Page 16 of Laurels and Liquor

I close my eyes, my lips pressing into a thin line. He’s not wrong. I’d promised myself I’d never let anyone have leverage over me again after Seth. I foolishly told him about how I’d lied on a government grant form to secure the necessary funding for the Wickland House project. He’s been holding the threat of alerting the authorities to my fraud ever since, preventing me from enforcing consequences for his repeat violations of court orders. Trusting Mateo to keep this secret and take it to his grave isn’t easy, but it’s what has to be done.

“To be fair, I’ll have the same leverage over you,” I snark in return.

Mateo chuckles and shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips, going quiet again. The sun slips below the line of buildings, setting them in a sharp silhouette against the oranges and pinks of the cloudless sky, and as I look out over the city, my heart swells with affection. Everton is more than a city to me. It’s the first place that’s felt like home since I moved out of the family compound after college. There’s so much life and vibrance, a pulse of excitement I’d felt the moment I entered the city limits for the first time. It’s been nearly a decade since then, and my love for this place and its people hasn’t dimmed. I’ll never stop trying to help this city, but I can’t do that with the albatross that is Seth Douglas around my neck.

This won’t be the first time I’ve gotten my hands dirty to do what needs to be done, and I doubt it’ll be the last. It’s just a matter of whether Mateo is willing to do the same.

“You do realize what’ll happen if we get caught, right?” Mateo starts.

“Bare minimum, possession of a controlled substance for the bond breakers, more than a few Omega Protection Act violations, and I’m sure there’s something illegal about selling property for the purposes of funding criminal activity,” I drone, swallowing hard.

“I’m glad you’ve thought about the legal stuff, but I meant to our pack mates. They’ll never trust us again, especially after we promised not to keep any more secrets,” he goes on, mussing up his hair again.

I nod, heart plummeting and eyes burning. I don’t want to do this, but we’ve run out of options. Taking the high road has landed us here. The law won’t help us anymore, so we have to take matters into our own, extralegal hands.

“They’re going to be questioned, and I won’t make them lie for us. Rhett’s alibi is airtight, but ignorance is going to be the best shield Lydia and Lucas can have. Maybe one day we’ll tell them, and hope they forgive us, but…”

Trailing off, my voice cracks as I consider the alternative. I can try to lie to myself and say that I’m okay with accepting the consequences of this plan, but I still remember the way Lydia looked at me after that massive fight a few weeks ago. I’m not sure if my heart can go through that again, but I don’t want to live like this anymore. More than anything, I want to give myself fully to her and Lucas, and I can’t do that while Seth is still in the picture.

“I know, Lex. So, let’s agree that if this goes tits up, we’re going to throw your father directly under the bus,” Mateo drones, not looking at me.

I whip my gaze to him, face draining of heat. It takes me a few seconds to comprehend his meaning, but once I do, I can’t help but laugh outright. Mateo looks down at me and returns my chuckles. When we’re quiet, our eyes stay locked together, and there’s a flicker of something in the fawn-colored depths. But I brush it off as a trick of the light.

Mateo turns on his heel and goes back to the bar cart, refilling his glass and pouring a portion into a second glass. When he comes back, he passes me the bourbon and holds his up.

“To freedom, by any means necessary,” he declares.

I roll my eyes but clink my glass to his and repeat his toast.

Chapter nine

Lydia

Istareattheorange bottle in my hand, the heat suppressants inside rattling slightly as I turn it back and forth. There’s still half a bottle left, but it doesn’t matter. Ripping the cap off, I turn to my toilet, emptying the pills into the bowl, and pressing the flush soundly. I wait until I’m sure the pills are down the drain before tossing the now empty bottle in the tiny wastebasket under the vanity. As I look at the new bottle of pills on the edge of the sink, my heart flips slightly in my chest. But before I can dwell, my arm throbs dully and I wince, looking down at the band of neon pink self-adhering gauze tape wrapped around my bicep.

I’ve just gotten home from my appointment at the omega clinic, where I’d made the decision to get my implant removed. I’d expected Dr. Miller to make a big fuss of it, maybe even try to talk me out of it, but she’d been weirdly excited for me when I’d declared that I was ready for a bond.

It’s been a few days since Sylvie’s intervention, and I’ve been at her house every day since. I’ve learned more about what it means to be an omega in three afternoons with her than I did in nearly twenty years at home. Pseudo-bonds were only the tip of the iceberg. She helped me to finally master my omega purr, a sound I can make to soothe anxious or distressed alphas. I’d gotten so good at it that I’d nearly put Caleb to sleep where he was standing, three rooms away from where Sylvie and I were practicing. She’d even told me exactly how to initiate the bonding process, and what I’d have to do to help an alpha bond with a beta—ya know, just in case I might need that in the near future.

But what had become increasingly clear was the need for my body to be in a true heat. Nothing short of that would do if I wanted the bonds to stick. And they had to. There were too many dangerous pieces on the board for anything less. Beyond my own personal desires, the practical solution to almost all my problems is this bond.

So I’d made sure that the clinic knew about that when my implant was removed. And they’ve prescribed a round of hormone enhancers. I’m to take one a day every day until I go into heat. Combine that with plenty of “attention,” the doctor’s exact words, from my pack, and I should be ready for my alphas.

Well, I’ll be ready. I just have to hope Rhett will make it home. And Lex and Mateo can get free from Seth.

Popping one of the tan tablets into my mouth, I swallow it down with little effort. I leave my bathroom and flop into my nest, listening to the quiet of the pack house. I’m alone for the first time in a long time, with the pack at work and Caleb busy with Sylvie at a birthing class. Mateo will be the first home tonight, what with Lucas covering a closing shift and Lex’s meetings running late, but it’s almost nice to have time to myself for the first time in months. And unlike before my lessons with my omega mentor, the silence doesn’t send me spiraling with my thoughts and longing. She’s shared some of the coping mechanisms she used when she has to be apart from her mate, and they’ve worked.

As I drift in my longing for a while, the sunlight fades outside of the frosted windows above my bed. I must fall asleep at some point, because when I surface again, I’m curled around a pillow that smells faintly of Rhett. Whiskey and leather and dark chocolate just barely cling to fabric and my heart twists. This is normal, I remind myself. My primal instincts are seeking out the comfort of his scent, even if it hurts. I’ve yet to muster enough courage to go into Rhett’s room, convincing myself that it would be wrong to disturb the space. But now that I’m alone, maybe it’s time to stop lying to myself.

I drag my feet up the stairs from the basement to the main floor of the pack house. The silence of the house is oddly comfortable as I make my way up the stairs to the second floor. The hum of electricity in the walls, the central air kicking on, just the general ambience, is oddly soothing. There’s no one to stop me from entering Rhett’s room, no one to judge me for the tears that burn the backs of my eyes as traces of his scent leak out through the gaps around the door. When my shaking hand turns the knob and the door swings open on silent hinges, I stagger into the frame as the strength goes out from my legs.

Nothing has changed, no one having gone in here since we’ve been back. So, seeing the slightly mussed sheets, the clothes in the hamper, even the haphazard pile of folders and boxes next to his desk, it’s almost like I’ve stepped back in time. Like any moment, he’s going to come in behind me and close the door before gathering me up in his arms.

I rush for the bed, launching myself into the center and burying my face in the pillow. My heart throbs and twists in my chest as I inhale the whiskey, leather, dark chocolate, and old book smell that’s so much stronger here. I can scent traces of Lucas’s pine smoke and s’mores, but the overwhelming concentration of Rhett’s essence in the fabric breaks the fragile control I’ve managed to keep on myself.

I roll onto my side and hug one of his pillows to my chest, curling around it as much as I can. Fishing my phone out of my hoodie pocket, I open my photo app, flicking to my favorite picture of him. He sent it to me early in our relationship, when he left to visit his family to celebrate the birth of his nephew, Mason. The picture is a candid, clearly taken without Rhett’s knowledge, because his attention is so utterly focused on the tiny bundle in his arms. He’s holding the baby for the first time in the hospital, his excitement and joy palpable even through the screen.

He's going to be a good dad.

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