Page 193 of Dream Girl
What sort of question was that? She always wore his clothes for the same reason Evan always stole our stuff. It smelled right.
“Fine.” Frowning, Grace tugged off the shirt, so she was only in her sports bra, and threw it at him. Then she froze. Her chest shook, and her peach scent took on the burnt tang of fear.
“It’s okay.” Brennan’s voice went quiet, his expression softening, as he put out some soothing pheromones. “Grace, I wasn’t asking you to take it off. I was just surprised. I’d think you’d like Wes’ stuff better. Here.”
With a tenderness I hadn’t seen him show her before, he took the shirt and put it back on her–but not before I saw the angry, raised scars crisscrossing her back.
Shit.
“I like his fashion sense.” She sniffed, ducking her head.
“Which is fair,” I pointed out. Wes tended not to care about his clothes, while Evan could be a snappy dresser when he wanted.
Brennan moved my stuff off the chair next to me and sat down. “You don’t need to be ashamed of your scars.”
“I’m not, just aware that they bother others.” Her shoulders rounded as she put her jacket back on and pulled it around herself.
Sure. We should work on her confidence.
The server came over and looked at Brennan and asked in English, “Are you eating?”
“I’d like a pot of tea and number three with pork,” he said.
I also ordered Evan’s noodles to go.
Brennan looked at Grace’s bowl and shook his head. “That just looks spicy.”
“I’m going to find the restroom.” Grace left and went inside.
“Was she in a car accident?” I asked him softly, polishing off my beer. That's how Brennan got his scars.
Brennan shook his head. “It’s how they made her forget that Wes was real.”
I sucked in air sharply through my teeth. “That’s fucked up. How is that even legal?”
“It probably isn’t.” His look turned grim.
The server brought a pot of tea and cups for everyone. Brennan poured all of us tea, putting one at Grace’s empty place.
“Remember how I had someone investigate her?” His voice was quiet as he looked into his cup.
“Oh right, I’d forgotten you’d done that? What did you find?” I frowned, because we’d been having a good night. Yesterday at the pizza arcade was fun, too.
“Her record has been altered–and apparently has the fingerprints of something called the Omega Protection Program all over it. At first I was angry, because I knew she was hiding something. Then the investigator explained what it was and why I should leave it alone or ask Grace directly. I didn’t even know such a thing existed.” He took a sip, looking pensive.
“Oh. I don’t know much about it, other than it’s similar to witness protection. They’re usually getting omegas out of fucked up situations. It would explain the holes in her stories, the inconsistencies, and why things feel weird. It might even explain why Wes couldn’t find her. That’s been bothering me,” I said quietly, thinking over the ramifications.
“Could be. My guess, based on the few things I know about her, is that maybe when her family disowned her, things went sideways and she ended up in the program?” He turned the cup around in his hands. “I don’t know. But it would explain a lot.”
“Yeah, and her mom’s death caused her to come out of it, thinking she was safe. For all we know, her concussion and beingon the run had nothing to do with her research, and everything to do with her family. Those scars.” I shook my head.
Brennan nodded. “Can you imagine someone hurting you so badly you thought yourmatewas a dream?”
I winced at the thought. “That sounds awful.”
“Grace and Evan seem to love each other, as do her and Wes. At the very least, I should try. For them. As long as we continue to have no fear of her being a danger to the pack, of course.” He took a sip of tea.
“Sounds good to me.” I finished my noodles. I mean, she was bonded to WesandEvan. Spencer looked at her like he wanted to gobble her up.
