41. Sawyer

41

It feels weird, returning to the Alpha Bet. I can remember like it was yesterday discussing Kyrian and Roman with my friend Casey. I had been so angry with Kyrian back then for rearranging my books, for touching a nerve.

Now we stride inside together, and heads turn as we cross the still mostly empty bar, heading to Archer's office at the back.

"What's up?" A pretty, leggy brunette smiles at us, but Archer doesn't even slow down.

He says, "Maisie, if you see a short girl with wild blond hair walk in, please send her my way."

"Sure thing, boss. Is she a new dancer?"

"Yeah." He opens a black door and ushers us inside. "This way, gentlemen."

"I should get behind the bar," Roman says, "get ready for the crowd rush?—"

"But you'll want to be here when she arrives," Archer says softly, "won't you?"

"You're right." Roman nods.

Kyrian has been quiet ever since I guessed his secret. I hope he's not mad at me, but when he catches my gaze, he gives me a faint smile.

Okay. My hands may be shaking, but I shove them into my pant pockets. It's okay to be nervous, I remind myself. Other people get nervous, too.

This is about Brinlee and whether she wants to be with you and the pack, or not. It's important. If you weren't anxious about this, you'd be brain-dead.

"Okay there?" Roman comes and slides an arm around me. "Fuck, you're hot." When I snort, he laughs. "Sexy-hot, but also hot-hot, if you get my drift. Like you're running a fever."

"I'm fine," I say, because again, now isn't a good time for my first heat to come on, dammit. When is Brinlee supposed to?—

A knock on the door.

We all go still.

"Come in," Archer calls out, and we turn around as a familiar pretty girl with wild blond hair enters the office.

"Well," she breathes, eyes going comically wide as she takes in our little gathering, "damn."

"Ready to start your new job, Miss Grissom?" Archer is the picture of professionalism, walking around his desk, hand held out. "Welcome to the Alpha Bet."

She shakes her head, looking at his hand as if it's a snake ready to strike, all suspicion and bluster. "Why are you all here?"

I drink her in, not bothering to hide it. Not sure I can. She's like a glass of cool water—short, not tall—and a slice of my favorite cake, besides, and… I've missed her. Yeah, I've missed her since I last saw her two nights ago. Satisfied? Laugh all you want.

I've been in love with her for a while.

Not sure I can undo that love like you undo a knot, loosen it from my chest. Seeing her it's a punch to the heart, every single fucking time.

And when her gaze comes to rest on me, fiery and dark, I respond body and soul, getting hard, getting thrilled. I want to grab her in my arms, inhale her scent.

She takes a step back.

"We work here," Roman says calmly. "Me, Kyrian, and Archer."

"And Sawyer?" There's a crack in her voice when she speaks my name, and though it stabs me, I relish the pain.

"I'm here for you," I say, and anger flares in her eyes.

"Are you? For the night, I suppose, since next week you'll be tying the knot with another pack. I told them, you know."

"I know." Heat is climbing my neck, an extra dose of it, making me dizzy. "You did the right thing."

"I don't need your approval."

"I know," I whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

She swallows hard, frowning. Then she turns her gaze to the others. "My question remains: why are you all here?"

"Because." I hesitate. "I'm not tying the knot with any other pack, Brin. I was made an offer by the McGraw Pack, and I want to take it."

Her mouth moves silently, as if she's repeating my words, trying to make sense of them. "The McGraw Pack?" she finally says.

"That's right." Archer grins, parking his ass against his desk, folding his arms over his chest. "We made Sawyer an offer to join our pack, and he's thinking about it."

"I see…" Color is rising to her cheeks, and her eyes… too many emotions are flitting through them. "Good. Good for you. All of you. I… I have to get ready for work. If the job offer still stands."

Without waiting for a reply, she turns on her heel to go, and we all start after her.

"Brin," I say. I'm the closest, and I touch her arm.

She jerks away, and fear claws at me. Does she hate me now? But her face is set, eyes still too shiny. "Good for you, Sawyer. I'm glad, I really am."

"You don't understand," I whisper.

"Enlighten me."

Yeah, she's hurt, and she thinks… She thinks they chose me over her. And that I chose them over her, too.

"I'm going to accept the offer," I say softly, "if you accept as well."

"Accept? Accept what?" Her breathing is coming fast. "What are you talking about?"

"If you accept their offer, too."

Her eyes go round. "But…"

It's not fair to the pack. I know it. I see the way Roman is looking at me, his gaze calculating. Kyrian's gaze is narrow and slightly angry. He doesn't like such surprises. Archer isn't looking at me at all.

But it's true, and it isn't. If Brinlee doesn't want to join us, I still want the McGraw Pack, and I hope they know it, too. But without Brinlee, it will be sad, and I have to make her see.

See how much we all want her.

"Brinlee," Archer starts, "we wanted?—"

"You're giving me a job, or a pack?" she whispers, and the anger in her gaze flares. "Make up your mind."

Spitfire.

"How about both?" Kyrian grunts. "How about we want you safe, and we want you near, and we want both you and Sawyer to join us? Is that clear enough for you?"

"Hammer it home, why don't you?" Roman mutters, looking half-amused, half-exasperated. "But yeah, in sum, that's it."

Archer is still watching her like a hawk. "That's right. So what do you say, Brinlee? Wanna give us a chance?"

"A trial run," Roman says, "just like we offered Sawyer. You don't have to like us or tie yourself to us if in the end it doesn't work out. And your job here is an independent thing. You have it, no matter what."

Her face twists as if in pain. A smile flits over her lips, then it's gone, and my heart sinks.

"I can't…" she whispers. "I can't." She's already backtracking, heading for the door once more.

"Brin. Wait," I say. "Wait, dammit, can we talk just…?"

She's gone. Out the door. Vanished.

Too many fucking shocks in one day. I'm winded. I need to sit down.

But fuck, no. I need to go after her. I'm already at the door when Roman echoes my thoughts and joins me.

"We go after her," he says. "This conversation isn't over."

"Like stalkers?" Kyrian growls. "She said no. She was angry."

"She was scared," I say, finally decoding the emotions I'd seen in her eyes, "and hopeful, but then… sad."

"We're missing a clue here," Archer says, following us as we exit his office and cross the bar. "What is she scared of?"

"Hey, fuckers, wait for me," Kyrian calls out. "Dammit. Nobody stays around for a full conversation these days. Fuck, I was coming with you anyway."

"We know," Roman says and grins. "Hurry the fuck up."

She's on foot, and we follow her at a distance. We really are acting like stalkers, but a sense of urgency is driving me. That wasn't right. That anger, that burning mask she wore in that office. It wasn't real.

I want to know what is hurting her. Haunting her. What is prodding her to act like that. Because she may be mad at me for saying I'd bond myself to another pack, but what about the McGraw Pack?

No, there's something else there, and it ties up with that painful feeling of worry that has been tormenting me for months.

I have to be sure she's safe, that she's okay, I need to see that nobody's threatening her, then ask her one last time if she'll give me—us—another chance.

It's vital. Essential.

Sometimes you only get one shot to make it right, to grab what matters to you, and do your best not to let it go.

And she is that. That one thing. That one person. Both I and the McGraw Pack know it. We're one unit, one pack as we trail her, without any need to communicate, explain why we're doing this.

She's ours.

We're like a commando unit heading out to war, and it makes me grin like a kid. It's a good feeling, though I hope not to find war. Just answers.

We're walking down another street, and then another, when Archer slows down.

"I know this part of town," he says. "I know where she's heading."

"Yeah." Kyrian frowns. "Me, too."

"The omega shelter," Roman says.

True enough, after crossing a couple more streets and taking two shortcuts, we find ourselves facing the Omega Sunshine Shelter.

Where is she?

Then I spot her. There she is, walking toward the shelter, her bag swinging from her shoulder. She stumbles as she goes, and I jerk forward, as if I can catch her from afar—but she regains her balance.

"This isn't the first time we've found her here," Archer says. "I thought she's not an omega. At least that's what she's been claiming."

"Maybe she knows an omega at the shelter?" I hazard. "And doesn't want us to know?"

"But why? She really doesn't trust us at all?" Hurt laces Roman's voice. "After what we've been through with her, she thinks we'd do something to endanger a friend of hers?"

"Guys, shut up," Kyrian says. "Look."

The shelter isn't her destination. She keeps walking, turning the corner of the block, vanishing once more.

"What's that building?" I frown at the spot where she disappeared. "What's there?"

"It's a hospital," Archer mutters. "Grace Memorial Hospital."

I blink. "A hospital." A weight presses against my chest.

Well, fuck.

That's not possible. Not fucking possible. Scenarios unfold inside my mind. Clues drop in with dizzying speed.

"Her debts," I say. "The mention of expensive medicine. Medical bills. Was that why she was dancing at that fucking club?"

"That would make sense," Roman mutters. "Hospital bills can drown you, even if you are covered by State Medic-Care and copays can sometimes be…"

"A goddamn rock hanging around your neck," Kyrian supplies. "Not to mention extras."

I don't want them to agree. I want them to tell me that this is crazy, that there has to be another explanation, because if not…

"Is she…?" I clear my throat. Breathing is becoming harder and harder. "Do you think she's…?"

"Sick?" Archer is scowling, hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Sick enough to need the hospital on a regular basis?" Roman is scowling, too. "She's never seemed unwell. Has she?"

Kyrian grunts a curse. "Not sure we'd be able to tell that easily. Not all diseases are obvious. And she's stubborn. I bet you she can take a lot of pain and hide it well."

I can't… fucking can't. My knees are giving out, the air sucked out of my lungs. Darkness is seeping into my vision.

Fucking embarrassing, I think, but the thought is distant. I'm going to faceplant in the street, in front of the pack who asked me to join them. That will give them some second thoughts.

But strong hands grab me, and it's Kyrian holding me up, hauling me to his side. "Breathe, Sawyer. Nobody's dying."

Yet.

"Nobody's dying on our watch," he repeats. "We don't know if she's sick, even. What if she's not?"

"Only one way to find out," Archer says. "We ask her."

Nobody says we shouldn't, that we'd give ourselves way, let her know we've followed her, scare her off worse.

The possibility of her being sick or worse, is too fucking much. We have to know.

Even if I don't know if I can take such news…