Page 40

REMI

Ever since I contacted Select-A-Mate, my phone has been buzzing nonstop. I’m almost tired of the constant messages and likes. It’s stifling, seeing how many alphas there are out there just looking for a good time, even on an app that’s meant to find your forever match.

I can’t tell you how many alphas have tried to get me to send them pictures or to meet up with their pack to ‘get to know each other better.’ I know exactly what that means. It’s not innocent at all. They’re all waiting for an omega in heat so they can take advantage of her.

Luckily, my heat isn’t for another couple of months.

My nest is nice and ready for it, but I shouldn’t have to worry about it so much until the time comes.

When that does, I’ll be in for a world of hurt.

A week of agony to look forward to because I have no alpha to slack the pain inside of me, the pain of wanting to be knotted.

During my heat, I turn into a different person entirely.

No matter my thoughts or feelings, I turn into someone with a fierce need to feel connected to someone, anyone.

So far, I haven’t given in to that need throughout the years.

The first person I slept with, I did it because I thought we had a connection.

The second person I slept with … well, it was Tripp. He made me feel things I’ve never felt before. There is this closeness, this connection, I feel when I’m with him.

I miss it.

I miss them, even though Knox is a big asshole.

However, just because I miss them doesn’t mean I forgive them. Far from it, actually. It will take a great deal for me to forgive them, if I even allow myself that luxury.

When I was younger, after I left home, I promised myself that I wouldn’t allow anyone to make me feel less than.

To this day, I’ve kept that promise. At least until I met Knox, Boone, and Tripp.

In a moment of weakness, I allowed them to make me feel less than dirt.

I was so starved for affection that I was seeking it anywhere I could get it.

I’m a fool.

With a deep breath, I steel myself, pushing the cascade of emotions to the edges of my mind.

The low hum of the coffee shop envelops me, warm and earthy, with the scent of freshly brewed beans and pastries.

I tuck my phone into my bag, resisting the urge to check the latest notifications, and gather my things from the little table at the back—my battered notebook, a pen with a stubborn cap, my half-finished latte gone cool.

There’s a quiet ritual to it: sliding my book from beneath a napkin, smoothing the folded pages, and tucking it under my arm.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, letting it settle against my side, and make my way through the maze of mismatched chairs and sunlit tables.

Each step out of the shadows and toward the door feels a bit lighter, as if the promise of the weekly book meeting is enough to anchor me, even when everything else feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.

Outside, the city air greets me—brisk, bustling, alive with the chatter of people and the distant clang of a streetcar. Clutching my book, I walk toward one of the tables where we’re meeting for our weekly meeting.

Brigitte, Dayla, Jazmyn, and Windy are right on time.

They each get out of their vehicles and make their way toward the table.

Each of them sits down and places the book on the table in front of them.

Brigitte releases a sigh. Dayla’s smile is secret and love-filled.

Jazmyn looks ready to jump anything and everything.

And Windy looks at me closely, watching for any sign I’m about to break.

Windy knows precisely what’s been going on; the others not so much. I trust them, but I’m not as close to them as I am to Windy. She and I have been through everything together, and I know I can trust her with my life.

“So,” I say, getting the meeting started. “How did everyone like this week’s read?”

“Ooh, it was so good!” Brigitte coos with hearts in her eyes.

“I read it three times,” Jazmyn gushes.

Dayla’s smile widens. “It hit me right in the feels.”

“I—I found it to be lacking and unrealistic.” They all startle and look at me as if I’ve grown two heads.

“Repeat that, Miss. Romance-Is-My-Life,” Jazmyn says in a voice of shock.

I shrug. “I couldn’t get past the betrayal. He just didn’t grovel enough for me.”

Dayla’s eyes widen impossibly big. “Oh, I think he more than made up for his mistake.”

I shot her a look. “Dayla, he was in the backseat getting busy with some co-ed while his ex was sitting in the front seat, trying not to cry her eyes out. She was driving his drunk ass home after he partied all night.”

Dayla looks properly chastised, sinking into her seat. I instantly feel like shit.

“I’m sorry,” I retort, putting my hand on hers where it rests on the table. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. My life …” Tears fill my eyes. “It’s a mess right now.”

Chairs scrape softly as the girls instinctively lean in, the table suddenly a lifeline between us.

Concern flickers across their faces, replacing the earlier spark of debate.

Brigitte’s fingers twist anxiously in her napkin, Jazmyn’s brows knit together, and Dayla’s hand tightens beneath mine—all of them drawing closer, their silent support wrapping around me in the hush that follows my confession.

The only one not moving is Windy, and that’s because she already knows what’s going on.

“What’s wrong?” Jazmyn asks.

Her eyes flick to Brigitte when Brigitte inquires, “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

My eyes meet Windy’s. She nods her head toward the girls, silently telling me to tell them everything. I feel raw, exposed. I don’t want to tell the girls what’s going on with me, but I know they won’t judge me if I do.

“Do you all remember the Select-A-Mate flyer?”

They all nod.

“Well,” I lick my lips, “I kind of signed up for it a few weeks back.”

They simultaneously gasp, each one wearing varying expressions of shock, to glee, to downright intrigue.

“And it was the best thing she’s ever done because it brought her to us,” I hear a voice say from behind me. My eyes widen comically as I look back over my shoulder, seeing Knox, Boone, and Tripp standing there.

Knox is looking at me as if I’m the center of his world, giving me whiplash.

Boone is blushing so prettily that I can’t help but smile at him in return, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Tripp's gaze is hungry and demanding. He wants me to know he sees me and wants me.

“Uh, hey, guys,” I say, uncertain as to why they’re here.

Knox takes a step toward us, causing the others to fall back behind him. He pulls my chair away from the table, and it scrapes against the pavement. Then, he kneels next to my chair, bringing his eyes to the same level as mine.

His deep and fathomless eyes search mine with an intensity that sends a tremor through my chest. There’s a quiet storm behind his gaze—a silent plea etched in the way his lashes tremble and his brow softens, like he’s praying for something I can’t quite name.

It’s as though he’s hoping I’ll give him an answer he’s been searching for, or that—just maybe—I’ll see the truth he’s never been able to say aloud.

In that suspended moment, the world narrows down to the turn of his lips, and the raw, wordless hope flickering between us.

“I know you hate me right now,” he whispers so only we can hear. “I know you’d rather see anyone other than me. Remi, you have no idea the agony I feel for what I caused. You’re everything we could possibly want and everything we could possibly need.”

Tears burn the back of my eyes. The world blurs out until it’s just Knox and me. No one else is important except this moment, us.

“Then why?”

“I was an idiot. I … I didn’t think you could protect yourself from the people I’m surrounded by. I forgot that it wasn’t you who needed to protect yourself, but rather me who needed to do the protecting. I’m so sorry, little omega.”

My eyes search his. I don’t know why, but I believe him. Yet, just because I believe him doesn’t mean I forgive him. What he did hurt me beyond all compare. His words … they can’t be taken back. They’re out there in the open. For the world to see, and there’s no way to take them back.

“I—” A tear treks down my cheek unbothered. “I can’t forgive and forget, Knox. You hurt me badly.”

Knox’s shoulders visibly sag, the air seeming to leak out of him all at once.

His hands, once so certain, tremble as they fall uselessly to his lap.

The fire in his eyes dims, replaced by a hollow ache that reaches deeper than words.

He bows his head, lashes kissing the curve of his cheeks, and his breath leaves him in a shaky exhale—like hope escaping.

Every line of his body softens, caving in under the weight of regret, as though remorse is an anchor dragging him beneath the surface.

His presence, which moments before pressed in on me with such intensity, now ripples with quiet devastation.

In the silence, his apology lingers—a raw, unspoken ache hanging in the space between us.

“I understand,” he says. “But just because I understand doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to prove you wrong. I will. Every day for the rest of my life, I’ll prove it to you in some form or another. Just ... don’t give up on us. Don’t seek out another pack to replace what we could have.”

He leans in, the motion slow and reverent, as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter beneath the weight of any sudden movement. My breath catches—every muscle in my body goes taut, rigid with anticipation and the echo of pain I thought I’d tucked away.

His lips brush my cheek in a goodbye so gentle it feels like an apology carved in moonlight. The contact sears and soothes in equal measure, and though my skin tingles where he touched me, I can’t relax, can’t will my shoulders to drop or my heart to quiet its frantic stammering.

The world holds its breath with me as he retreats, leaving behind only the ghost of his kiss and the ache of everything unsaid. Boone and Tripp follow after him, each of them looking back over their shoulder. Their eyes tell me more than their words ever could.

This isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

“Okay,” Dayla’s words bring me out of my trance, and I snap my attention back to her. “So, what was that?”

“That,” I sigh, “is the pack I matched with on Select-A-Mate.”