Chapter 9 Obviously a bad Idea

“Your Uber has arrived,” Ren announces as she throws open my bedroom door.

“Shhh,” I hiss at her, leaving my bag on my bed and hurrying over to her. I tug her farther into the room and shut the door. “You can’t just announce that!”

She tilts her head, sending a fall of silky blond hair over her shoulder. “Why not? It’s what I’m here to do, right? Drive you to my house?” The last question she says louder and toward the hallway, as if someone might be lurking out there to overhear our conversation. “Like a chauffeur.”

I huff a laugh. “Please, Ren.”

“Please, Ren what?” She wanders farther into the room, eyeing what I’ve packed so far.

“Don’t ruin this for me.” Her kaleidoscope eyes pin me with a sharp glare and I immediately feel guilt for even suggesting such a thing. “You know, I just… I need this. I need this time with them,” I say in a whisper, still worried someone might overhear us and report back to my father. “I need to know if this thing between us might actually-”

My best friend’s face softens, understanding painted on it clear as day. “Might actually what, Haves?”

“Be real,” I say so quietly. “That they might be my pack, the ones who’ll get me away from my father.” I swallow as I say the words, my body automatically trying to call them back, to keep from saying anything bad about Frederick Bell. But Ren has been my friend long enough to know what he’s like. Not from anything I’ve said. She’s just smart enough to put together the shitty way he treats me.

She already knows, and for some reason, that makes it easier to work around the commands.

Ren’s brow crumples as she considers my words, and the longer she stays silent, the more my doubt grows. I’m being silly, pinning all my hopes on this pack. But I haven’t had another one interested in me, not since I graduated from AOA three years ago. No pack wants to be seen courting a man who is notoriously anti-pack, anti-designation, and pro homogenization through experimental drugs administered to children as young as six months old. Some doctors even think they should inject the fetus while it’s still in the womb to guarantee they’re born a beta and will never be anything else.

No. No pack wants to be associated with the daughter of that man.

They’ve all kept their distance. And I certainly don’t blame them.

I don’t even understand how the Calloways can support Senator Bell’s policies.

Some niggling part of me secretly hopes that they don’t, that they vote against him every chance they get, but that they keep up the facade for me. To get close to me.

But that’s just the stupid, hopeful heart in my chest.

I know that’s not true. It’s more likely they love the tax cuts to the rich he’s made good on and will overlook his other bullshit in order to receive them.

Disappointing, but I’m sure I can talk them around to a different way of thinking. If they knew what he was really like, I have to believe they would yank their endorsement of him so quickly his head would spin… with any luck it would break his neck and we wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

My thoughts must show on my face because Ren abandons the bag and moves over to me, gripping my hands tightly. “I hope that’s true, Haven. I really do. But I just… You know I love you, so goddamn much, and I want you to be safe and happy.” She reaches up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m worried though. This pack, they support your father. What if you’d just be trading one bad alpha for four?”

The question makes anger bubble up. At her. Which is ridiculous because I’ve literally just been thinking the same thing. But a protective anger burns in my chest as I pull away from her, disappearing into the closet.

“It wouldn’t be the same. They aren’t like him.” I fiddle with my clothes, hating all of them, but knowing that I need to pack something. I can’t just hope that once I’m in their walls, they’ll smother me in their clothing drenched in their scents, but man, I hope they do.

Though the idea of that is so tempting. To be surrounded in the scents of their pack, while being wrapped in their oversized warm clothes.

“You’re right,” Ren’s voice comes from the closet door, where she’s leaning against the frame. “Of course, you’re right. You know I just worry.”

Glancing at her over my shoulder, I give her a small smile. “I know. Believe me. I’d worry about you too if our situations were reversed.” I grab a cardigan off a hanger, pale gray cashmere, the same color as my eyes. It’s one of the few pieces of clothing that I like. Two sizes too big (an accident, but one I adore). It’s soft and cozy and speaks to my inner omega that craves those things.

“But that’s what this week is for,” I tell her, also grabbing a pair of navy slacks and a silk top. I won’t wear them, but I need to bring clothes. “To find out what they’re really like, see them in their element. Make sure they aren’t… that they aren’t like him.”

Ren nods and loops a long strand of her hair behind her ear, frowning at the clothes in my hand. “We already established that they aren’t. But I get what you mean. Are you planning on going to a business meeting with them or something?”

“What?”

She motions at the clothes neatly folded and stacked in my arms. “You’re bringing clothes you would wear to one of your father’s rallies.”

I look down at them. “They’re the only clothes I have. And I have to bring something. I can’t just walk around their house naked.”

Ren grins evilly at me. “I don’t think they’d have a problem with that, actually. And besides, we both know you’re going there to get dicked down by the Calloway pack. Bringing nothing but lingerie will only hurry things along.”

“Ren,” I wheeze out, face flaring bright red. Even if she’s not wrong. I am hoping to—I can’t bring myself to even think it—take our relationship to the next level physically, but I know I can’t do what she’s suggesting. “You can’t just say things like that!”

She shrugs. “Why not? It’s the truth, right?” She strides into my closet and goes right to the set of drawers, yanking open the first one and scooping out all of my laciest, raciest underwear. It’s literally the one portion of my wardrobe my father hasn’t said anything about, so it’s the one part of my wardrobe that is entirely up to me. And I love lacy little bra and panty sets. Wearing matching underwear makes me feel strangely powerful.

And I need that in my life.

I stand there in shock as she swipes the slacks and silk button ups and cardigans from my hands and plops the entire mess of lace in my arms instead. Then she gently pushes me back toward the bedroom. “Pack that shit up. I’ll put these away and scour for anything else that’s remotely something you would have picked for yourself. Ooo, cashmere.” She rubs her cheek on the soft fabric, then adds it back to the pile in my arms. “That too. Go on.”

I stumble back away from her, knowing that I can’t argue with her. But I also can’t only bring lingerie. Right? Right? They’ll expect me to go out at some point, leave the house with them. What am I going to do? Wear panties and a trench coat?

Actually… that’s not such a bad idea. I imagine sitting next to Hale during dinner, him knowing I have nothing on under my coat by scraps of silk and lace. Would he be able to keep his hands off me? Or would he slide that big palm of his onto my leg under the table, tease me through dinner, make me so wet I leave a puddle-

“Jesus, Haves.” My best friend’s exasperated voice has me blinking out of the fantasy. They’ve been happening more and more recently. Sex dreams too. I wake up sweating and aching. “Your clothes are literally the worst.”

She emerges from the closet carrying a couple tank tops I wear under any of my shirts that might be too sheer for public consumption, a pair of dark wash jeans, the only pair I own, purchased when my father made me sign up for a park cleanup, which I actually loved. That’s it. That’s all she has.

She pauses when she finds me standing by the bed, the lingerie still in my hands. “You gonna pack those or what?”

Cheeks flaming red— again —I shove the fabric into my bag, not being careful in the slightest. Not bothering to tell her there’s enough here to last me a month, not the week I’m going to be with them. I’m not sure I can speak right now, I’m so fucking embarrassed Ren caught me mid sexual fantasy.

Brow arched, she thrusts the other clothing items at me. “Here.” I take them from her and shove them on top of the panties. “It’s a good thing I’m such a good friend and brought you your birthday present early.”

My gaze flies to her, finding her hefting the backpack she came in with onto the bed next to me. “What?”

She shrugs, tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles. “Please, I know you have nothing suitable for packing up. All your clothes are…” she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I just thought this would help you be more comfortable. More yourself. And they’re all new. None of it is from my closet. Mom and Ginny helped pick some of it out. They even helped me design a few pieces for you.”

She nudges the bag closer to me. I don’t move to open it. I know whatever I find in there is going to be perfect and so very me. Instead, I turn toward Ren and pull her in for a hug. A long one. She wraps me up just as tight. The faint hibiscus and citrus scent on her skin flowing into my lungs and soothing me. It always does.

Her hand strokes down the back of my head as I curl my fingers into her shirt. I don’t know what I would do without this girl, without her family, who has welcomed me into their life and their arms, even knowing who my father is. They don’t hold it against me. They never have.

After a moment, Ren pulls back. “Open your gift, Haves.”

I swipe at the moisture on my cheeks and let out a shaky little breath as I reach for the backpack. Inside I find stacks of clothing, all made from butter soft fabric, all things I would pick for myself given the chance. None of the brands are as high end as I normally wear, but that’s never mattered to me. There are leggings and fuzzy socks, sweaters and sweatshirts, a few floaty dresses in pastel colors I never get to wear unless it’s Easter, a pair of jeans that feel worn in, but that I know are new from the tags. And at the very bottom, a pair of sky blue velvet high-top Converse.

“Ginny?” I ask, setting them next to the stack of new clothes.

“Of course.” Ren laughs. “She saw them on the clearance rack and swore you had to have them. Don’t know how practical they’ll be, seeing as it’s autumn and about to get really wet, but,” she shrugs. “She was right about you needing them.”

“She was. They’re perfect.”

We spend the next few minutes popping off the tags and pack them on top of the rest of my clothes.

When we’re finished, I retreat to the bathroom to gather my toiletries and Ren flops onto her back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, a thoughtful furrow between her brows. She’s got that look on her face that I recognize as her debating whether she should say something.

“Just say it,” I urge, dropping my hairbrush into my suitcase.

“Maybe you should tell them… about the commands. The barks.”

All the blood drains from my head so rapidly that I sway, suddenly lightheaded. I catch myself on a post on my bed before I can stumble. Ren twists her head to look at me. “Nevermind, that was obviously a bad idea.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. It makes sense for them to know but… Ren, you’re not even supposed to know about them. No one is. The idea of telling them-” I cut off as a throb of pain shudders through my forehead. “Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the light that is suddenly too bright.

I hear Ren slide off the bed, head to the bathroom. Running water. A moment later, she’s in front of me. “Open.” I do. Two pills land on my tongue. “Drink.” Cool water washes them down my throat. There’s the clink of the glass being set down and then her fingers are at my temples, rubbing gentle circles.

This isn’t the first migraine Ren has helped me battle. Not the first command I’ve considered breaking—or trying to—with her present, so she knows exactly what to do, what helps.

Thank god for that too, because the last thing I want is to have to delay my escape because I’m suffering from a headache. More than a headache. The migraines can be debilitating, and worse, they’re a clear sign to my father that I’ve tried to work around one of his commands.

I’m lucky he needs me to be up and active to keep up the ruse of him being a good man, or else I’m about ninety percent sure he’d deny me any sort of pain medication so I could be sure to feel the full effects of my disobedience.

I let out a shaky breath and Ren pauses in her rubbing. “Better?”

I nod, then regret it when the pain flares. I wait until it reduces to a dull ache and flutter my eyes open. “Yes. It’ll be gone soon.”

Ren regards me with that same worried look. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned-”

“It’s fine. I promise. And you’re not wrong. They should know about it… eventually. But I can’t even think about it without-” I cut off at another throb of pain.

“I can tell them. I will tell them. Just say the word.”

“That’s the problem, Ren. I can’t say the word. I literally cannot tell you to tell them.” She nods her understanding. “But if you were going to tell them, I would want you to wait until after this week.”

“You want to be sure they are who they appear to be.”

She knows without me saying it. This is one of my biggest secrets. Though one I wish I could share with the world to prove what a liar and an asshole my father is.

But telling the Calloway pack is incredibly vulnerable, one of my most tender points. I don’t know what I would do if they were…okay with it. If they didn’t see it as a big deal. Maybe they’d see it as their right, the ability to control others.

I can’t really imagine it, but I’ve only seen them in person a handful of times. We’ve texted and talked over the phone a lot over the last few weeks, but it’s easier to lie when you aren’t face to face. They could be telling me what I want to hear, lulling me into trusting them.

Dammit, I hope that’s not the case.

“What else do you need to pack?”

“What? Oh, um… my makeup bag, shower stuff. Maybe the flat iron and a curling iron?” I make to move back to the bathroom, but Ren urges me to sit instead. “Rest up. Take it easy.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she waggles a finger in my face. “No arguments, missy! You’ve got a pack of alphas waiting to tear your clothes off. You need to be in tiptop shape if they’re going to do that.”

I giggle and shake my head. “Technically, that’s not true.”

“It is true,” my best friend says. “If I don’t think you’re one hundred by the time I drop you off, I’m not leaving. I’m gonna stick by your side like glue. Good luck trying to get that sweet vitamin D with these peepers watching your every move.” She points two fingers at her eyes and then points them at me.

I laugh, and she grins in response. “See, it’s already working.” She heads to my bathroom, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll pack the rest of your shit, babe. You just relax.”

I lean back against my pillows, settling against them as my phone vibrates. I have the very brief worry that it’s going to be a message from my father, something that will ruin this good mood I’m in.

But what I get is something that makes me grin like a freaking loon.

Jude:

Atticus is driving us all crazy, prepping for your visit.

He won’t stop until you get here. He’s too anxious.

When are you getting here?

Atticus:

I am not.

And even if I am,

Is there something wrong with wanting the house to look nice for you?

Me:

Aw, that’s sweet. ??

I should be there in a few hours, at most.

Jude:

Fuck yeah, can’t wait to see you, baby.

“They texting again?” Ren asks, reentering the room with her arms full of my stuff. I move to help, but she pins me with a warning look. I sink back against the pillows and watch as she dumps the items into the suitcase.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got that dopey look on your face.”

“I do not!”

“Oh, you absolutely do. You look like this.” Her face melts into a big stupid smile and her eyelids flutter, and she looks absolutely ridiculous.

“I do not look like that.”

“You do. Every time they text, you look like that.” She wanders to my desk and picks up my most recent journal and my favorite pen before adding it to my suitcase. The last thing she puts on top is the ragged stuffed bunny that I hide under my pillow, to keep my father from seeing it. It's the only thing I have that my mother gave me and BunBun goes with me everywhere.

The sound of the zipper echoes through the room before Ren looks up, arching a brow. “Stop pouting, babe. It’s cute. You’re happy. If you look like an idiot while texting, I think it’s probably worth it.”

I kick out at my suitcase, scowling at her, before it melts as I ask, “Do you think they’d think it’s cute?”

She laughs. “I think they adore everything about you. But then I’m biased, so who knows?” She grabs my foot and squeezes. “Now come on, you pouty princess. Your chariot awaits.”