Page 28 of The Gift
“What?” Reno, fires up straight away.
“She nearly got knocked out by a waterfall of oranges and grapes. No one was injured. But thank you, it was really kind,” she pacifies, with her soft words and a more generous smile.
“Were you hurt? That’s inexcusable. I’ll let the people know that their baskets aren’t safe, for god’s sake, you might have gotten seriously hurt.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer, the smile on her lips is enough. And then she looks at me, talking out the side of her mouth like a spy. A bad one, but it works all the same.
“I’m watching you, Ashton. Don’t let me down.”
I wink.
Despite the coursing adrenaline bursting through my system wanting me to spin in endless cartwheels like a fucking clown at the circus, I wink at her. “See, I told you, alphas were cool and calm in the face of adversity.”
She stills, watching me closely.
“What are we doing next?” Reno asks quietly from the sidelines.
Much like Koda, he’s good at reading situations.
“Bailey and I are figuring out how she’s going to explain to Carmen how Jenna only wants the country’s greatest presenter to be the one inside her cottage. That’s all.”
“Glad it’s you and not me,” Reno laughs, doing a big fake scary shiver, pulling a genuine laugh out of our hidden omega.
Bailey
For some reason, I thought they’d be walking in with me, but Ashton and Reno leave me at the gate with encouraging words. And a quick hug from Reno.
And yeah, I take a big lungful or two in his arms, storing away the way he smells. He reminds me of something; it’s so full on that I kind of taste him in my mouth—it’s that or a repressed memory. A good one though—hints of dark chocolate. I’d never admit what I did, breathing the man down like he’s my personal inhaler, but given half the chance, I’d do it again too.
I like that things between Reno and I aren’t strange. He’s a touchy-feely guy, and well, we’ve been overly touchy-feely together. He always hangs back, waiting for me to make the final move, and I do because it’s easy. It feels strangely okay.
Both he and Ashton are not what I thought they would be either, and that insight catches me off guard. Over the past few days Reno’s been winning lots of extra points with his daily delivery, not that I’m judging him on it, but it’s going in the memory bank, that’s for sure. Like, come on, show me a person on this planet that isn’t at least a little swayed by that sort of attention. It’s not over the money or expense either, but each delivery I somehow know he’s spent a lot of time thinking about what to send, and that is special.
Hearing the firm shut of the gate behind me, I power along the slate stone path, barely taking in the landscaped gardens. In part I do, but not the way the garden deserves. Because someone does love each and every plant, and one day I want to be that person. Not a garden for crap’s sake because that’s not me, but I want to put in the effort and make a home somewhere.
Today is not that day. Not sure tomorrow will be either, especially if we have people like Alpha Miller still living in this world.
Each step I take down the path, and goddamn it’s a long path, seems to become more stompier as I go. By the time I’m nearly at the entrance of the cottage, I’m a ball of emotion, again.
It’s not nerves, though. I’ve walked through burning buildings to get the best shot for a story. Once I was put in a harness and lowered over the sheer face of a cliff to interview a slightly whacky founder of a new overnight adventure for daredevils. I’ve sat with murderers who have admitted their guilt without a lick of remorse. I like to think I’ve obliterated the obstacle of fear, so it’s not that.
I get so close to the door that I could run my fingers over the bright red crackled paint that someone did a really bad job at applying. And whatever I was feeling kind of gets more physical, slowing me and making me walk with sludge filled shoes. Or perhaps today I’ve turned into a walking, talking cliché, and I’m looking at that pivotal point in my life where the door is symbolic of my way forward.
But it is simply a door, I’m dealing as best I can, so yeah, some days my mind throws obscure shit at me to test my resolve or to test my patience. Some days even waking up is a test.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, still searching for the reason I’m thrown without acknowledging one of the real reasons I could be thrown. I guess I’ve learnt to compartmentalise a lot of things, like lots of little boxes or drawers full of the smallest issue, but hey, it’s my life and I’ll function with what works best for me. Today it really feels like I’ve got a couple of boxes open, crap strewn all around. So, aside from the box labelled, Bailey Don’t Fuck This Up, the other box currently open is the Alpha box. And well that bad boy has a few boxes inside boxes, like one of those Russian Nesting Dolls. Interaction With Alphas, Working With Alphas, Avoiding What Spooks The Crap Out Of You, Fool An Alpha, each of them is open, of course. But the biggest box cracked open is, Freaking Out Surrounded By So Many Alphas Is Not A Great Idea For A Hidden Omega. A smaller one lies open on the side too: Some Alphas Smell Amazing.
But there’s a part of me, a strong, resolute part, that also knows the alpha side of things is only a small part of my issue. Surely I’m not the only person in this world to face more than one massive hurdle at a time.
“Now or never, Bailey,” I whisper, pepping myself up. Clearly Jenna is an omega. Time will tell, like literally in a few seconds I’ll find out if I’m about to face a ghost from the past. I guess that’s what my mini freak out is all about, I’ve not thought too much about what happens if she knows me, and I know her. Which is weird, like, I’ve daydreamed a lot of ways past the initial meet and greet and freak; me being publicly ridiculed and shamed for being entirely dishonest about my past, me being caught and abused by a pack of alphas, me being accused of duplicity, me somehow ending up with one of the worst packs in the country. Seriously, I’ve had a lot of time to conjure up a lot of endings of that chapter in my life. But getting past that point, I’ve not spent too much on it, which is weird.
Opening the door, I’m not overly confident or sure what will happen. There might be recognition, past all the body modifications I’ve done, or I could open the door and come face to face with Henley. I guess one option would be to turn around and simply walk away from everything I’ve worked so hard at. Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen.
I open the door to something even more horrific. Colton James.
The air sucks out of the space between us. If we were standing in a room, I’d say it spun and won’t stop. He takes a step forward, and I take one back.
CJ, because Colton or Colton James sounds too familiar. It might be his name, but I can’t say it. I can barely look the man in the eye. And CJ is the typical kind of alpha that sets my inner warning wailing like the airhorn on the Titanic.
