47. Samuel

47

SAMUEL

H ow likely is it that Amaya still likes to eat green beans for a snack? And is that something she would even eat during her heat?

Oliver said she needs some healthy stuff too, so I toss a couple bags of frozen green beans in my overflowing cart. Then grab a couple more, because what if that's all she will want to eat?

"What else, Petal? What else do you need?" I mumble to myself, spinning in a circle in the frozen food section.

I grabbed a fuck ton of sandwich stuff, pizzas, fruits, a few veggies. My girl is picky, or at least she used to be.

An idea clicks. "What would Nana make you?"

Grabbing the cart, I rush through a few more aisles tossing in quite a lot of other things in that catch my eye or remind me of our childhood, like a few tubs of chocolate frosting.

Mine and Oli's parents used to host movie nights, and our dads were such suckers for giving in to Amaya's every whim. Which often came in the forms of nasty ass sweets.

Fucking hell, my parents are going to disown me once they find out what happened to Amaya. They always loved her and, still to this day, ask about her. She was the daughter they never had. I actually wonder if they knew she would be our scent match.

My gut twists just imagining their disappointment. I'd rather one of them hit me, but that's not their style. Our parents are the epitome of loving but formidable when it comes to the people they love. Forgiveness is never an option for the party that hurts their family. And Amaya? She's been their family since the day Oliver came home from elementary school and announced he found his future wife.

I was young too, so the memories are a bit fuzzy, but I remember the excitement of that year like it was yesterday. Emmett, Oliver and I had always been a little pack, but bringing in another who fit perfectly with us from day one, and a girl no less. We were fucking putty in her hands.

Yellow flowers catch my eye, making me laugh as I toss them in. They aren't for Amaya, they're for my brother as a joke. Dumbass.

Checking the cart, I'm relieved to find I still know her nana's amazing soup recipe even while zoned out in our precious memories.

I wonder if Amaya still thinks about all those winter days curled up with my family after a yummy dinner she and my mom prepared for the entire pack. Does she still reminisce on all of our spring days coming home caked in mud? All those first days back at school, the four of us not noticing or caring about any of our classmates because we had everything we needed in our tight-knit group.

I do. I remember everything.

Except now it's changed. I no longer look back on those memories with disdain and heartbreak. Longing and guilt take the wheel now. I miss her. I miss them; Oliver and Emmett. I miss everything we used to be before Amaya was taken. Before I jumped to conclusions and poisoned the thoughts of my packmates.

Oliver was scared and confused, using denial to shield his sensitive side. I preyed on his insecurities and convinced him his omega left him because she didn't want us. Didn't want him .

Emmett held onto hope the longest, but the more I pushed him to view her disappearance my way, the further inward he turned. Now Oliver is the only one who gets that peaceful, loving side of my best friend. It has made me bitter. Jealous even. Envious of the connection Oli and Em still have after all these years of a weak pack bond and an empty spot where Amaya should be.

I love my pack brothers, but I know they don't love me anymore. At least not this version of me. The one who scowls at their love and laughter. I turn my nose up at their banter and soothing gestures they give each other so freely. For years, I've made a mockery of their commitment to one another, only furthering to isolate myself.

They don't love me, let alone respect me. Not anymore.

I can't blame them. Who could ever love someone who hates other people's happiness to cover up their own loneliness? Who would forgive someone who preyed on their weaknesses in their most vulnerable moments?

So once I'm done loading up my car and am buckled into the driver’s seat, I do the thing Amaya used to do; I cross my fingers and my toes for seven seconds, her lucky number, and hope my pack will forgive me.