Page 2 of Laurels and Liquor

ThefootIhavecrossed over my other leg bounces rapidly, hitting my shin every now and then, but I can’t get it to stop. I scroll through my email, refreshing again and again, but no new messages come through. At the sound of an engine, I nearly sag with relief at the sight of my pack’s private jet as it taxis past the lounge. I’ve been sitting here for the last three hours, ever since Caleb texted me that they’d taken off. As I watch the plane finally approach the hangar, I rush out, ignoring the desk attendant’s cries for me to wait until it’s parked. Fuck him. I’ve waited long enough.

The engines are just powering down as I descend the stairs and push through the doors. By the time I reach the plane, its stairs are already lowering, and I take them two at a time. I scan the sitting room once, and I find Lydia and Lucas curled up together on the sofa. His eyes are closed, but hers are open wide, staring at nothing in mute horror.

“Ms. St. Clair, I’m so sorry—”

I turn a stern frown on Caleb, the bodyguard I’d hired to protect Lydia. He’s more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, his normally pristine white shirt stained with dried blood, no tie, suit jacket missing, shoulder holster on full display. His words stick in his throat, his gray eyes saying more than he could ever put into words. But they’re things I’ve been thinking to myself all night. We’d prepared for everything, and we still failed to get everyone home safe. The guilt is written in every line of his tired expression. My heart softens, but I don’t let it show.

“Go home, Caleb. We can… we can debrief later, once we’ve all slept,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

My voice breaks, and I have to clear my throat. I don’t know what Caleb reads in my face, but he sighs and nods, moving off to gather his things. Turning back to Lucas and Lydia, I find both of them are looking at me with mixed expressions of concern and exhaustion. I motion silently for them to follow me, but it takes a moment to get Lydia moving. It doesn’t escape my notice that Lucas is half carrying her as they follow me out of the plane, out of the hangar, and into the parking lot.

“Is she hurt?” I ask quietly, holding the door for Lucas.

“I don’t think so. Her face is a little swollen, but she—we’ve been—”

I nod, sparing him the need to finish that sentence. My heart twists as the smell of dried lilacs fills my nose, which is almost worse than her burnt-sugar fear. I’ve seen Lydia upset before, but this silence is more disquieting than her tears. This wordless anger, the rage burning like emerald fire in her eyes, takes me aback, and my instinct is to soothe and comfort. But as I move to touch her, she flinches, looking down and away. I walk them both out to my car, knowing the luggage will make its way back to the pack house eventually. I have more important things to worry about right now.

Lucas and Lydia slide into the backseat as a unit, and I close the door behind them before rushing around to the driver’s seat. As we exit the airport, Lydia still isn’t looking at me, or doing anything really. She’s so pale, the rising sun catching on the tear stains running down her face. Her makeup is smudged, hair askew, but she’s still beautiful enough to take my breath away. I keep glancing at her through my rearview mirror, waiting. After several long, silent minutes of driving, I can’t take it anymore.

“What happened? The last I heard, you were leaving the wedding—”

“Rhett got arrested, Lex. Something about felony assault and attempted murder. I don’t know. Everything happened so fast,” Lucas rasps, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

“What happened? Caleb wasn’t able to provide a ton of details, just that he saw Rhett punch Darren,” I press, trying to be gentle, but not sure I succeed.

Operating with limited information doesn’t sit well with me on a good day. But being left in the dark about my pack is setting off every anxiety response I have. Sweaty palms, a tremble in my stomach that won’t stop. The tick-tick-tick of my childhood piano teacher’s metronome in the back of my mind. The itch in my fingers to do something other than grip the steering wheel like I can strangle the information I need out of it.

“I don’t know. I… Lydia said there was a knife?” Lucas stumbles, voice lifting in a question as he looks down at the omega in his arms.

We wait, hoping she’ll answer and fill in the gaps. Caleb told me about the confrontation with Lydia’s family, about the threats her parents made against her, and how Darren tried to get in one last verbal blow but ended up with Rhett’s fist in his face. Only, even he didn’t know what happened inside. How Rhett came out of the venue with a stab wound to his thigh, or how Lydia’s dress had been damaged, her face coming to bear the distinct shape of a handprint.

“Dar—hecornered me in the bathroom. There was a knife and Rhett—” Lydia’s words are faint, barely audible over the sound of the engine and the tires, and she tucks her chin to her chest with a frustrated growl as she tries to hide her silent, angry tears.

“So Darren stabbed Rhett?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer anymore.

She nods, pressing her hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry. This is all my fucking fault,” she grits out.

Lucas holds her tight, and we lock eyes through the mirror. He’s saying the soothing words, but there’s a dark cloud in his eyes I don’t like. He’s furious, but not at her. No, never at her. At himself, maybe?

“No, it’s not, sweetness. None of this is your fault. Either of you. We all decided to do this. Everyone, Rhett included, knew the risks,” I say firmly, gripping the wheel hard enough for my hands to hurt.

“He said something about Seth being arrested?” Lucas asks, rocking Lydia and rubbing her back.

I don’t blame him for trying to shift the conversation, but this topic is nearly as painful, if not worse. Seth Douglas, the curse I brought upon my chosen family, the demon who refuses to die, has vanished.

“No, not yet. They went to serve the warrant, and he was gone,” I admit in a monotone, my gut twisting painfully.

Lucas lets out a string of particularly colorful and creative curse words, and I grunt in agreement. The engine revs as I rush through a yellow light, my heart beating hard in my chest. Mateo is home alone, and our nightmare is on the loose. I need my pack together… or as together as we can be right now. Once we’re safe at home, I can get to work on returning Rhett to our arms.

The rest of the ride back to Bristol Point—the housing development we built to surround our pack house as another level of protection—is silent. Lydia’s tears stop, and she’s tucked into Lucas’s arms, nearly curled into a ball, and I can’t see her face. I want to say something, anything, to reassure her, but everything I think of just feels like false platitudes. We don’t know if he’s going to be okay. We don’t know if he’ll be home soon. There are so many unknowns, too many. So, I’ll work on the things I can control. I can get my pack home safe, and then I can get to work.

The car isn’t even fully parked in the garage before Mateo is there, pulling open the rear passenger door and extracting Lydia. His scent of burning grass fills the space as I step outside, and I try my best to smother a cough as his fear chokes me momentarily. Before I even get the chance to stop him, he has her scooped up in his arms and is marching away into the house. I turn to look at Lucas, sighing heavily. A moment later, arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm embrace, one that smells like freshly cleaned sheets. I let myself be held, be vulnerable, but only because we’re alone. I squeeze my eyes tight against the tears burning in the backs of them, gritting my teeth. I try to step back, but Lucas only holds tighter.

“Don’t… don’t pull away, Lex. Not this time. Please,” he whispers into my hair.

“I have a duty to—”

“I don’t need my prime alpha right now. I need my Lex. And we need to do this together,” he insists, voice shaking slightly in his passion.

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