Page 63 of Lavender and Lightning

I can practically hear his eyes rolling from across the room. “It’s not that bad. And who knows what we’re going to find.”

I shake my head. An Everton ex-pat recently passed, and he was something of a local history buff. His family heard about the work we’ve been doing to restore historical landmarks in the city and dumped his “collection” with us. According to Rhett, the pallet of boxes we received the other day is a treasure trove, but it just looks like piles of old newspapers and faded photographs.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t wait up,” I toss over my shoulder as I descend the stairs.

I shut the door before I can hear whatever overprotective nonsense he tries to throw at me. I turn left at the bottom of the stairs and open the door to my workshop and garage. The air smells like grease and spices, and I sigh. I debate for a moment whether I should take my car, but it’s such a nice day. I don’t know how many of these we have left, and I’ve been dying to take Lydia for a ride.

So with that thought, I strap an extra helmet on my bike before throwing on my leather riding jacket and my own helmet. I’ve been riding motorcycles since before I turned eighteen, but this is by far the nicest set of wheels I’ve ever owned. Lex gifted it to me for my birthday last year, and that only makes me love it more. The paint is custom, dark green and white running along the gas tank and panels. I throw my leg over the seat and let the first roar of the engine wash over me as I start it up.

I rev the engine as I pretend to not hear Rhett. He’s shouting something about recklessness and my bike being too dangerous for Lydia right now, but it’s not like I’d start doing wheelies or anything like that with her with me. As I back out of the garage and take off up the hill, out of the driveway, and into the fading afternoon light, I smile to myself, imagining all the fun ways Rhett would make me pay for this later.

twenty-seven

Lydia

BythetimeIpull into the driveway next to a pale yellow house, my back is covered in sweat. My hands ache from holding onto the wheel with a death grip for the fifteen minutes it took to get from the scene to Caleb’s house. I sit for another moment after I put the car in park and shut off the engine, letting the shaking in my limbs slow and fade.

“You did great, Lydia,” Caleb says brightly from the passenger seat.

I only nod, not trusting my voice right now. He sat patiently next to me as I inched across the city, only giving gentle encouragement as I spent far too long checking crossroads and driving well below the speed limit.

“It’s going to be a minute before your pack gets here. You should come in,” Caleb says kindly, opening his door.

I nod again, my ebbing fear being replaced by nervousness in my belly. I’ve never really interacted with other omegas outside of my family, so I don’t know what to expect. Some get territorial when I’m around because I’m unbonded. I don’t want Sylvie to hate me because of how much time I spend with her mate, but I can’t politely refuse at this point. I slide out of the car, wrapping my arms around my stomach as I approach where Caleb waits for me at the bottom of the front porch stairs.

The house itself is simple, but there’s an air of comfort around the place. There’s a swing off to the right of the front door, with a faded pillow and slightly rusty chains holding it up. The wood under me creaks as I follow behind Caleb and pass through the screen door and plain wood front door.

“Kokhanyy, I’m home!” Caleb calls into the house.

I glance around as I follow his lead and toe off my shoes. The front entryway is a comfortable clutter of shoes and coats, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming. The living room beyond is the same sort of lived-in controlled chaos. Everything smells of snickerdoodles and cedar and salt and something musky. I drag in a deep breath and my body relaxes even though my mind is still working overtime.

“About fucking time! Dinner’s going to—oh, hello!”

At the sound of a woman’s voice, a light, bubbly sound despite the profanity, I turn to an open doorway to find the source standing there staring at me. The first thing that hits me is the bubblegum pink hair that sits in a messy bun on the top of her head, pieces escaping in every direction and giving her a distinctly frazzled air. The next thing I notice is that she’s visibly pregnant, her swollen belly giving her a slightly unbalanced look.

Caleb moves to her, and I realize how small she is when he reaches her and gathers her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. She has to rise onto the very tips of her toes, and even then, the top of her head just brushes his chin. Seeing my tough-as-nails bodyguard, the alpha who just took three good punches to the head, melting like ice cream in July as he leans down and rubs her round belly and covers it with kisses is almost too much for my brain to take in.

“Hello, I’m Lydia,” I start, feeling supremely out of place.

At the sound of my name, the woman, who I gather to be Sylvie, relaxes and lets out a chuckle. “Oh, right. You’re Caleb’s baby.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I splutter, blinking rapidly.

“Kokhanyy, I told you to stop calling them that,” Caleb growls, but the fond smile on his face really takes the heat out of the sound. He turns back to me and shoots me an apologetic look. “She thinks my job is just glorified babysitting.”

I can’t help but chuckle. I’m about to respond, but a beeping from the kitchen makes Sylvie gasp. She turns, swaying dangerously off balance as she waddles back into the kitchen. Caleb looks torn between following her and staying with me, and I giggle softly.

“Please, have a seat. Your pack knows where to find you?” he tells me, motioning to the dining room table.

I nod, taking the offered seat and looking around. The walls are covered in a slightly outdated wallpaper, but the blue floral is barely visible under the collection of framed photos and art projects. There are some of the two of them at what appears to be their wedding day, some of a newborn, and the most recent of Caleb, a pregnant Sylvie, and a little boy, maybe five or six.

“I’ve got it, you giant mother hen,” I hear Sylvie snap from beyond the door to the kitchen.

I can’t see them, but Caleb reappears with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his head. He’s lost the jacket at some point, the empty gun harness still hanging around his shoulder.

“You were armed that whole time?” I gasp in disbelief.

“I’m armed whenever I’m on duty,” Caleb replies, like it’s no big deal.

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