheromones. “Thanks, Della. I’m the luckiest sister in the world to have you.”

Her hug doesn’t feel the same, and not just because she’s squeezing my back.

Maybe it’s me that doesn’t feel the same.

“Time to go home for more rabbit sex with your alphas,” I say.

She pulls away, and I release a silent sigh of relief. Instantly, I feel guilty for wanting her to go.

“Rabbit sex?”

“Yep.” I lie back in bed. “You heard me. I need to sleep. There’s a weird bird that woke me up at crazy o’clock this morning.”

“Youdolook tired,” she agrees, her eyes sweeping over my face.

Because I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s not because of a bird.

She kisses my forehead. “I’ll stop by again soon, K?”

“K.” I snag her hand and squeeze. “I love you.”

Her eyes crinkle with concern. “It’s not like you to throw around the L-word.”

“Maybe I realized I don’t say it often enough.” What happened to me taught me how quickly things can change, and how suddenly a life can be extinguished.

She smiles. “I love you, too. Get some sleep and don’t forget to use the cream for your back.”

“I won’t.”

I close my eyes and tuck my hand under my pillow, waiting for her footsteps to cross my room. The door creaks slightly as it opens, and I hear her making her way down the hallway.

Then I open my eyes and return to last night’s activity—staring at my rainforest view outside my window.

Downstairs, a muted female voice merges with deeper male voices. Everleigh is talking to the alphas.

A few minutes later, the voices fade, a door slams shut, and an engine hums.

The house is quiet.

I pull the sheets up higher, and I don’t move.

It’s been two days since I left the hospital, and I’m struggling to care.

About anything.

I huddle beneath the covers, pulling the sheets up to my chin as I gaze through my floor-to-ceiling window.

I haven’t been applying the ointment to my back like I said I would, and now it hurts too much to lie on it.