8. REID

Chapter eight

REID

I wake up gasping, drenched in sweat and trembling so hard my teeth are chattering. My side screams in protest when I try to roll over, a sharp, stabbing pain that makes me freeze and suck in shallow breaths through clenched teeth. The cheap motel sheets stick to me and I have to shove them off with effort, each movement making me wince.

My head swims as I sit up, the dull ache in my stomach from earlier now a fiery throb that spreads with every heartbeat. My cheek feels swollen where Jackson’s fist connected. I don’t have to look in the mirror to know it’s bruised. I can feel it—each pulse of pain a reminder of where I am, who I am, and the life I can’t seem to escape.

I reach for the bag on the nightstand, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. The Tylenol bottle rattles as I pull it out, the sound too loud in the quiet room. I shake out three pills, dry-swallowing them without a second thought. Fuck this, I mumble to myself. Pushing to my feet, I ignore the scream of pain shooting through my limbs as I stumble toward the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

The light is harsh when I flick it on, the fluorescent bulbs buzzing faintly. My reflection stops me cold. The bruise on my cheek is already forming, a dark purple shadow creeping across my skin. I reach up, brushing a few fingers over the tender skin, wincing at the sharp sting. My fingers trail down to my jaw, where the swelling is worse and I have to look away.

Lifting my shirt takes more effort than it should. The fabric clings to my damp skin and every inch feels like dragging sandpaper over raw wounds. When I finally get it up far enough to see my side, I almost wish I hadn’t.

A deep, angry bruise spreads across my ribs, dark and unforgiving. The edges are jagged, reaching outward in uneven tendrils and I can’t tell if it’s just a bruise or something worse. Breathing hurts but I stupidly tell myself it’s nothing. I can’t afford for it to be anything else.

The free clinic opens early tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll stop in, see if they can check it out without too many questions. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, my stomach growls, an insistent reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. The ache in my gut is just as sharp as the one in my ribs, but this one I can fix.

Back in the main room, I rummage through my bag, my hands shaking as I sift through crumpled clothes and random odds and ends. My fingers close around a twenty-dollar bill, a small, bitter laugh falling from my lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough. Barely . The diner down the street is open pretty late, and if I come up short, I can offer to wash dishes. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time.

I sit back on the bed, the bill crumpled in my fist and take a deep breath. I’ve learned to shove all the emotions down, to bury it deep until it’s just another part of the hollow ache inside me. I’ve been doing it for so long that I’ve forgotten how to truly feel. Only the pain pushes through, reminding me that I’m still alive even if I would rather not be at this point.

I tug on my coat, a poor excuse for winter clothing—it's thin, more suited for autumn than winter, but it’s all I’ve got. The zipper sticks halfway up and I yank it harder than necessary, the frustration bubbling up despite my best efforts to keep it down. Despite the expensive wardrobe that Lyle and Jackson provide, my clothes are still worn from overuse and until they physically see the ratty holes or broken zippers, they don’t care to refresh anything.

By the time I reach the lobby, my face is burning and I know that I probably look as bad as I feel, if not worse. The Beta at the front desk glances up from her crossword puzzle as I pass, her brow furrowing in concern. “You okay, hon?” she asks, her voice soft but loud enough to reach me. “You look a little pale.”

I force a grin, the expression feeling foreign on my bruised face. “Never better,” I say, the lie slipping out easily, like second nature.

She doesn’t look convinced but I don’t give her a chance to press further. My only goal is to make it to the diner for some warm food before escaping back here for a good night’s rest. Whatever else happens is tomorrow’s problem. It takes longer than it should to reach the diner, my arm wrapped around my waist as I apply pressure to my side.

It marginally helps, the slower steps giving me time to breathe through the pain. The smell hits me immediately when I enter the cute little place—fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and a hint of something sweet, like maple syrup. It’s a balm against the cold night air and the heaviness in my chest.

“Reid,” comes a familiar voice from behind the counter. I glance up to see Margie, the owner, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed in a way that makes me feel ten years old again. Her Alpha presence fills the space, not oppressive like Jackson and Lyle’s, but warm, grounding—like the mother I never had.

I lift a hand in a weak wave, trying for a smile and failing miserably. “Hey, Margie.” My voice cracks, my cheeks heating with embarrassment as she surveys my weakening form.

She narrows her eyes as I shuffle toward my usual booth by the window, every step making my ribs throb just a little more. “Don’t you ‘Hey, Margie’ me,” she growls, already wiping her hands on her apron and marching around the counter. “What the hell happened to your face?”

“It’s nothing,” I mumble quickly, sliding into the booth with a wince. I try to sit up straight, but the ache in my side forces me to lean slightly, one hand braced on the table. “Just a little... accident.”

Margie doesn’t buy it. She never does. Her sharp eyes scan me, taking in the bruises, the way I’m holding myself, the way I can’t quite meet her gaze. “Uh-huh. Looks more like someone used your face for batting practice.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, waving her off. “Really.”

She snorts, her hands on her hips. “Fine, my ass. You should be at a doctor, not sitting here looking like you went ten rounds with a brick wall.”

“Can’t afford a doctor,” I mumble, glancing out the window to avoid her stare. Margie is the only one who understands my situation, or at least some part of it. She hates that I’m stuck but without legal repercussions, there’s nothing she or anyone else can do. “I’m fine, Margie. I just... needed a place to sit for a while. And get something to eat.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Reid, you’ve been coming here for years. Do you think I don’t know when you’re lying?”

I don’t answer, my fingers tracing idle patterns on the table. The vinyl of the booth creaks faintly as I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my ribs scream in protest. It’s useless, though.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me what’s going on so stay put,” Margie commands, her tone softening. “I’m getting you some food. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“Margie, I can—”

“ Stay put, ” she repeats, already heading back to the kitchen. “Don’t argue with me, kid.”

An irritated sigh falls from my lips as I lean back against the booth and let my eyes drift around the diner. It hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve been coming here. The same checkered floors, the same neon signs humming faintly against the walls, the same worn stools at the counter. It’s simple, comforting, like a snapshot of a better time.

I used to come here after school, still in my grease-stained uniform from my part-time job at the auto shop, and order Margie’s famous blueberry pancakes. They were the best thing I’d ever tasted, soft and fluffy and bursting with sweetness. Even after I started working for the Wilhelm pack, I’d sneak out whenever I could just to grab a plate and sit here, away from Hailey’s demands and her Alphas’ anger. Margie never asked questions, just let me sit in the corner and eat in peace.

She was as close to a mother as I ever got—still is. Not that I’d ever tell her that. But it’s true.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the diner seep into my bones. The distant clatter of dishes and the soft hum of the jukebox are a balm against the chaos of my life, and for a few minutes, I can almost pretend everything is okay.