Page 1 of Discover Me
Micah
The first day of fall always feels like a beginning, even when you're twenty-eight and stuck in the same small town you grew up in. There's something about the crisp air that makes everything feel possible, like the world's offering you a clean slate even though you know damn well you're going to write the same story on it.
I breathe in deep, letting the cool September morning fill my lungs as I stand on the scaffolding attached to the old entertainment building downtown. My toolbelt weighs heavy onmy hips, my work gloves shoved onto my hands, fingers already aching from the early morning labor.
Boss’ voice is still ringing in my ears, the old crabby Alpha telling me that this job was more important than anything else we were working on because someone important was coming into town.
Which… is fine.
But patching up a roof is not my specialty. I just happen to be the only one without kids, without any additional ailments, and the only one stupid enough to grab some overtime. Which is why I’m up on the goddamn roof, attacking the water damage from last spring's storms. It left some sections rotted through, and the owner wanted it fixed before the big charity event they're hosting this weekend.
Easy enough work. The kind my dad used to do before his heart gave out three years ago, leaving me with nothing but his toolbox and a position at Henderson Construction Company. I don't mind it, really. There's something meditative about working with my hands, about seeing a problem and fixing it with sweat and skill. I can lose myself in it, let everything else fade away until it's just me and the task in front of me.
I'm securing the last section of new shingles when I hear voices below, followed by the industrial groan of something heavy being moved. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I straighten up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm as I look down at the street level. Four massive posters are being unrolled down the side of the building, each one probably fifteen feet tall, and I watch as they unfurl to reveal four gorgeous faces staring out at the town.
Lunar Ransom, the bold lettering declares across the top.Live at the Fall Charity Gala.
I've heard of them, vaguely. Some rock band that's been climbing the charts, the kind of music that plays in thebackground at the bar when I'm trying to enjoy a beer in peace. The four faces on the posters are striking in that intentional, crafted way that screams money and image consultants. Three men and one who could be anyone, really, all of them beautiful in that untouchable rockstar way. Dark eyeliner, perfect hair, leather and attitude captured in glossy print.
One of them catches my eye more than the others. Dark hair, tattoos visible even in the promotional photo, multiple piercings that make me intrigued rather than turned off. He's holding drumsticks, positioned behind what I assume is his kit, something intense about his expression. Not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Just... present. Like he's looking right through the camera and seeing something the rest of us can't.
I snort and shake my head, turning back to my work. That's the kind of guy who peaked in high school, probably. Got told he was special one too many times and believed it. Not that I have any room to talk, considering I never left the town I grew up in.
At least I'm honest about where I am in life. Construction work, same company my dad worked for, same small apartment I've had since I was twenty-two. It's not glamorous, but it's mine.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to see a text from my coworker, Jamie.
Those rockstar posters up yet? Whole town's gonna lose their minds.
I glance back down at the massive faces now adorning the building.
Just went up. Very... sparkly.
Jamie sends back three crying-laughing emojis, and I slip my phone back into my pocket with a small smile. At least someone's entertained by all this. The charity gala is supposed to be a big deal—local Alphas with too much money and not enough sense sponsoring some cause or another, bringing in a famous band to make themselves look good. I've seen it before.
Hell, half the sponsors probably did peak in high school, now living off daddy's money and pretending their donations make them good people.
I crouch down to pack up my tools, double-checking that everything's secure. The morning's work is done, and I'm ready to get down, grab lunch, and maybe take a break before the afternoon shift starts. My toolbox clicks shut with a satisfying sound, and I heft it up, adjusting my grip as I turn toward the ladder.
That's when I see them.
Two Alphas standing at the base of my ladder, looking up at me with expressions that make my heart drop into my stomach. I recognize them immediately as Derek and Colt, two guys I turned down at Riley's Bar a few nights ago when they decided I looked lonely enough to approach. I wasn't interested then, and I'm sure as hell not interested now, but apparently they didn't get the memo.
"Hey there, pretty Beta!" Derek calls up, his voice carrying that particular brand of false friendliness that sets my teeth on edge. He's got his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels like he's got all the time in the world. "Fancy seeing you up there!"
I sigh, gripping my toolbox tighter. The last thing I want right now is to deal with their bullshit, but I can't exactly stay up here forever. "Not interested, guys. Move along."
"Aw, come on," Colt chimes in, stepping closer to the ladder. He's bigger than Derek, broader in the shoulders, with the kind of build that says he spends too much time at the gym and not enough time developing a personality. "We just want to talk. You left so quick the other night, didn't even give us a chance."
"I gave you an answer," I say, keeping my voice level as I approach the ladder. "That answer was no. Still is. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."
I start to descend, keeping a firm grip on the sides. I've done this hundreds of times. It should be fine. It will be fine.
"You know," Derek says, an edge to his voice now, "you Betas think you're so special. Acting all high and mighty when an Alpha shows interest."
"Not acting like anything," I mutter, focusing on my descent. Just a couple dozen more rungs and I'll be down and can walk away from this whole situation. "Just not interested. There's a difference."
"We could fill that pretty little hole of yours," Colt adds, the crude suggestion making my jaw clench. "Make you forget all about being picky."
