Page 15 of Hot Knot Summer
Wait! This isn’t my bag. It’s Chad’s. Our duffels are identical, both black with tan leather trim. We’d bought them as a set last Christmas, laughing about how it was our first couple purchase. Now, I’m standing here holding his packedbag, not mine.
“Why the hell would he have his bag packed?” The answer follows immediately, stealing my breath. He was planning to move out of his place until I relocated, considering I moved across the country to move in with him. His decision wasn’t spontaneous.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, a shirt clutched in my hands. The one I’d bought him for his birthday last month. He must have decided to end things days, maybe weeks ago, and was just waiting for the right moment. All those late nights at the office, the distracted conversations, the way he’d stopped scenting me in the mornings before work, it hadn’t been stress or tiredness. He’d been mentally checking out of our relationship while I was still planning our future.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, my voice catching. Despite everything, despite telling myself I hate him, his scent still calls to something primal in me. My Omega biology responds to the Alpha pheromones embedded in his clothes, making me ache for the security I thought I had with him.
I hate that my body betrays me like this. Hate that I can hate him and miss him simultaneously. Hate that he’s somehow managed to ruin even this, my escape, my chance to start fresh, by literally forcing me to sit in a cabin surrounded by his scent with none of my own things.
In a sudden burst of fury, I grab the duffel and upend it, scattering his belongings across the bed, including a plastic folder of documents inside,because, of course, he would pack work stuff whenever he travels. He’s always been a workaholic.
I gather his things roughly, shoving them back into the duffel with none of the care he’d taken in packing. The zipper catches on a sleeve, and I yank it so hard the fabric tears. Good. Let something of his be damaged, too.
My phone vibrates with a text. For one pathetic heartbeat, I hope it’s him, realizing the bag mix-up, concerned about me. But it’s just my service provider welcoming me to Whispering Grove with a notification about roaming charges.
I wash my face with cold water from the tap, using one of Chad’s t-shirts as a towel out of spite. Without any of my own clothes, I’m forced to borrow one of his shirts to sleep in. The soft material feels like a betrayal against my skin, but it’s either that or sleep in my travel-worn clothes.
The bed is huge and inviting. I spread my second slice of Lily’s Emergency Chocolate Situation cake on a napkin and settle onto the bed, using my phone flashlight to illuminate my impromptu dinner.
“Happy vacation to me,” I mutter, taking a bite of cake, and before I know it, I’ve finished the whole slice.
Outside, the forest sounds are punctuated by distant rumbles of thunder that seem to draw closer with each passing minute. A flash of lightning briefly illuminates the trees, their shadows dancing across the cabin wall like restless spirits. Night falls completely as the patter of rain begins—soft at first,then growing steadily more insistent against the roof and windows. Under different circumstances, a summer storm in the mountains would be peaceful. Now, it just underscores how utterly alone I am.
As I settle under the covers, my phone chimes with a text from my bestie, Jess.
How’s the Fuck Chad vacation going? Drowning in wine yet?
I smile despite myself and type a response.
Currently holed up in a cabin with no electricity, eating emergency chocolate cake for dinner. Ran into Megan—yes, that Megan—at the grocery store. That was... fun. On the upside, made two new friends and tried some really good whiskey. So, yeah, calling it a mixed bag.
Her reply comes quickly.
NO ELECTRICITY? And you MET Megan there? I need details! Call me tomorrow!
Will do. If I survive the night without being eaten by bears.
Bears are the least of your worries. Watch out for hot forest rangers instead. More dangerous to your swear-off Alphas plan.
Snorting, I set my phone aside. The idea of meeting any Alpha, hot or otherwise, is the furthest thing from my mind. One day of emotional upheaval is quite enough.
I blow out the candles and curl under the covers. I think about Atlas from the plane, of his woodsmoke, maple, and toasted sugar scent, his midnight eyes, and quickly shut down that train of thought. The last thingI need is to start romanticizing every Alpha who crosses my path.
Tomorrow, I’ll get groceries properly and some clothes, too. I’ll charge my devices and start working on my book. I’ll take back control of this vacation and my life.
But for now, I let the exhaustion pull me under, thunder rumbling in my ears as sleep drags me down.
3
ATLAS
Thunder rumbles in the distance as I drive my truck through the winding roads of Whispering Grove. The massive pines lining the route to the station sway in the growing wind, their needles hissing warnings of the coming storm. At least the rain will help with the dry conditions we’ve been facing all month.
In the distance, a spark of lightning flashes over the mountains. It reminds me of the turbulence during the flight home, the same turbulence that sent that gorgeous Omega, Emma, practically into my lap when the plane dropped a hundred feet without warning.
Fuck.
My chest tightens at the memory of her scent, old books, honey, and vanilla, wrapping around me like a drug made specifically for an Alpha. Even now, hours later, I swear I can still catch traces of it on my jacket. Iinhale deeply, chasing the ghost of that perfect Omega sweetness.
