Page 40 of Unhinged

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

brYDGETT

I tug the zipper up on my hoodie and pause in front of the mirror.

It’s the only clean one I could find that doesn’t smell like black currant, patchouli, and sandalwood—that distinct blend of all three of the alphas.

Not that I mind their scents—they're familiar, grounding even—but not when I’m trying to feel like my own person and not the omega on probation with three growly alphas.

I swipe on some lip balm, mostly for show. No one's gonna be kissing me today.

Well.

Maybe Judge.

I grin at my reflection, tug my hair into a messy ponytail, and call, "Judge! Let’s roll, baby!"

The sound of feet slapping against the old wooden floor makes me smile. He comes barreling around the corner with a sock halfway on and his hair still wet from his rushed shower.

"Can I bring my sketchpad for the ride there?" he pants.

"Sure. But only in the car."

"Cool," he says, and disappears to grab it anyway.

My phone buzzes. Acid. Just a single word: Outside.

I take a deep breath and grab my purse. I’m not sure how I feel about him being here. We argued half the night. Or maybe just… debated in that low, clipped tone alphas use when they’re trying not to scare you but still want you to know they’re serious business.

Whatever it was, I lost. He’s coming. He said Gears didn’t trust me not to throw myself into another dangerous barter situation, and Arrow muttered something about “omega instincts not being excuses for idiocy.” Fair.

Still. This was supposed to be a me and Judge day. Mommy and son. I clutch the strap of my purse a little tighter.

"Ready!" Judge yells, popping up beside me like a little kangaroo in his hoodie and Converse.

We step out into the morning light and there he is—Acid—leaning on the hood of a rebuilt Nova like he owns the world and just lets us live in it. Ink crawls down his forearms like flames. Aviators. Black tee stretched over a chest that should not be allowed in daylight.

I feel the flutter in my chest and immediately want to swat it away.

"Hey, kid," Acid says, ruffling Judge’s hair.

"Hi, Mr. Acid."

He chuckles. "Still with the ‘Mr.’ huh?"

"It’s respectful." Judge shrugs, hopping into the backseat.

I was on blockers for so long I sometimes forget I’m not immune to the whole…

alpha thing anymore. But my skin buzzes when his fingers brush the gear shift, and my scent flares on instinct—too fast, too raw.

I haven’t had a blocker since the wreck, and my body’s still relearning how to behave without them.

Down, girl.

On the drive, Judge babbles about the obstacle course and how he’s gonna conquer the foam pit “like a ninja.” I nod and smile, even while my mind’s half-focused on a to-do list I’m mentally building.

Dillon still wants that car in order to get my GTO back. Franko might have a connection—he used to always brag about his cousin who imports used cars. I tap a note into my phone so I don’t forget.

The trampoline park is louder than I expected. Screams of laughter, thumps of bodies hitting mats, music pulsing over the speakers. I fill out the waiver and tighten my ponytail before Judge tugs me toward the open play area.

“I’m gonna do the wall!” He grins.

“Go for it, baby.”

He stops halfway to the pit and turns. “Come with me?”

I smile, but it’s tight. “I can’t, honey. I’ve still got that cut, remember? If it reopens, we’ll get kicked out and your fun’s over.”

“Oh.” His face drops for a second, but then Acid steps in.

“I’ll go with you, little man. Think you can beat me?”

Judge’s whole face lights up. “Duh.”

I watch them disappear into the chaos and press a hand to my chest. Acid doesn’t move like an alpha with an agenda. He just…plays. Laughs. Grunts when he lands in the foam pit. Judge squeals when Acid pretends to get stuck and begs for help, like he’s sinking in lava.

I swoon a little, damn it. Right there next to the hand sanitizer station.

While they’re preoccupied, I grab a tray and order three hot dogs, fries, and the biggest blue raspberry slushies the place offers. I snag extra napkins—because Judge. And a tiny ketchup container. Because me.

“Food!” I call out from the table when I see them stumbling out of the pit, Judge looking winded and proud, Acid with foam clinging to his jeans.

They jog over and dig in.

“Mmmph,” Judge says around a bite of hot dog. “When do I get to go back to school?”

My hand stills. “I don’t know yet, baby.”

“I don’t wanna get behind. I like science class.”

Acid leans back in his chair. “We could have a prospect sit outside if you want him to go back.”

I hesitate. “I don’t trust that school. Not since…everything. He was supposed to transfer to the private one across town, but I was saving up for it.”

“I got some guys who could ask around,” he offers.

I nod. “I’ll call the principal this week. Maybe see what our options are.”

Judge finishes his last bite and takes off again. I let my gaze wander back to Acid, his eyes warm and a little amused.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“You don’t gotta thank me for hanging with my favorite omega and her kid.”

My stomach does a weird swoop.

“You’re such a flirt.” I laugh. “You know, when I saw you that night at Kenny’s, I called you Mr. Inked and Sexy.”

“You did, did you?” he says with a raised brow. “Don’t worry, you haven’t even seen all my ink yet.”

I choke on my slushie.

Heat blooms under my skin. I know he can smell it. Stupid scent blockers. I took them for years—long enough to make my body forget how to manage things naturally. I’m rusty now, out of practice.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

Acid growls low, and my breath catches. Not a warning growl. An interested one.

“Time to go before you have every alpha in this place going into a rut,” he says.

I flush and gather our trash. “I’ll get Judge.”

Judge comes bounding back and tugs on Acid’s hand. “Can we get ice cream?”

“We can get frozen yogurt ,” I say, laughing. “But you’re paying me back in bedtime snuggles.”

“Deal.”

The frozen yogurt place is mostly empty, and we all pile toppings onto swirls of vanilla and cookies and cream. Judge goes overboard on gummy worms. Acid dares me to eat rainbow boba pearls with hot fudge. I do. It’s…questionable.

We play a couple of tabletop games—silly ones with dice and spinning wheels—before heading home. Judge sings in the backseat. I hum along.

The MC is quiet when we pull in. I stretch and tell Acid, “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

He nods and disappears to find Gears and Arrow. Probably to give a report or whatever the alpha version of tattling is.

Judge’s already tugging on his jammies when I get out of the bathroom. My hair is still damp, skin warm from the steam. I pad across the room and find him curled up under the covers.

“ Moana 2 ?” I ask.

“Duh.”

We hit play and settle in. I pull him close, one arm wrapped around his small body.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, baby?”

“I know, Mom.”

“I haven’t spent as much time with you lately. I’m sorry.”

He turns, rests his head on my arm. “You’re getting to know your Kismets. I kinda like it here. Dillon’s so cool. She lets me draw with her and she’s really good at Legos. Bettie lets me cook with her. Yesterday, we made lasagna.”

I ruffle his hair. “Good. I’m glad you’re having fun. But if you ever feel left out, you tell me, okay? You’re my first. Always.”

“I know, Mom,” he groans dramatically.

I chuckle and refocus on the movie.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was that guy? The one who shot you?”

My heart stutters.

“No one.”

“He knew you. I heard him. He said something like ‘is he mine.’ Is that my dad?”

I’d hoped we had more time before this came up again.

I sigh. “No.”

“But—”

“Judge, drop it.”

“I wanna know, Mom.”

I close my eyes. “Fine. Yes. He helped create you. But he’s not a good man. He gave me you, and that’s the only good thing he ever did.”

“He hurt you? Like, alphas aren’t supposed to hurt omegas, right?”

“Yeah, baby. He did.”

“I hate him.”

“Me too, Judge. Me too.”

He falls asleep not long after, little breaths deep and even against my side. I brush a kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, baby boy.”