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I flop onto my back, my eyes burning from the tears I’ve cried all night. “I’m not hungry.”

Tammy raises an eyebrow, giving me an expression that reminds me of April’s. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry, Devyn. I said you’re going to eat.”

My lip wobbles, and Tammy sighs.

“Sweetie, I can name ten people off the top of my head that would be furious if I didn’t make sure you stayed healthy.” She sits on the edge of the bed and gives me a small smile. “Please get up. If not for you, then for me.”

I would do anything for Tammy. She’s the parent I’ve always wanted, the kind of person I used to dream would adopt me as a child.

It’s hard to tell her no.

So, I sit up, wipe the crust from my eyes, and follow her to the kitchen.

With every step, I try not to think aboutthem.

About how I came out of my Heat with three new mating bonds, and the shame that burns in me every time I recall those memories.

I have mates now.

I have what I’ve always wanted…but I didn’t do it the right way.

Instead, the bites were done in the heat of the moment—no pun intended.

First, with Ace, then with Ben, and finally, with Connor.

It wasn’t romantic.

It was born out of desperation between the three of them and me.

I’m embarrassed, humiliated, and sad.

It wasn’t romantic.

It was wild, frenzied, andstupid.

I stumble to the kitchen, blinking back tears.

“There’s coffee for you on the counter,” Tammy says as she opens the fridge. “No more eating coffee grounds out of a spoon. I also made you a sandwich.”

I’ve gone back to my old bad habits in the past week. I don’t even bother with making coffee—I just swallow a spoonful of bitter grounds to get energy.

I sleep curled in a ball, trying to take up as little space as possible.

I forget to eat.

Thankfully, Tammy doesn’t push. I told her everything the night I showed up at her house with my pink suitcase in hand, and she simply listened, then pulled me into a hug.

April’s bedroom is my new room.

“Have you ever made beef bourguignon before?” Tammy asks.

I shake my head, too caught up in my sorrow to speak.

“Well, you’re going to today,” she says, pulling out carrots and placing them on a cutting board. “Start chopping these, please.”

We begin to prepare the dish in the kitchen, and slowly I’m able to focus on cooking and not on the painful ache in my soul.

I miss my packmates, but I’m so ashamed of what happened that I can’t even talk to them.