by K. Webster
Ignoring him for the entire week was hell. And after seeing the depression he’d worked himself into—the depression I had caused—I know I don’t want to ever ignore him again. I might be a callous, unloving bitch, but I’m not evil.
“I’m going to figure that out,” he whispers so quietly that I almost don’t hear him.
God, how I want to believe that.
I think.
I don’t even fucking know him.
The constant war that wages in my head about Alpha blooms once again to life. He thinks his name is Connor. He showed up out of the blue to rescue me from Pedro. He technically could be deemed a stalker for his obsessively overprotective ways. And he has no job or last name. I don’t know the first thing about him, yet I’ve slept with him several times.
There’s just one problem with that argument.
I feel like I know him. Something about him invokes in me the same feelings my husband once did long ago. There’s a familiarity with Alpha that I felt with Connor. Is it possible to find another person to love in your lifetime? At one time, I would have said no. But now, tucked into Alpha’s rock-hard side, I question that answer.
My heart aches at the possibility of loving another like I did my husband. What we had was special and unique. I can’t give a part of myself I’ve already given to Connor to another man. I’ll feel as if I’m stealing that part of the us we were to become the us Alpha and I could be.
I’ll never take that away from the love of my life.
Alpha may be whittling down the rock of my heart to find the inside, but he will never be my husband.
Alpha is not Connor, and I’d be doing myself a favor to remember that.
Lark & Connor = 1
Lark & Alpha with no last name = 0
“READ ME YOUR poem,” Lark instructs with a whisper as Red walks away with our empty plates.
I am glad that she ate all of her food and even stole some of my bacon. My Twiggy has an appetite now, and I’m proud to say that she’s gained a good couple of pounds while under my watch.
I lift up from my seat and retrieve the folded paper from my back pocket. My gaze is trained on her as she leans back and closes her eyes as if she’s looking forward to hearing my poem. The thought of her wanting to hear it warms my heart.
“It’s titled, ‘Red Hot’,” I tease.
Her eyes pop open, and she sticks her tongue out at me. A full-bellied laugh erupts from me, and I see an unwanted smile tease her lips.
Those damn lips.
Leaning over, I press a gentle kiss them. I don’t want to pull away, but I do so I can read her the damn poem.
“It’s really titled, ‘Untitled’,” I chuckle.
She swats at me. “Oh my God. On with it already, Al the Poet.”
I take a deep breath because this poem, for me, is deep. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but it helps to get images and thoughts out of my head and onto paper. It somehow makes them real.
When my eyes find hers again, she’s regarding me thoughtfully, tears threatening to spill over.
“I don’t know what it means. But I do know it means something,” I admit.
Her lips quiver momentarily, but then she purses them together and nods. We both silently regard each other for a short while. I want to know what she thinks about my poem, but I don’t dare ask. I can see her mind working in an attempt to figure out what doesn’t even make sense to me—and I wrote it.
“Do you have a poem, Lar?” I question as my eyes find her plump lips, which beg to be kissed.
She winces, and I frown in confusion. My words seem to have hurt her.
“Al, please take me home. I should nap before work.” Her voice shakes, but she sounds resolved.
Home we shall go.
“I can’t fucking believe we’re doing this,” Omega grumbles beside me.
We’re in the building next door to the one we work for headed for a meeting at HEL Enterprises.
Shit. This doesn’t feel right.
“Me neither. I’m sorry, O,” I groan as we stride toward the only set of elevators in the ornate and expensive lobby.
Over at HEA, they still have the furniture from 1986, it would seem. Here at HEL, they spend their money on luxurious interior decorating.
“You’d do the same for me,” he assures me.
He’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
When we make it to the elevators, there’s one button and it points down. Great.
I mash it and turn to look at my best friend. “So, where’s Lovenia?”
“She said she’d meet us there. Where’s Lark?”
“Asleep. She has a shift tonight and wanted to nap beforehand. Pedro still alive?”
“For now,” he mutters. “But if he keeps eyeing Love, I’m going to have to kick his ass. Last night, he actually licked his lips when she walked by, and it took every ounce of self-control not to pummel his ass.”
An uneasy feeling skitters down my spine. He’s joking, but I think that, if it came between Love and Pedro, Omega would make the wrong decision. But, considering I’ve broken every law possible, I have absolutely no room to tell him so.
“What do you think Pallas would say if he knew we were here?” I ask. I hate that I am betraying my boss by not only banging my assignment, but also meeting with Love’s boss.
The doors to the elevator finally open and we step inside.
“He’d probably drop that damn cigar right out of his mouth,” he laughs. “We’re headed to the second-to-the-bottom floor.”
I push the button and chuckle with him at the thought of Pallas getting so pissed that he drops his most prized possession. We’re still laughing as the doors close. But right before they close all of the way, a hand stops them.
The doors slide back open to reveal a sophisticated man standing on the other side, holding an expensive leather briefcase. His dark hair is slicked back in a stylish way, and his matching goatee is neatly trimmed. When he sees us, his mouth quirks up into a smirk. Omega and I nod our greeting as he steps inside. With the addition of our newest elevator companion, the temperature seems to have risen several degrees in the close quarters.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He smiles as he reaches for the button below ours.
Omega and I exchange anxious glances.
“Good day, sir,” I return politely.
He extends his hand toward me in greeting. The man is ever a classic fellow with his tweed three-piece suit and manners. I’d imagine him to be much older than Omega and I, except he doesn’t look any older than thirty.
Reluctantly, I give his very warm hand a firm shake. Then he releases me and checks the time on his watch before looking my way again.
“Please call me Luc,” he instructs jovially. But underneath the jovial front lies something sinister. Something I am not at all comfortable with.
“Luc,” I mumble in polite response.
He grins at my words and then turns his gaze to Omega, who is not as trained at hiding his unease as I am. Omega’s dark brows are furrowed together and his stance is defensive. He seems ready to pounce.
“What brings you two good boys to our neck of the woods?” Luc inquires on the hot-ass, long-ass journey down.
“We have a meeting,” I tell him but don’t give him any more details than I have to.
He narrows his dark eyes at me. “Wonderful. With whom?”
“Lovenia and her boss,” I reply with hesitation. I’m not at all keen on the way he is probing for information. All we came here to do was have the damn meeting and then get the fuck out.
His eyes light up and he flashes a perfect, white smile at me. “Ahh, sweet Lovenia. She’s a favorite of mine.”
The way he says her name, with such a lustful tone, sends me on high alert. My eyes flicker to Omega, whose shoulders are now squared and fists are clenched by his sides. Fuck—this is not good. The ride is taking way too damn long and we need out of here before Omega beats the s
hit out of the obvious head man in charge.
“The woman has some beautiful curves, wouldn’t you say?” His question is now directed at Omega, who is not one bit impressed with Luc’s seemingly innocent taunts.
“I’d say I’d rather not talk about her with you,” Omega growls at him.
Instead of becoming angry, Luc lets out a full-bodied laugh that brings tears to his eyes. Omega and I glance at each other questioningly about the lunatic in the elevator with us.
Luc points a finger at Omega. “I like you, man. I like you a lot.”
His comment rubs me the wrong way. This guy should dislike us immensely if we were being good representatives of our company. Instead, he seems rather pleased at our encounter.
“Well, I don’t like you,” Omega snaps. “And how fucking long is this damn elevator?”
I tense and also ball my fists. If I have to clock my best friend between the eyes to stop an epic showdown from happening, I will. We do not need this guy as an enemy.
“Oh, I really like you,” he grins back at him, not at all fazed by Omega’s temper. In fact, he seems pleased by it.
And that scares the shit out of me.
Omega’s curly hair is beginning to kink up due to the stifling heat and the way his sweat is beginning to drench his entire body. I’m sweating like a fucking pig too, but I’m not about to beat the damn boss into the crust of the Earth like he is.
Ding.
Thank fuck.
Our doors open into a dark lobby and I grab Omega’s upper arm to haul him out of there.
“Nice meeting you,” I throw over my shoulder as we step out.
Luc winks at me as the doors close and he continues his ride down to the bottom floor. Something about his face creeps me the fuck out.
“Dude, did you really have to pick a fight with the devil himself?” I sigh as we make our way down the black, marble floored hallway. The walls are painted black as well to match, and the only light sources are wall sconces every few feet.
“He picked the fight, Al. Not me. I was just going to finish it.”
I roll my eyes as we approach the only door on this floor. “And then what?” I question before I turn the knob.
“And then I win.”
I twist the warm knob in my fist and smirk at him. “Omega, you are not the baddest motherfucker around. It might do you some good to remember that.”
As we walk inside the office, he mutters behind me, “I don’t need to be the baddest motherfucker. I just need her.”
The both of us are officially fucked.
“MARRY ME,” HE says with a smile before pressing a kiss on my bare chest.
We’re tangled up in the sheets of his bed, and he’s told me for the millionth time to marry him. All he has to do is ask, but I won’t be told what to do.
“No.”
I expect him to climb on top of me and tickle me or playfully nibble on my breast until he pushes inside me and we make sweet love again. What I don’t expect is for my fun, adorable, blue-eyed boyfriend to get angry.
I’ve never seen him get pissed about anything.
He pushes off me and refuses to look at me as he stalks away, naked, toward his bathroom. Tears sting my eyes as I’m suddenly hit with a loss that nearly cripples me. In this exact moment in time, in this tiny corner of the universe, I realize one thing.
I would die if I lost him.
Springing from the bed, I run after him. I can hear the shower running, but once I make it in there, he’s standing with both hands on the countertop as he stares in the mirror. His eyes are filled with his own tears, and my heart—what little bit of a heart I have—shatters into a thousand bits.
“I didn’t mean it,” I sob and throw my arms around his middle.
When I feel his body sag in relief, I really start to cry. How could I have kept pushing him away when all I want is to be with him?
He turns in my arms and kisses me chastely on the top of my head before gripping my shoulders and pushing me away.
Assuming he’s done with me, I cry hysterically, but he shushes me before dropping to one knee.
My lovable, naked Connor on one knee, looking at me as if I am his entire world, has to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen—a sight that will always be my favorite.
“Sweet Lark,” he murmurs as if it were a prayer, “I love you.”
I gasp when he kisses my flesh just below my belly button.
“And I can’t live another minute without my last name beside your first name. I can’t sleep another night without my ring on your finger. Lar, I can’t continue on without knowing that my soul mate is forever committed to me.”
My tears haven’t stopped, so I can barely see my other half—my Connor. I hear a drawer open and close. When he pushes something onto my ring finger, I cry out with happiness.
“Lark, please marry me. I beg you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you’re happy. We are meant to be together, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that, when we leave this ‘wretched’ life you speak of, we’ll be holding hands in the next. And the one after that and so on. Make me a happy man and please say yes.”
A smile breaks through my tears as I nod in agreement. “Yes, Connor, you lunatic of a man. I’ll marry you. You’re my forever.”
It’s not until the next day that he breaks the news about his getting stationed in Afghanistan.
“Please quit.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
“I will come back.”
He never comes back.
I wake with a jolt and realize I’m crying. My dreams were nothing but memories. Those dreams are the worst. God, I miss him.
Rolling over, I peek at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost five. Alpha said he’d be back over at six to bring dinner and walk me to work. I’m still upset with him. I don’t understand who he is or why he’s here. I want to hate it—and him—but I can’t. His dark eyes and protective nature draw me in. His warm, delicious body is addicting as hell. But being with him feels like a betrayal to Connor.
My husband.
Tears roll shamelessly down my cheeks as I turn my head to the box in the closet. Suddenly, I need to see his pictures, so I retrieve it once again.
The photo album sits in exactly the same place I left it, and it guts me. All I have left of him is what fits in this box. Long ago, I condensed everything because I couldn’t take the constant reminders everywhere. Having it in one simple, small place helped me control the pain.
“I miss you,” I whimper as I reach inside and take out the album.
Flipping it open, I let it fall to somewhere in the middle. Two pictures are revealed, and they make me smile through my tears. The first is a selfie Connor took with me when I was asleep, my mouth hanging open while he’s kissing my temple. I remember being so pissed that he had taken it because my hair had been a mess and I looked horrible. He told me that I looked like an angel when I slept. I called bullshit but secretly loved his compliment.
“Oh, Connor,” I chuckle when I look at the other picture. It’s a picture from our honeymoon.
He’d insisted that I bury him in the sand, except for his head, and sculpt a pretend body. Of course I made him a woman with big tits. He couldn’t see until afterwards when I showed him the picture. I got tossed into the ocean for that one. His punishment was stealing my bikini bottoms and making love to me in the water with people swimming all around us. It was thrilling and romantic.
A big, fat tear splashes the plastic over the picture, and I quickly swipe it away.
“You promised you’d come back to me, but you lied,” I cry and slam the album shut.
As soon as I say the words, I take them back. He’ll wait for me after this life. My brain does a mental check of the pill bottles in my medicine cabinet. All it would take is downing the entire bottle of antidepressants and I could probably hurry myself in his direction.
But w
hat about Alpha?
I feel nauseated at the thought of him finding me dead, the man who has been so dead set on protecting me, and I burst into tears. Bile rises in my throat, and I spring from the bed and toward the bathroom. I make it just in time to empty my breakfast into the toilet. As I simultaneously wretch and sob, I want to scream in frustration. Less than a month ago, had I made the decision to end my life, it wouldn’t have bothered a soul. But now, with stupid Alpha with no last name, I feel like it would kill him.
I could never hurt him like that.
And that’s what makes everything a clusterfuck. He sneaked into my life without any regard as to what it would do to my head. I’d been plugging along day by day and managed to carve out a simple life for myself that didn’t include people, aside from my little Poem Day kids, or emotions. It certainly wasn’t a life where any love was allowed.
Yet here I am on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, puking my guts up and missing the mysterious man from across the hallway.
God, you have to help me through this one.
A shiver courses through me, but I feel a bit better after having vomited. I shakily stand and flush the toilet. Once I’ve brushed my teeth, I briefly wish my mother were here. She was always good at taking care of her only child when she’d get sick. When I lost my family, she tried her best to take care of me. I was hopeless.
I could call her . . .
I want to cry at the thought of her familiar hand stroking my hair. I hate to admit it, but I miss her. Damn Alpha and his fucking with my head. If she were here, she’d make me some chicken and dumplings, her specialty, and bring me ginger ale.
After finding some insane nerve within me, I decide to do something rash. Quickly, before I lose the fire, I run over to my purse and pull out my phone. She doesn’t have this number, but I know the house number by heart.
“Hello?” her sweet, feminine voice answers on the second ring.
A ragged sob rushes from me, and I hear her gasp on the other line.
“Baby, is that you?” I can hear the quivering of her voice.
I can’t form words. Only tears.