30. Amaya

30

AMAYA

SIXTEEN YEARS OLD - HOURS BEFORE SHE WAS TAKEN

I don't know when it started, the constant sweaty palms and my eyes sneaking glances at them, but I don't know how to stop it. And they definitely don't make it easy to hide these days.

Their touches are becoming more frequent, or maybe I'm just noticing them more. I don't know.

Take right now for example, I know for a fact that Sammy can feel how clammy my palms are and I swear every time I've glanced up at him, his green eyes have been there to catch me.

I wonder if he can hear my heart thundering away in my chest.

"You okay, Maya?"

"Huh?" I didn't realize I got lost in the way the lake sparkled in his eyes, and now I'm even more embarrassed.

A smirk tilts his lips, making him look just a smidge more like Oli. I won't say so since Sammy doesn't appreciate the twin jokes.

"You look like…" he trails off and cocks his head.

I can feel my pulse fluttering in my throat as he studies me. Almost like he can sense it, his attention shifts to my exposed throat.

It's muggy out tonight, so I threw my hair up in a haphazard bun when he asked if I wanted to go sit out on the dock with him. It's this creaky wooden dock that his mom would absolutely throw a fit over if she knew how much the boys and I tested its sturdiness.

But it's our spot. A place we come to sometimes as a group, in pairs, or even alone. Although Sammy has forbidden me from coming out here by myself. It's dangerous, he said.

So after the rough week I've had, he asked me to come out and watch the sunset. Now here we are, hand in hand, swinging our toes in the still water.

Knowing Sammy, he probably wants to ask why I've been an emotional mess all week, but I just want to sit in silence to enjoy the peace until I have to go back home where Mom will most likely be drunk and angry.

"I look like what, Sammy? Be careful," I tease, hoping to keep this moment a happy one.

The only times I get this warm feeling of contentment and sense of belonging is when I'm with one of them. I used to feel loved at home too, but ever since Nana passed away two years ago, it's turned cold and uninviting.

A rare, soft smile graces Sammy's lips. "You look beautiful, Petal."

Petal . A nickname he only calls me when we're alone, and I melt every time.

I can feel my cheeks bloom with color like the flowers he swears I smell like sometimes. I'm not sure where he picks up that scent from. My hair products are all vanilla and the weird detergent I use for my clothes is supposed to be unscented since my skin is super sensitive.

"Thank you," I whisper, officially unable to look away from his intense gaze. Like a movie, he shifts to face me and tucks some hair behind my ear. The hand he's holding twitches with the same urge to run my fingers through his messy dirty blond hair.

When I expect his hand to fall away from my face, it stays and traces the sharp angle of my jaw. Goosebumps break out across my arms and all the way down to my toes.

"Sammy?" I breathe, uncertainty now crawling up my spine like spiders. The longer we touch, the more I feel the threads of my panties touching me too. It's like he's everywhere. Everywhere I have never been touched before.

"Petal?" he whispers back, so close now I can feel his breath on my lips.

As our lips graze and our gasps mingle, guilt slams into my chest, thrusting me back and away from what should have been my first kiss.

"Sammy," I start, now holding my hands beneath my chin, another ache of guilt forming in my throat for pulling away.

Hurt flashes across his face so obvious my heart aches. "No, I'm sorry."

"Oli and Em?—"

"I get it, Maya. No need to be sorry."

My ears burn and my tummy cramps a little when I lose his touch completely. I'm pretty sure I see his nostrils flare, probably in annoyance at my behavior, but he soon schools his features into cold indifference.

"Come on, let’s get you home," Sammy asserts, his tone now neutral.

I choke a little, trying to hold back my sob. "Sam?—"

"Let’s go," he basically demands, offering his hand and helping me to my feet. Without a backward glance, he's trudging his way off the dock and up the dirt path to his car.

Following at a slower pace, I let the tears fall. He doesn't understand. They're a pack, just like they've always said. I won’t get between them. Sammy may want to kiss me, but I want to kiss all three of them. I just don't think the other two feel the same way.

We should have a conversation first, right? Make sure we're all on the same page because if only Sammy wants to be with me, then that complicates things when they present and start finding an omega, the center of their pack. And it can't be me if I'm not wanted.

I won’t ruin their future until I know that they all want me to be a part of it. I just hope I didn't ruin my chance and judging by the way Sammy slams his car door up ahead, I just might have.